All That Is Solid Melts Into Air

by Christopher Koehler

  Michael looked down at me. He looked decidedly displeased. “Other than a visit with my grandparents in SoCal, not too much. Hoping you’ll deal with your family.”

  I lifted my head up. “What? What’s going on?”

  “Besides nothing on your end? Geoff keeps e-mailing me.” Michael pulled his shoulder out from under me. “It was one thing when I was on the sidelines supporting you through one of your apparently endless wars with your family, but now your brother’s dragging me into it, or trying.”

  “Trying?” Suffering Christ, couldn’t these people try contacting me directly? Sure, I’d shred the meat off their bones, but maybe they’d earned it. Cowards.

  “I keep deleting the e-mails.”

  “An eminently sensible response, in my opinion. I’m sorry my brother’s trying to put you in the middle.” But something wasn’t right here. “Yet somehow you’re angry at me….”

  Michael looked at me like I was insane, and who knows, by this time I probably was. “Because you started this!”

  I cocked my head, because it was react with sarcasm or scream at the absurdity of his statement and bolt. “So I should’ve rolled over when my parents said what they said? And when Geoff agreed?”

  “I don’t have an answer, but I know I shouldn’t be in the middle.” Michael looked miserable.

  “I agree with you there, and I’m really sorry about that, but I didn’t start this.” Seriously, you’d think a guy on the honors track could’ve kept the details straight. It made me wonder what was really going on. “Add his address to your spam filters.”

  Michael shook his head. “That’s not really going to solve anything.”

  “No, not really, but it’ll give you some peace while I figure out what to do about my family.” And crew, and my roommate, and my life in general. And there was the whole issue of what to do about the holiday break itself….

  As if he’d read my mind, Michael said, “What’re you doing for the break?”

  I shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Wait… you don’t know where you’re going?”

  ’Bout time that sank in. Michael’s lack of response had me worried for a moment.

  “As you pointed out, the Head of the Charles Massacre has yet to be cleaned up.”

  “Has it occurred to you that your parents are waiting for you to call them?”

  I gave him a flat look. “They’re the ones who think you have too much control over me. Or that I’m a bad influence on you. I still don’t have it entirely straight. Either way, they started this when they picked a fight right before the Head of the Charles. It’s up to them to fix this.”

  “Maybe they’re afraid to.” Michael looked out at the water, no doubt thinking the same thing I did: what a waste. Flat water and too foggy to row.

  “What do you mean?” I admit it. I was suspicious.

  Michael slung one arm over my shoulder. “Rem, we both know you don’t just hold a grudge. You find stray grudges in the mud beside the road, take them home, give them warm baths, and then nurse them back to health. Then, when you’ve raised them up nice and strong, you turn them loose on an unsuspecting populace. Your parents—to say nothing of Geoff—may not have called because by this time they know full well you’ve to come to a righteous boil over this, and that the first one to wave the stick with a shirt on it in our direction will be met with a barrage of artillery fire.”

  “I don’t hold grudges, Michael.”

  He looked at me over the top of his sunglasses.

  “I only remember the facts. I’m right.”

  “I know you are, Rem, but that doesn’t mean your family is eager to march before your one-man firing squad, and they’ve let this go so long that it’s what it’s become.” I could tell Michael parsed his next comment carefully. “And right’s not going to keep you warm over a cold winter break, either.”

  With the fog sucking the warmth out of us even through our winter coats, I felt his point. That did not mean, however, I had any intention of conceding it, let alone contacting my parents. They started this, and they had to blink first.

  “I suppose I could e-mail Laurel….”

  Michael nodded. “You should. She could tell you how Geoff’s doing, assuming he’s confided in her—”

  I looked at him. I didn’t even have to say anything.

  “Okay, you’re right. Scratch that. He’s told her everything. None of this should’ve happened in the first place.”

  “You’ve got that right. I didn’t start this fight, but I’m going to make damn sure they finish it.” I glared out at the water, as if I could somehow will the outcome I wanted.

  Michael nodded. “I hear you. I’m also telling you there may be a whole lot of daylight between right and home for the holidays. I’d invite you home, but we know how well that would go over. What about grandparents? Aunts or uncles?” He gave me a funny look. “You know, I’ve never heard you talk about aunts or uncles.”

  “That’s because Mom’s an only child, and Dad’s either alienated or irritated his brothers and sisters.” Then the light bulb flashed on. Of course! Mom’s parents, Grandma and Grandpa Fischer! Then it winked out again. I hadn’t seen them in years.

  “What? You looked elated and then not. What’s going on in there, Rem?”

  “For a moment there I thought I might be able to go see Mom’s parents, but I haven’t seen them in probably five years. Dad’s always saying how expensive it is to travel to see them.” Damn, so close.

  “Where do they live?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Didn’t you four go to Europe right after you graduated from high school?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  “You could spend two weeks in Europe but can’t fly to Chicago? There are a bunch of direct flights from Sacramento to O’Hare every day.” Michael frowned. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  I gave him my best “oh really?” look. “You’ve met my father.”

  “I don’t know, Rem. They might be your best bet. I think you should call them anyway. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “They could say no.” That’d be the last thing I’d need, more rejection. But the more I thought about it, the more I saw his point. I had very little choice. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—impose on Heath and Jerry anymore. “I hate to spend the holidays so far away from you, but you’re right. They’re my best bet.”

  Michael pulled me into a hug. “I’ll manage. It’s you I’m worried about. You’re not nearly as tough as you want the world to think.”

  “But only you know the truth.” I rested my head on his shoulder again. It was one of my favorite places these days.

  “And that makes me the luckiest fella on earth.”

  After that, we found ways to warm each other up despite the fog.

  WHEN I got back to my room, I chewed my guts out for a little while, and then looked up the phone number for Grandma and Grandpa Fischer. I had it in my phone’s address book, but I wanted to be sure it hadn’t changed, but no, there they were, Howard and Evelyn Fischer.

  Geoff and I barely knew them, or so it seemed, but when I thought about it, I found I knew a fair amount about them. Mom’s family was Jewish, but so lapsed she’d never been bat mitzvahed. While Grandma and Grandpa weren’t Holocaust survivors, their parents had been or had escaped Germany before things turned grim, and when my great-grandparents had landed on these barbarian shores, they’d decided they’d had enough with religion, all religions. While Grandma and Grandpa had eased up on their parents’ militant atheism, they never, so far as I knew, recaptured the faith of their forefathers. Foremothers? I was pretty sure Judaism passed through the female line. Anyway, the Fischers apparently never objected to Mom marrying Dad, an equally lapsed Christian of some variety or other. Sure, we made out like bandits in December, with presents for both Hanukkah and Christmas…. Christmukkuh? The fact that we usually ended up having brisket around Passoverish was probably a coincidence, but
the high holy days never happened at our house.

  But a sketchy biography didn’t equal knowing my grandparents. I frowned as I stared at their number. This promised to be nerve-racking. I sucked it up and dialed the number.

  “Hello?” a man said, a cultured voice, but older. My grandfather, obviously.

  “Grandpa? It’s Jeremy.”

  Silence greeted me. I gulped air, scared. This had been a mistake, he didn’t remem—

  “Pick up the extension, Evelyn, it’s your grandson.”

  I heard my grandmother in the background say, “Which one?”

  “The fegelah.”

  My jaw dropped. “You did not call me that.”

  “Yes, he did. Howard, you did not call your grandson a fegelah.”

  “What does he want, Evelyn?”

  “You can ask him yourself, Howard. What can we do for you, dear?”

  This wasn’t going well, not at all. I started shaking. Nerves, I guessed. “I don’t want anything, really, except maybe a place to spend the holidays.”

  Dead air. Oh crap. “Never mind, it was a stupid—”

  “Why aren’t you spending it with your family, dear?”

  How much to tell them? Might as well go big. “Because my parents are full of crap and I haven’t spoken to them since the middle of October. Also, my brother’s being a jerk.”

  “Your father’s always been a bit of a hothead. You’ll have to fill us in on the details when you get here,” Grandma said.

  “And?” Grandpa said.

  I sniffled. I refused to cry, dammit. “The holidays get lonely without anyone.”

  “We’ll send you a ticket,” Grandpa said. “How soon can you get here?”

  Wait… what? That tide had turned quickly.

  “I don’t even need a ticket. I’ve got my parents’ credit card, and it’s my determination to make them pay and pay good. I only wanted to be sure I’d be welcome. I’ll figure out my itinerary and call you back.”

  Grandma snorted. “E-mail it, dear. It’ll be quicker, and we can get to spoiling you that much sooner.”

  “But… we haven’t seen each other in what? Five years?” I was more confused than ever.

  Grandpa made an extremely rude noise, but Grandma only said, “That’s not your fault, dear.”

  “Do you have a pencil and paper for the e-mail address?” Grandpa said.

  I took down his e-mail and promised to get right back to them. In return they sent me a list of clothes to pack. What made me the most nervous was that Grandma requested a picture of my dinner suit. What was I in for?

  But that was how I ended up spending my winter holidays in a penthouse apartment on Chicago’s Gold Coast.

  Chapter 14

  I LEFT for Chicago the evening after my last final, taking a red-eye from Sacramento to O’Hare. Michael took me to the airport.

  “I’ll miss you.” He wrapped his arms around me. It was his turn to rest his head on my shoulder.

  We stood downstairs in front of the check-in kiosks and desks where I’d already turned over my suitcase, since he couldn’t accompany me beyond the security checkpoint. “I’ll miss you, too. It feels funny not to be with you at the holidays.”

  “Any idea when you’ll be back?” Michael sounded so vulnerable, and I felt very tender toward him in that moment.

  I shook my head and then realized that with his head on my shoulder, he couldn’t see it. Then I felt stupid. “No, I’ve left the ticket open-ended. If things are dicey with my grandparents, maybe before New Year’s Eve. If not, sometime the week after, I guess.”

  As it was a week before Christmas, we were looking at a potentially long separation. If things fell apart in Chicago, I could always stay in a hotel until I could get back into my dorm room, or even call my parents and make their lives hell by going home.

  Michael lifted his head and kissed my cheek. “If I don’t let you go, I’ll embarrass us both by making a scene here in the airport.”

  I pulled his face toward mine. Then I kissed him full on the lips. I wasn’t shy, and I didn’t hurry. He was my guy, and I was coming to certain conclusions about my feelings for him, feelings I wasn’t ready to share yet, but feelings I wanted to show him. When I broke the kiss, I said, “Make a scene.”

  I left Michael standing at the bottom of the escalators that led up to security and then to the gates. Just before he passed from view, I waved, a small, diffident wave. He meant so much to me.

  With Michael on my mind, I slept the night away on the trip to Chicago.

  THE FLIGHT, technically speaking, took only four hours, but with the time change, I landed at a reasonable time of the morning. Reasonable, that is, if you kept rowers’ hours. Grandpa didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about picking me up at 7:00 a.m., however.

  We hugged awkwardly outside of baggage claim, and then headed toward his car. “Your grandmother’s at home. She never has liked early hours. She’ll have breakfast for us, and knowing her there’ll be enough to feed a regiment.”

  Then Grandpa looked at me, and I mean he took a good, hard look at me, like maybe he hadn’t noticed me. “Damn, Jeremy, you’ve gotten so tall.”

  “An epidemic of it swept my high school a few years back. Everyone I knew came down with it.” It wasn’t as if Grandpa were short by any stretch of the imagination, but I guess it really had been a long time.

  Grandpa stared at me for a moment, and then chuckled. “Oh, I’m going to like you. You were a very serious little boy, you know.”

  “I haven’t had a lot to laugh about the last few years, I suppose. Dad and I spent my teen years butting heads, and he wasn’t all that discreet with his words when I was younger.”

  Grandpa muttered something under his breath that might’ve been “asshole” but I pretended not to hear. I didn’t want to think about the situation with the ’rents. Maybe Grandpa cottoned on to that because he changed the subject.

  “So… uh, I thought college students were supposed to sleep until noon.”

  I chuckled. “I get up early to row. The time zone thing’s thrown me, and I’m sure tomorrow morning will be ugly, but for now? It’s not so bad, but I hope that breakfast includes coffee.”

  “I drink it by the gallon, so you’ve nothing to worry about.” Grandpa clapped me on the shoulders as we approached his car. The hallways leading from the airport to the parking decks were heated, but as we walked out of the double doors, the cold hit me like a brick wall, and I swore like a well-educated sailor.

  Grandpa looked at my jacket. “Did you bring any cold-weather clothing?”

  “This is my cold-weather clothing.”

  “Then, my boy, you had better brace yourself and hope that coffee’s strong enough to last until lunch, because your grandmother will take one look at that flimsy thing you’re wearing and drag you to the stores as soon as they’re open.” Grandpa shook his head as I put my suitcase in the trunk of his Mercedes, shivering as I did so. “It’s always the Californians.”

  I dove into the sedan as soon as Grandpa unlocked the doors and found much to my relief that it had some kind of fancy remote starter and was already warm. Miracle of miracle, the seat contained heaters. “Ahhhh.”

  I stared unabashedly as we drove along the 190 to the 90 from the airport to the neighborhood Grandpa told me was called the Gold Coast, what was once one of the most affluent neighborhoods in America. When we exited onto Lake Shore Drive, it appeared to me it hadn’t lost any of that wealth. I craned my head up. “That’s the skyline.”

  Grandpa laughed. “It is.”

  “And you live here?”

  “In one of the high-rises, yes.”

  I nodded but kept my thoughts to myself. Living in Davis wasn’t cheap, and most of my peers knew what our parents’ houses would sell for, but I shuddered to contemplate what my grandparents’ condo must cost. Somehow I doubted they owed the bank for it, either.

  Then I looked around at ground level. It wasn’t just sno
w. Oh no, ice was everywhere. Ice coated trees, stoplights, even some cars. Jeez. That was gross. Fine, play it that way, Chicago. I would never leave the condo.

  “You’re looking at the snow, aren’t you?” Grandpa said, a smile on his face.

  “The ice. Is it always like this?”

  He laughed. “Sometimes it’s worse. There’s always,” he said ominously, “thunder snow.”

  “I don’t want to know.” Sure, snow up at Lake Tahoe was fine. It slowed the drive down, and yes, deploying chains brought nothing but cold, wet irritation unless one had money to pay the chain monkeys, but even so, it could be a whole lot worse, like… thunder snow. What the devil? “Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?”

  “It’s a thunderstorm with freezing temperatures, so the rain falls as snow. It can be pretty spectacular.”

  I slouched in my seat. “I pray I’ll only ever be able to take your word for it. I hate weather.”

  “What is it with Californians and weather?” Grandpa said.

  “Oh, that’s an easy one. We never have any, so the slightest hint of it sends us all into a blind panic.” I glared at the ice and snow.

  “So you never ski or snowboard?”

  I shook my head. “Not very often. My coaches promised me that if I broke any limbs, they’d take care of the rest.”

  “Are you serious?” Grandpa shot me a look as we pulled into the underground parking garage beneath his building.

  “I’m not, but I’m pretty sure they were.” I thought about it for a moment. “When it comes down to it, I’ve already got one expensive, apparatus-intensive hobby. I don’t particularly need another.”

  “Your grandmother and I can’t wait for an update on your rowing,” Grandpa said, parking the car. The trunk rose at a stately pace behind us. The car did everything at a stately pace, I’d noticed.

  I grabbed my suitcase before Grandpa had a chance to. I’m sure he was strong and all, but I was decades younger, and my mama raised me better than that. Mom. These were her parents. I sighed. I was going to have to deal with Mom and Dad sooner or later. But not right now. I wanted, maybe even needed, a quiet holiday far away from everyone who wanted something from me.