In the Raw

by Eileen Griffin

  I sighed and kept walking, keeping my eyes trained to the floor to watch out for glass. “Do what you need to do, Dad.”

  I’d sacrificed too much being in the closet. If it meant scraping by, finding a job and a new place to live, even looking into financial aid? So be it. But right now I needed to find Ethan.

  I pulled on a shirt and stuffed my feet in my shoes. A quick glance at my phone showed two hours before our pastry class. If I could somehow get to Ethan before class started, maybe I could get him to understand. When I came back into the living room, my parents’ voices were hushed.

  I paused at the apartment door. “I’m sorry you’re not happy with the son you have, but this is who I am. If that means being cut off from everything, I’ll simply have to accept it since I refuse to change who I am for you. Let me know when I need to begin looking for another place.”

  I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, slamming it shut behind me. My mother’s voice trailed after me. “James. Wait!”

  * * *

  I leaned against the wall beside his door and called his cell phone again. After it went to voice mail, I called their home phone. I could hear it ringing through the door and held my breath as I counted the number of rings until I finally hung up without leaving a message. Getting the hint after none of my texts were answered, I headed back to my car. It was blind hope to think Ethan would want to talk to me after I had shunned him in front of my parents. But after his continued silence, I knew I had screwed up whatever we had between us before we even had a chance.

  Maybe I was a coward, but by the time I made it to my car, I knew there was no way I could deal with seeing him in class. If his refusal to even answer my texts was any indication of the way the way things stood, I had no desire to spend an hour in the same room with the one person who had every right to be angry at me.

  I drove around aimlessly until I found myself sitting in my car in front of a small coffee shop in Ballard of all places. I didn’t have any recollection of the drive or how I got there, I just shut off the ignition and stared out the windshield, watching the ever-present rain bead on the car’s hood.

  Lost.

  In more ways than one, I didn’t even know where to go. What to do. Where to begin. Since my family had pretty much dismissed my life and all my choices, I didn’t know where to go. Ethan had left with disgust at my inability to stand up for myself, and I had no money that wasn’t controlled by my parents and I most likely needed to find a new place to live. I didn’t even have anyone I considered a friend besides Claire and, until today, Ethan.

  Pathetic.

  I got out and walked around the area, looking for any signs in the surrounding restaurant windows. If anyone needed a line cook I’d have happily applied. But without much real-life experience the only positions I was qualified for were dishwasher, busser and server. This far from the condo the gas money I spent to make it here would be almost more than I made for the few hours I worked. No one wanted me, though, since my lack of experience hurt and as I didn’t have my diploma yet I couldn’t even fall back on it. My whole life I’d relied on my family, my parents and my name. Without the money and influence what did I have left?

  Two hours later I walked into the lobby of the building that housed my parents’ condo, soaked through from the rain. I stood in the elevator, head leaned against the wall as I watched the numbers count up.

  At the door of the condo, I hesitated, keys outstretched. For all I knew they’d changed the locks while I’d been out having my major existential crisis.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, shoving the key at the lock, surprised when it actually fit and the knob turned easily. The door swung open and I switched the lights on. Empty.

  Everything was spotless, the glass gone from the floor, the towel I’d left on the bathroom floor picked up and the sickly-sweet lemon scent of cleaner filled the apartment. I wonder if they’d told the cleaning lady to scrub the gay out of everything.

  When I flopped on the neatly made bed, I closed my eyes, inhaling the usually welcome fresh smell of dryer sheets on the comforter. Even the sheets had been changed. There wasn’t a trace of Ethan or that he’d spent last night in my bed. It was as if nothing had happened. We’d never happened. Nothing.

  If my parents made good on their threats, soon I’d have to find a new place and a new car. Being free cost more than I’d ever imagined.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jamie

  I spent the rest of the week in an exhausted haze. Even though I dreaded seeing Ethan in my classes, I couldn’t afford to miss any more class. Every hour spent in school was one more mark in my favor I could put on a job application.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about going to pastry class. It had been easy to avoid Ethan in our communications class since I always sat in the front, which he avoided like the plague. On Thursday, I had gotten to class early to avoid even the slightest chance we would accidentally run into each other. In the end, I shouldn’t have bothered.

  Halfway through class, though, I found myself craning my neck to spot him in the back row anyway. He arrived as Professor Flannigan began lecturing. I wasn’t sure what I expected. Even though he looked tired and ragged, Ethan’s face was completely devoid of any emotion. He refused to meet my eyes, instead focusing either on Flannigan’s screen or his notebook. I was a nonentity. Nothing. Dismissed. I’d apparently joined Summer on his long list of one-night stands.

  With about twenty minutes left in class, Flannigan announced we were free to work with our partners on our project or leave class to gather more research on our own. Ethan chose the second option.

  As I followed him out the classroom door, my breath caught when I saw Ethan grab Reed by the shirt and push him up against the wall in the empty hallway. I couldn’t hear what Ethan was snarling in Reed’s ear, but if the pale, terrified look on Reed’s face indicated anything, it probably wasn’t a discussion about how their projects were going.

  When Ethan released him, Jackson headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, Martin. I have better things to do with my time than follow you and Lassiter around all day waiting for your next hookup.”

  Ethan swore low under his breath and froze when he realized I was standing in the hallway. His face was unreadable, eyes dark as without another word he shoved open the door and left.

  Why would Ethan care? Why bother with Reed? I headed to my car, unsure of everything at the moment.

  After a sleepless night, I went to Chef Boulanger’s office before pastry class on Friday. I couldn’t skip another class, but I also couldn’t handle working with a partner who wouldn’t even talk to me.

  I poked my head into his office to see him bent over a well-worn book on his desk. “Chef? Can I speak to you for a moment?”

  He smiled when he looked up and placed a bookmark in the book before waving me over to one of the chairs near his desk. “Monsieur Lassiter, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. Mademoiselle Martin was under the impression you were not feeling well. There seems to be something going around, non?”

  Claire had covered for me. I’m not sure why it surprised me, but it did. The feeling of envy I’d felt at their apartment of wanting a sibling to talk with came surging back. It made me wonder if Ethan had told her about the scene with my parents and whether she, too, thought I was spineless. Regardless, she had cared enough to cover for me with Chef B. Somehow that made me feel even crappier.

  “That’s what I was coming to speak to you about.” I took a deep breath in to steady the churning in my stomach. “I’m still not feeling one hundred percent, but I didn’t want to miss any more class. Would it be okay for me to go it alone today? Without a partner?” I paused and stammered. “I don’t want to get anyone else sick.”

  Chef Boulanger leaned back in his chai
r and looked at me for at least a full minute before speaking. “Today you can work alone, but I’ll expect you to be better and back with your assigned partner next week. Oui?”

  I sighed in relief and turned to go. “Thanks, Chef. I’m sure I’ll be better on Monday.”

  “I’m sure you will. It seems Monsieur Martin has caught whatever is going around, as he looked very unwell on Wednesday. I have every hope he will be feeling better next week, as well.”

  My breath caught at the mention of Ethan looking sick in Wednesday’s class. Why should I care when he couldn’t even talk to me? Instead of replying, I just nodded, not trusting my voice.

  “I’ll see you in class, Monsieur Lassiter. Sans partner.” I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but his smile lacked its usual warmth. I forced a smile onto my face and fled his office.

  To say the next two hours were brutal would be an understatement. Chef Boulanger entered class after I did and pulled Claire aside to inform her she’d be working with her brother for the day’s lesson. Claire nodded and threw a sympathetic glance my way, but stuck close to her brother during the entire lesson. Too distracted and off my game to be fully vested in making the chocolate éclairs we’d been assigned, I had not only managed to mangle the dough for my éclairs until they were barely recognizable, but I’d also burned the simple chocolate glaze.

  By the end of class, I was drained. All I wanted was to put away the last of my equipment and head back to the condo. I overheard Claire’s voice behind me as I was gathering the last of my things. “For Christ’s sake, E. Say something. Anything.”

  The only answer she received was the loud clang of a stainless-steel bowl slamming down on the counter. I turned in time to see Ethan’s back as he left the classroom in an angry huff. A moment later I felt a soft pat on my shoulder as Claire slipped past me. “Feel better, Jamie.” She turned and smiled sadly at me before leaving the classroom to follow her brother.

  I gathered my things and slowly made my way across campus to my car. My parents had given me a choice. Now I was paying the price. The second round of the scholarship competition was in a week and I needed to get myself together if I wanted a shot at being able to stay in school after this semester was over.

  By the time I reached the condo, I had convinced myself I could actually do it all. When I tossed my keys on my island, I spied a legal-size envelope resting all by itself on my counter. With a sense of impending dread, I opened the envelope and dumped the contents in front of me.

  I lifted the top letter from my parents’ lawyer and scanned it. When I read the lines “temporary restraint of James Lassiter’s trust fund” and “until such time he can illustrate better judgment and decision making in order to better represent the Lassiter name and brand,” I crumpled the paper into a ball. Then I saw the letter underneath the one from the lawyer. In my mother’s elegant handwriting was the following short and simple note:

  James,

  Your father and I would like to put the unfortunate events at your condo behind us and move forward. We understand you’ve been under a great deal of stress at school, as well as the influence of unsavory individuals who do not have your best interest at heart. Once you’ve entered your father’s company and are surrounded by people who share our family values and ideals, we have no doubt your priorities will realign and you’ll once again be the son we’ve always been proud of. We expect to see you at our regular family dinner in two weeks’ time.

  ~Mrs. Rosalind Lassiter

  I stared at the letter in disgust. I wasn’t allowed to make my own decisions. I wasn’t going to be allowed to finish school, let alone be a chef, and I certainly wasn’t going to be allowed to be gay. All they cared about was image and money.

  I shoved my mom’s letter aside and picked up the packet from the lawyer to see what their conditions were. After a quick scan of the three-page document, I saw my parents had basically threatened to cut me off from everything if I didn’t choose them and their life. They would freeze all my accounts and instead give me a small account to tide me over until I could get on my feet. But the condo, trust fund, tuition, all of it would be taken away. I’d be completely cut off from them, their money, and the only way of life I’d ever known.

  Sad laughter bubbled up. I couldn’t count the number of times I had wanted something, anything, for myself and had had to choose a different path because, “That’s what being a Lassiter is all about, James.”

  I scrubbed my hand down my face as soon as my laughter faded. I was scared shitless about what the future held, but now it was tinged with relief. I’d had my pity party, wallowed in misery, but now I needed to get myself together and get on with my life. A lot worse could have happened, and I was lucky I was just being cut off. Now all I needed to do was find a job and win the scholarship in order to stay in school and follow my dream. I’d make Ethan talk to me one way or another, but if he still wouldn’t listen? I wouldn’t let him or anyone else stop me from realizing my dream. For the first time in my life I was free.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ethan

  After another restless night where I woke frequently from dreams of blue eyes, sweat-soaked skin and angry words, I was exhausted and on edge. Even asleep, I couldn’t get away from Lassiter.

  “Good morning, competitors.” Boulanger looked at the small group of us standing in front of him. “The five of you have demonstrated your advanced proficiency in the culinary round. Today you will demonstrate your skill and mastery of the art of pastry. Joining me again today are our esteemed judges, Chef Shultz and restaurateur Calvin Sharpe.

  The three classic recipes you will be preparing for us include apple tarte tatin, chocolate soufflé and, my personal favorite, chocolate éclair. You will have ninety minutes to craft your dessert selections. Commence.”

  Fuck. Me. Running. Éclairs? Goddammit.

  The five of us scrambled for our stations, tied on our aprons and got down to business. I glanced over at Lassiter. He looked like shit. Instead of his usual pressed and polished look, his hair was messy and he sported blond scruff. His usual mellow expression was gone and he looked pale and exhausted.

  What the hell had happened?

  And why did I care? I tried to tell myself he was just like everyone else I didn’t want or need. But I was wrong. Even when I was pissed at myself for giving a shit, I still watched him slowly and painfully unravel while Claire poked and prodded at me to talk to him.

  He’d made me believe in the possibility of something more, and then he’d stood in front of his parents and looked so damn ashamed of me and what we had. Why would I want to talk to him? All the contrite apologies in the world couldn’t make this shit less painful. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him get under my skin again, make me vulnerable and walk away when he tired of me and went back to his own kind.

  “Monsieur Martin? If you are planning on presenting us with your dessert plate...”

  I glanced up at the clock and cursed colorfully as Boulanger chuckled in response.

  “Oui, Monsieur Martin. Commence baking first, no?”

  Shit.

  Baking three classic desserts in ninety minutes was all about time management and I needed to get my ass in gear. In theory the three recipes weren’t difficult. But I had to finesse them just right or Boulanger would have my head on a pike.

  I quickly and efficiently knocked out the choux dough for the éclairs in a pot on the stove and piped them onto a Silpat-covered baking sheet, then slid it into the oven. But when I reread my directions, I realized I was supposed to let them sit and allow the dough to set before I baked it. I yanked the sheet from the oven and dumped the dough. This time I made sure to read the whole damn thing before I got ahead of myself.

  Breathe, Martin. Lassiter’s words popped into my head. Slow down. Focus on the important shit. I could do this.
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  Next I whipped together the vanilla cream filling and jogged over to the blast chiller, hoping the mixture would cool quickly. I’d make the glaze while the pastry was cooling later.

  Next, I made the dough, stuck it in the blast chiller, too, and quickly peeled and cut the apples for the tarte tatin. I chanced another look up at the clock and over at Lassiter, whose head was down and focused on his task. Loud swearing at the station next to me as Jake Silva pulled his éclairs out of a smoking oven and tossed his baking sheet in the sink caught everyone’s attention. He was screwed and he knew it. Hell, we all knew it. Now he had to remake them along with finishing the other dishes.

  I quickly cooked the apples and added the rest of the ingredients in a pot on the stove. If I played my cards right the apples would be properly cooked, the sugar caramelized and, once baked, perfectly presented in a delicate flaky crust. Piece of fucking tart.

  I stopped to wipe my sweaty forehead on a towel and tossed it at the laundry bin, movement catching my eye as I watched Lassiter curse and yank his hand back from a hot pan. He quickly walked over to the sink and ran water over his fingers. When he caught me watching him, this time the blank mask was gone and I could see the panic on his face until he hid it quickly. He turned and went back to his station and I swore under my breath wishing he’d at least stop long enough to slap some burn ointment and a bandage on. It’d be difficult to make the desserts with a burned and bandaged hand but he needed to take care of himself. I tried to focus. I should have been pleased. After all, if Jamie dropped out it meant one less person standing between the scholarship and me. But if he couldn’t work he couldn’t finish this round of the competition. Then where would he be?

  The smell of burning apples and sugar hit my nose and I cursed, pulling the pot off the stove. Letting myself get distracted was not helping. Lassiter could take care of himself, right? I needed to get my shit together and do this. I cut more apples and started my tarte filling again.