All That Is Solid Melts Into Air

by Christopher Koehler

  True to Grandpa’s word, Grandma indeed had a huge breakfast ready for us, and yes, that included industrial-grade coffee. Actually, she served espresso she made herself. She was a dab hand at it. If I stayed here too long, I knew I’d never be able to choke down another cup of Starbucks again.

  I visited with my grandparents, nothing bigger than catching up on chitchat, like we hadn’t seen each other since summer vacation instead of since I was thirteen or fourteen. Then Grandma pulled the trigger.

  “So why’re you here, dear?”

  I blinked, unsure what she meant. “Uh… to spend the holidays?”

  “No, dear. Why are you really here and not at home? What’s going on?”

  Oh, that. I groaned. “So it started in the middle of October,” I said, explaining the Head of the Charles Massacre.

  “Stop,” Grandpa said, holding up a hand. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Grandma frowned. “Your grandfather’s right, dear. It’s not even internally consistent.”

  “Don’t blame me. I didn’t make it up. The thing is, I think there’s more going on, but I can’t figure out what. Michael’s pretty sure something’s up with his parents, but they’re even more opaque than mine.” I sighed. I hated thinking about this, but I guess I had to.

  “I hardly see how that’s possible, but I’ve never met your young man or his people.” Grandma took a sip of her espresso and frowned. She grated some chocolate over it and tried again.

  “Your father’s an asshole. He always has been. I can’t think why our daughter’s a party to this idiocy.” Grandpa shook his head.

  “Howard, you didn’t call the boy’s father an asshole.”

  He shrugged. “Why not? It’s the truth. I can’t figure out what’s gotten into your brother, however, Jeremy. He’s always been easily led, but this is extreme, even for him.”

  “Well, Jeremy always was the smart one. More espresso?” She might as well have asked Grandpa if he wanted more rocket fuel, because that’s what this was. One more serving and I’d be able to see numbers and hear colors.

  I didn’t know how I felt about this. Sure, Dad was an asshole, dyed in the wool, and we were probably more alike than I cared to admit. But Geoff? I might not actually be speaking to him right now, but he’d been there since before we were born, you know? He needed to realize that what he had said was not only wrong but staggeringly hypocritical, but it took a lot to sever the kind of bond we had.

  I looked up to find my grandparents watching me like the proverbial hawk.

  And then it hit me, and I grinned. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “And what would that be?” Grandpa asked, his eyes alight.

  “You’re pushing me back to my brother by making me defend him.”

  Grandma smiled into her tiny cup of sticky caffeine. “What makes you say that, dear?”

  “And now I know where I get it from.” I laughed. Seriously, all my life I’d never known exactly where I fitted into the family schema, but now I knew. My last name might’ve been Babcock, but I was a Fischer. Stirring the pot for the pleasure of watching it boil? Calling it like I saw it? Both sounded all too familiar. These made me wonder about Mom, but I’d sink my teeth into that later.

  “Get what from?” Grandpa looked at me suspiciously.

  I smiled at them both. “Everything. Dad’s called me a changeling on more than one occasion, but I’m not. I’m you two.”

  I was pretty sure I heard Grandpa mutter “jackass,” but I let it slide. It wasn’t like I hadn’t said it myself.

  Even Grandma frowned at that. “He’s called you changeling, dear?”

  “Oh yes, many times, that and similar terms. Admittedly not where he thought I could hear it.” I shrugged. “I suppose it’s a way of coming to terms with how different he and I are. It took Geoff a while to believe me, but he was there when I confronted Dad about it.”

  Grandpa shook his head. “Why didn’t your mother put a stop to it?”

  “I think she did once it was out in the open. She’s always known Geoff and I had different relationships with our father. I mean, we’re different people, right? But when I finally confronted Dad and he couldn’t weasel out of it, she looked like she was going to bite his head off.”

  “Let’s not worry about it now, dear. Finish your breakfast and get settled. By the looks of things, I’ll need to take you shopping if you’re going to survive for more than a minute outside.” Grandma flicked her glance to the coatrack by the door where Grandpa had hung my apparently too-thin parka.

  “You don’t need to do that. I’ll stay here the whole break. I need to recover, anyway.” Seriously, it’s not like I wore rags, but I certainly didn’t live in this kind of climate.

  Grandma’s laughter sounded like silver bells. “And miss what Chicago has to offer? The Art Institute? The Field Museum?”

  “Her chamber quartet?” Grandpa said. “Face it, she’s going to take you shopping. It’s easier to give in now. I speak with experience. What kind of suit did you bring?”

  “Uh… none? Grandma didn’t care for the one I sent her a picture of.”

  Then my grandmother squealed with glee. A dowager squealing. I hoped never to hear—or see—such a thing again. “I guess I’d better get ready.”

  SHOPPING PROVED to be every bit as ghastly as I thought it would be. After Grandma ransacked my suitcase to see what I brought with me—seriously, she took inventory—we set off to something called the Magnificent Mile, and zowie, they weren’t kidding. The Mag Mile had everything, starting with the four malls that I counted and who knew how many freestanding stores. We started with a place to buy a warm parka along with a few sweaters thicker than the ones I used for layering. The whole thing made me dizzy. My grandparents were richer than God and moved in circles far more affluent than I ever would, because I’d never heard of some of these stores. These stores had clearly heard of my grandmother, because the salespeople greeted her by name.

  “This is your grandson, Mrs. Fischer?” one of them, an admittedly hot guy, said as he latched on to my arm.

  “That’s right, he’s visiting from California for the winter holidays,” Grandma replied. She looked a bit put out by his sudden overfamiliarity with my person. Join the club, lady.

  “So, tell me—?”

  You want my name, do you? “Jeremy.”

  “How’d you get so big and strong, Jeremy?”

  “Crew.”

  “Your girlfriend must love it.”

  “My boyfriend seems to appreciate it, that and the tight tee shirts.” I met my grandmother’s eyes and then rolled mine. She snickered. “But then, he rows, too.”

  That sent the salesman into paroxysms of… something, which I used to extract my arm from his grip. “Charmed, I’m sure, but we’ll be going.” I extended my arm to my grandmother. “Shall we, Grandma?”

  She took my arm, and we glided away. “You were very smooth, dear.”

  “I’ve had a certain amount of practice extracting myself from situations I didn’t want to be in, but jeez, they’re going to have to call for a cleanup after the way he was drooling.” I made a face.

  “You’re a very handsome man, dear. People are going to react a certain way.” She patted my arm comfortingly.

  I glowered back over my shoulder. “Subtlety is everything, Grandma.”

  “Of course it is, dear.” She pulled out her phone and placed a call. “Hi, Sylvia. It’s Evelyn Fischer. … I’m fine, thanks for asking. Listen, are you busy? … I’m downstairs with my grandson, and we’ve just had a run-in with one of your colleagues. We could use some help that doesn’t involve salivating over him. … Wonderful! We’ll meet you by the fountain.”

  Grandma beamed at me. “Problem solved and without the digestive fluids!”

  “Excellent!” I had to laugh. Dowager she might be, but there was nothing old about my grandmother.

  In fairly short order, Grandma placed me into the capable hands of her pers
onal shopper, an attractive woman I’d place in early middle age. Sylvia was born to wear knit dresses, and hers clung to every curve like sin.

  Sylvia placed her hands on my shoulders, turning me this way and that. “Mmm-hmm, yes, you’ll be easy to dress. Take off your coat, hon.”

  I complied, and my grandmother took it from me.

  “Okay, so I see strong legs despite those baggy jeans. Those have to go, by the way. They’re a crime with a body like yours. Strong upper body, too.”

  “He’s gay, Sylvia.” Grandma shook her head.

  Sylvia gave my grandmother a withering look. “I have eyes, Mrs. Fischer, and I’m not stupid, but I can still admire the view. Now, what were you looking for today?” she asked me.

  I looked at Grandma. “What’re we looking for?”

  Then Grandma told Sylvia what she wanted, and my eyes grew round. “Did I bring anything that passes muster?”

  “Your underwear’s fine, dear. Those Andrew Christian and Aussie Bum briefs don’t leave much to the imagination, do they? But what, pray tell, is Nasty Pig? Do I even want to know?”

  Could I possibly turn any redder? No, no I could not. Sylvia had the decency to turn away, but I could tell she was doing a herculean job of holding in an epic bout of laughter. “No, Grandma, you don’t, but the rest? Michael likes them, and that’s all anyone needs to know.” Then I gave her a gimlet wink. “But my favorite? PUMP!, and you really don’t want to know what that means.”

  Finally, it was my turn to make someone blush. “That’s quite all right, dear. I think we can forego further discussion of things that won’t see the light of day. But you should know I wasn’t born old, and your generation didn’t invent sex.”

  “Thank you.” All the discussion of my undergarments almost—almost—distracted me from the subject at hand. “Do we really need all of that, Grandma?”

  “Oh, this? It’s not much, just a few things to keep you warm, plus a tuxedo for the parties we’ll attend. Oh, and my concerts.” She winked. “You’ll be fine, dear.”

  And off she sailed, leaving Sylvia and me in her wake. “Just a few things,” I whispered to Sylvia.

  “Welcome to Chicago, hon,” Sylvia whispered back.

  Chapter 15

  AFTER WHAT felt like a marathon, we stopped for lunch. At least we weren’t schlepping packages.

  “They’ll deliver everything to the house, dear.” Grandma looked at her watch. “Probably before we return, except for your dinner suit. You looked very dashing in the claw-hammer coat, but it’s completely over-the-top, and in any event no one wears white tie anymore.”

  I was mortified my grandparents were hosing this much money around. It’s not like I dressed in potato sacks or anything. Did potatoes still come in sacks? Try to stay on the rails here, Rem. Sure, I needed a warmer coat. I understood that. But the rest? I was so glad I’d fitted in some holiday shopping before I left town. “I feel bad that you’re spending so much money on me.”

  “Don’t give it a second thought, dear. This is how my friends and I compete, did you know that? For years they’ve been flaunting their grandchildren in front of me.” She looked at me coyly over the rim of her coffee cup. “Can you imagine their dismay when Howard and I walk in with you in tow, and in that daringly cut dinner suit? My triumph will be long in coming, but all the sweeter for it.”

  Yeah, okay that was weird. “And my tux at home was…?”

  “Boring. No offense, dear. I appreciate you sending me a picture and all, but it simply wouldn’t do. Besides, think of how much fun you’ll have with it later.” Grandma thought for a moment. “Your stud set will work, of course, and your black wingtips will pair nicely with the sportier cut of what we bought today. Admit it, what we picked out for you today is so much nicer.”

  Grandma had a point. What I wore to that ill-starred prom was the basic model: black and white. Grandma bought me a much more modern suit in a midnight blue that almost had a bit of sheen to it. Think about the metallic blue in a magpie’s feathers and then darken it to midnight. Give it an athletic cut—wide through the shoulders and tapered down to a narrow waist in the jacket; narrow waist in the pants, room in the thighs but otherwise hugging my legs—and that was what Grandma intended to package me in when she showed me off to her friends. I could wear it with the standard bow tie and tab collar, or with a regular shirt and tie, and knock ’em dead. Either way, I shivered anticipating Michael’s reaction.

  “So when will you debut me?”

  Grandma chuckled. “Tonight, dear. It’s a small party, no more than a hundred people or so, a thank-you for a charity your grandfather serves on the board for. I think you’ll be fine in a suit and tie.”

  “Oh, it’s not a competition party?” You mean one of the ties I’m afraid to breathe on, let alone eat in the vicinity of? Those ties? I was quickly coming to realize my grandmother—and probably my grandfather—was a force of nature when armed with a credit card that probably lacked any kind of limit.

  Grandma clapped her hands and laughed with delight. “See? You’re getting it already!”

  “I’m gay, Grandma,” I said dryly. “This kind of thing’s practically second nature, along with dressing to depress, the well-timed remark, and communicating with an arched brow. When the time comes, all you’ll need to do is point out who you need impressed or cut down to size, and I’ll take it from there.”

  “Well, then.” Grandma looked like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “We’re going to have some fun before you have to go back to school. But the first competition party will be tomorrow night, and you’ll be put through your paces, I assure you. We all will.”

  I smiled at her enthusiasm. Looked like I’d be resting up this afternoon and as much of tomorrow as I could, at least after I sneaked a workout in, plus whatever my grandparents had planned.

  Grandma stood up. “Ready for round two? You’re getting a precision haircut!”

  I fired off a quick text to Michael: My grandmother is crazy, fun but crazy xoxo

  THE LAST twenty-four hours had been madcap, but suave in their way. I didn’t know how else to define them. Grandma had been right. The previous night’s party—reception?—hadn’t been worth the effort of getting dressed up. We put in an appearance so people could fawn over Grandpa and put on the hard sell for more of his money. He’d deflect by introducing me, and then the three of us would move on, only to repeat the process again and again. I saw other people my age, sometimes with parents, sometimes with grandparents. We’d catch each other’s eyes, smile ironically, and then be whisked out of range by our elders. What could we do? We were there for purposes of distraction, and we knew it. That’s not to say someone else’s son and I weren’t playing at eye contact, however. We both knew nothing would come of it. Besides, I was spoken for and happily so.

  After we’d been there an hour and half, Grandpa looked at his watch. “I’m so sorry we can’t stay longer, but Jeremy only arrived this morning, and as you can see he’s all but asleep on his feet.”

  “I’m sorry, please excuse me—” I yawned for all I was worth. Some of it was even faked.

  Grandma tut-tutted. “Oh, Jeremy, why didn’t you say anything?”

  I looked sheepish. “I didn’t want to impose.”

  “I’m sure you understand,” Grandpa said to whomever he was speaking. I didn’t care if Grandpa offended anyone, but I was well past the point of boredom.

  That other guy shot me daggers as I caught his eye on the way out. I smirked and blew him a kiss. Suffer, buddy, suffer hard.

  I waited until we were in the elevator before I said anything. “How was that?”

  “Perfect, dear. Absolutely perfect.”

  But tonight’s entertainment? It more than made up for last night’s tedium. It started midafternoon when Grandpa brought us home from the Field Museum before 4:00 p.m.

  “Your grandmother needs time to apply the war paint, Jeremy,” he told me. Was it wrong to think it was one more reason I
was glad to be male and gay?

  “Howard, you did not say that.” If looks could kill….

  “I think he did, Grandma.” I was starting to get the hang of life in these parts.

  She rewarded me with a stern glare. “I see. Your time will come, young man. Time is a cruel master.”

  “Grandpa seems to be doing all right.”

  She threw up her hands. Good thing Grandpa was driving.

  After we returned to the condo, I fitted in a workout in the health club located elsewhere in the building. Grandpa called down to make sure a pass waited for me at the desk. Despite the ergs in the cardio room, I chose to run on a treadmill. I erged enough, and it looked like I’d be doing a whole lot more of it in the next six months. Yeah, I hemmed and hawed, but I knew what my choice would be. Like there could be any other decision? Sure, I’d have to run it by my physicians, and that niggling question of money hadn’t gone away, but in for a penny, in for a pound.

  Cardio and weights. Might as well get used to them.

  The gym’s membership wasn’t restricted to the residents of the condos on the floors above, and accordingly it drew its clientele from the surrounding upscale urban neighborhoods and offices. I ignored the people around me for a while, at least until I felt one too many pairs of eyes on me. At first I chalked it up to being the new guy in the room. People have their routines, after all, and get used to seeing the same people at the same time. Made perfect sense.

  Didn’t it?

  So why did people keep looking at me? It creeped me out.

  I wished Michael were here. He’d know whether or not there was more to it, because as he and a number of other people never ceased to remind me, I never noticed things that I couldn’t row. Seriously, I went to the gym to make boats move faster. That it made changes to my body was nothing more than a side effect that Michael appreciated and that made my tee shirts tighter. He liked my tee shirts tight.