String Theory

by Ashlyn Kane

  By the time Ari returned from Toronto, December was well underway and his heart was still broken.

  Back in London, Ari was at loose ends. He had taken to filling the hours of his days with Jax, and without him, he wasn’t sure what to do with his time. Especially since he still hadn’t spoken to his parents since the breakup and didn’t particularly want to see them now either.

  He reorganized his closet and deep-cleaned his kitchen. They were hardly satisfactory replacements for Jax either.

  Afra sent Theo around with documents to sign, and with nothing better to do on a Wednesday afternoon, Ari let him stay and taught him more musical theory and fed him dinner before sending him on his way again.

  On Friday Afra called and said, “They asked if you’re coming to dinner tomorrow.”

  Ari shut his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could face them yet. He wasn’t sure what he’d say. “Afra….”

  “Look, I get being mad at them and wanting to stay away, and you can stay away as long as you’d like. Don’t go if you don’t want to. But maybe you’d feel a bit better if you cleared the air? They sounded pretty upset about how things ended the other night.”

  He sighed. He didn’t want to go, but maybe Afra was right. Maybe he could at least fix that relationship.

  On Saturday he arrived at the house long after the set time—he refused to be left alone with them—and was grateful to see Afra’s car in the driveway.

  He put the car in Park and then sat contemplating the wheel. He’d been here just two weeks ago and had been nervous but optimistic. He glanced at the empty seat to his right, then turned off the car and walked inside—a condemned man on the way to the gallows.

  “Ari!” his father said when he opened the door. “There you are.” The words themselves should have been cheerful and welcoming. Ari’s father’s delivery, however, held mostly surprise and desperation.

  It was difficult to take this as a positive sign.

  “Hi, Baba.” Ari hung up his coat and scarf, trying not to notice that his father was basically wringing his hands. His mother must be vibrating at a particularly irksome frequency today.

  “You’re late,” Baba commented.

  By what cultural standard? Since their second retirement, his parents were never on time for anything by Canadian ones. Ari let this remark pass without commenting. “Do you need help in the kitchen?” he asked instead, hopeful for anything that would keep him out of his mother’s warpath.

  “Dinner is ready,” his father said almost apologetically.

  Okay, maybe Ari was a little late, but only by his own standards, not his parents’. “Let me help you bring the food to the table?”

  Needless to say, dinner was strained. Ari kept his answers short, his father directed the conversation to mundane topics like the weather and the London Knights, and Afra interrupted whenever their mother made a remark that might be even an oblique reference to the dinner with Jax.

  Ari suspected she’d told Ben to stay home just in case. He could feel the argument brewing under the surface of the conversation, and it was only a matter of time before it erupted. Ari’s parents would hate for Ben to witness it, and everyone else would hate to feel like Ben was analyzing them. As for Ben, Ari suspected that there were situations therapists stayed away from, and a family dinner at your in-laws’, where every new topic was a potential grenade was at the top of the list.

  Maybe he should have fallen in love with a therapist. Afra always was the smart one.

  “You went with Aiden again?” Afra asked after Ari recounted, in halting words, dinner at one of Toronto’s more entertaining venues.

  He nodded. “For one more song, and then Maxi Greene for two as well. Noella said she’d be in touch with them about potential tour dates.” Well, with their tour managers, anyway, if they had them. If not Afra might end up with a few more clients.

  Too late, he realized that was the wrong thing to say. His mother’s fork clattered onto her plate. “I wish you wouldn’t leave again. Your father and I need you around.”

  For a moment Ari was so surprised he couldn’t say anything. He locked eyes with Afra, who shook her head minutely in warning—This is going to go badly.

  What else was new?

  He put down his own fork so he didn’t throw it. “Maman, you know I love you and Baba. But when was the last time you asked me to help you with something?”

  His mother looked to her husband, who had apparently decided Ben had the right idea by opting out of the evening entirely and was staring at his plate to avoid eye contact.

  “It snowed while you were in Toronto,” she finally managed. “Your father and I can’t be clearing the driveway at our age. I’m not strong enough, and your father’s heart—”

  “And yet the snow was cleared,” Ari pointed out.

  “Because Ben did it.”

  Ari glanced at Afra again, this time for permission. Raised eyebrows and pursed lips would’ve meant no. Instead he got a minuscule head tilt. Okay, then. “If Ben did it, then what do you need me for? Ben’s work is here. Mine isn’t, not always.”

  His mother slammed her hand on the table. “Why can’t you take this seriously? Our whole lives, your father and I have sacrificed for you, and now when we ask you to do this one thing—”

  “You haven’t asked!” Ari exploded. “You demanded! And no one asked you to sacrifice for me, Maman. That was your choice.”

  “And how could I do otherwise for my family? How can I not want what’s best for them?”

  Ari gritted his teeth. “Of course I want what’s best for you and Baba. I will always be in your lives.”

  “But not when you’re on tour,” she said bitterly.

  He barely resisted the urge to throw up his hands. “What do you want me to do? Music is my profession. I have to play it to make a living.”

  “You don’t. You could teach. Your friend Kayla teaches. If you settled down with Sohrab—he would be a good provider—”

  What the fuck. He knew she wanted him to stay close at any cost. He just hadn’t realized she was willing to suggest to his face that he give up his dreams and become a househusband. “I need more in my life than family! I’m sorry, but I do. You and Baba sacrificed, but you had your work, your passion. Is mine less worthwhile because I don’t save lives? Because music does save lives, Maman—other people’s, but also my own.”

  He needed music—the outlet, the expression. Music helped him process his emotions, and sharing his music let him connect with people in a way he had trouble with when it came to words.

  Music had let him connect with Jax.

  And now he was angry again.

  “Ari….” She sighed, and for a moment he thought she might back off. “I don’t mean to make you feel as though your work isn’t important. But we’re your family. Surely that must mean something to you too.”

  “My family,” Ari repeated. “My family.”

  Ari’s father put a hand on his forearm. “Ari—”

  The fury inside him boiled over. “It’s funny you should say that, Maman, because family is important. And I think you would actually like for me to have one of my own one day.”

  Afra reached for her water glass, presumably so she had something to do other than look at anyone.

  Ari’s mother was on the defensive now. “If this is about that young man you brought by—”

  “His name is Jax, Maman.”

  “He was hardly suitable.”

  Ari gaped at her. “I love him, and he makes me happy. How much more suitable does he need to be?”

  “Just because he’s pretty—”

  “So what if he is? He’s more than a pretty face. And not because he’s probably a genius, but because he makes me laugh and he understands me.” Ari stared at his water glass and bit out, “He thinks my music is beautiful and understands what it means. Even when it’s ‘overly cerebral’ and ‘technically stunning.’”

  “Ari, your music is beautiful,” his father
said softly.

  “What does it matter if he thinks your music is beautiful—it is!—when he’s clearly an irresponsible man-child, living with a roommate at his age.”

  Ari pushed away from the table to avoid hurting something or himself. Opposite him, his mother stood too. “Why are you like this? Always so judgmental! If you’d bothered to ask instead of just judging all the time, then you would know that he met his doctor roommate during the pandemic and moved in because his friend got sick, first to take care of his cat and then to take care of him. And if you’d bothered to ask, you might have learned that they met when Jax was doing work creating statistical models to predict rates of infection.”

  His parents stared at him.

  “But you know what? None of that matters. Because so what if he has a roommate? Lots of people hate living alone or can’t afford it. It doesn’t make them failures. But even if he were the biggest failure ever, an idiot, and just a pretty face, what does it matter so long as he makes me happy?” He pressed a hand to his face. “Jax was right.”

  “Oh? And what’s Jax’s opinion on the matter?” his mother asked icily.

  “That you’re snobs who were rude to him because of his job.” His mother huffed and stood straighter. Ari saw red. “You deliberately tried to—succeeded in—ruining the best thing that ever happened to me, and you can’t even—you’re not even sorry!”

  “Well, if he’s going to be chased away by one little dinner…,” she blustered, though her shoulders looked less firm.

  “You basically called him a whore,” Ari snapped. His shoulders slumped. “And I’m the idiot who just let you.”

  “Ari,” Afra said softly.

  He turned to her and gave her a watery smile. “I’m not doing it again. I’m not sure I’ll ever—” His voice broke. “—meet anyone… but I sure as hell won’t be bringing him around here to meet you. I am done letting you chase them away. Because I have been letting you. But I’m not doing it again.”

  “So you will just keep your partner a secret from us?” His father looked distressed.

  “Better that than to have you judge and pick until they leave.” He was so fucking tired.

  “So your plan is to find some unsuitable boy and marry him without us there just to spite us? You are so dramatic. We never had these problems with your sister.”

  Afra stiffened, her fingers clenched on her fork. If she were a cartoon, steam would have shot from her ears. She glanced his way, and Ari stepped back and ceded the floor. Their mother wasn’t listening to him, but maybe she would listen to her perfect daughter.

  “And how would you know?” Afra started softly, dangerously. “If I were keeping things secret, how would you ever know?”

  “Parents know—”

  “I had nothing but secrets as a teenager. A secret boyfriend who dumped me because he didn’t want to be a secret, a secret heartbreak I couldn’t tell anyone about, a secret one-night stand because of the heartbreak”—their parents went white—“and then a secret baby.”

  A still, shattering silence descended, broken a split second later by Ari’s parents inhaling sharply.

  “What?” their father asked, as their mother slumped back into her seat.

  “My first year of university, I got pregnant. The baby was born healthy and perfect that May, and I never even saw it because I was too goddamned afraid I would want to keep it. I wanted to keep it so badly, but I knew you’d never let me out of the house again if I did. So I made the best decision for me and for the baby.” Her fists trembled on the tabletop, but she stared their parents down like a righteous avenging angel. “Ben and I have been trying to have a child for years. I did two rounds of IVF, but it didn’t work. We are going to adopt a baby, and we will be fantastic parents. But not being able to have kids took us totally by surprise. It never occurred to us that we might not be able to, because I had been there, done that. But we can’t, and now I will never see the only natural child I will ever have.”

  Their parents sat stiff and pale in utter shock. They didn’t try to speak.

  “So congratulations. Your limited ideas about acceptable life choices have lost you a frankly fantastic potential son-in-law and perhaps the only natural grandchild you’ll ever have.” She stood up and looked at Ari. “I think we’re done here.”

  Ari couldn’t disagree.

  On the porch step, she turned to him and asked, “Drink?” He couldn’t disagree with that either.

  A WEEK and a half before Christmas, Jax’s mother sent him to the grocery store to get a few “necessities.” Even in his younger days, Jax had never called pinot grigio and a couple pounds of Lindt chocolate necessities, but to each their own. He hopped in her car—a fancy hybrid that was actually kind of fun to drive—and went to the good grocery store a little farther out.

  He had already snagged the wine and the chocolate and was touring up and down the aisle looking for anything else they were missing in the kitchen—he hadn’t yet broken the habit of buying in bulk to limit grocery trips—when Ari appeared around the corner.

  Jax’s heart lurched in his chest.

  When they were together, they never ran into each other by accident—not with Jax’s work schedule and Ari’s tendency to shut himself away with his piano. They had to coordinate every meeting.

  He was utterly unprepared to come face-to-face with Ari in the wild.

  Not that the international aisle of the grocery store could really be considered the wild, but—

  Jax didn’t have time to strategize. Before he could even weigh his options—continue forward or attempt a strategic retreat—Ari looked over from his perusal of the imported honey and caught his gaze.

  Fuck. Now what?

  “Jax,” Ari said quietly. “I… hello.”

  Now forced and awkward small talk, apparently. Had Jax been a puppy-kicker in a past life? “Hey,” Jax replied. “You look… uh….” The usual thing was to say you look good, right? Except Ari didn’t look good. His hair was still as glorious as ever, glossy black curls falling to his chin, sharp cheekbones, beautiful dark eyes. But he seemed gaunt. Had he lost weight? His shoulders were hunched.

  Maybe it was just the winter coat.

  “You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings,” Ari said, a little stiffly.

  “That’s not really my forte,” Jax agreed, his mouth once again lurching ahead of his brain.

  Once upon a time, Ari might have laughed. Now he only grimaced. Jax desperately wanted to flee, but his feet seemed rooted to the floor. “Nor mine, apparently,” Ari said. “Jax… I know our relationship is irreparably damaged, but I—”

  Jax’s phone rang at full volume, interrupting both of them with an old Spice Girls B-side. Grateful for the excuse, Jax said, “Sorry, I better….” and picked up. “Hey, I’m almost done at the store. What’s up?”

  “Did you get marshmallows?”

  “Marshmallows,” Jax repeated, half turning away from Ari. Well, there definitely weren’t any of those in this aisle. “They weren’t on the list. What do we need—”

  “For hot chocolate, obviously.” He could practically hear his mom rolling her eyes, though at least she didn’t add duh. He bet this was what the fancy chocolate was for too.

  You know I’m mostly done wallowing, right? he wanted to say, but then he glanced at Ari and… okay, maybe there were a few more weeks of wallowing in his future. “Obviously,” he agreed and let his voice go teasing instead. “Hey, Christine, just wondering—you do remember which one of us is—”

  “Finish that sentence and you can forget about me making you cocoa,” she threatened.

  “Shutting up!” Jax said cheerfully. “Anything else?”

  She paused as though considering. “Is Die Hard on Netflix?”

  “Hobbes has it on DVD.”

  “Perfect. See you soon, then.” And she hung up.

  She never was one for lengthy goodbyes. Jax slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned back to Ari, but as
soon as he did, Ari turned away as though he’d just remembered a critical shortage of harissa back at his place. Plausible, Jax supposed, but then Ari didn’t exactly cook much.

  “I’m sorry,” Ari said finally. “You must be busy….”

  Jax was, actually—he only had a few hours to spend with his mom before he had to be at work—but also he was ready to be out of Ari’s immediate presence. His palms were sweating and his chest felt tight. “Yeah, sorry, I can’t really… chat.” Not that they had much to say to each other.

  “Of course. I understand.” He cleared his throat. “Ah… but I should mention I still have your keys and helmet. I could drop them off? I was going to bring them to the Rock, but I didn’t think you’d want to see me at work.”

  He wasn’t wrong about that. Jax realized with a pang that Ari had never been to his house. Did Ari even know where he lived? “It’s okay, I… I’ll come pick them up.” Call it closure, or whatever. “I’ll text you to arrange a time?”

  Ari inclined his head. “That would be fine. It was good to see you.”

  Jax didn’t bother attempting a smile. He was pretty sure it would have made him throw up. “You too, Ari. See you around.”

  He was halfway home before he realized he’d forgotten the marshmallows.

  Chapter Twenty

  “… AND THIS is Murph,” Jax said finally, gently nudging his mother down onto a barstool. “Murph, this is Christine, my mom.”

  “What are ya at,” Murph said, nodding. “Get ya a drink? On the house.”

  “Avoid anything that sounds like moonshine,” Jax advised. “Because it is. I have to go check in with the other musicians, but I’ll be back. Please don’t seduce my boss.”

  “Yer boss can look after hisself,” Murph scolded. “Get gone, b’y.”

  Jax turned, but not soon enough to avoid hearing his mother say, “Jax said something about moonshine?”

  Honestly, and people wondered where Jax got it.

  Kayla, Naomi, and Rosa were clustered around Naomi’s phone when Jax came into the break room, but they looked up and turned away from it as he sat at the practice keyboard. “All right, sorry I’m late. Are we working on anything new?”