The Family You Choose

by Deborah Nam-Krane

  Alex went to the tailor for his final fitting. He could not escape this obligation, although he would rather have jumped off the end of the earth than gone. But since he had to go, he’d be sure to look as sharp as ever.

  The tailor had just taken his final measurements when Stephen walked in. He looked as if he’d been crying. He looked as if he’d been drinking—more so than usual. He slumped into a chair. "I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

  He could tell from Stephen’s monotone that Tatiana had spoken to him. He could also tell that Tatiana hadn’t used his name. He admired her a little bit. More about her personal dignity than lust for someone else. But he wished she’d said something, because now he had to do it.

  "Is everything alright?" Alex said as he took off his suit, holding his breath.

  Stephen looked up at the ceiling. "Just saying goodbye to a dream, I guess."

  "Which dream is that?"

  Stephen looked straight at Alex. "The one where I get to be the man I’m supposed to be. The one where I get to be brave. The one where I get to do the right thing."

  "I’m sorry." Alex genuinely meant it. "I’d like to see you be that man too."

  "Teach me, Alex," Stephen said, looking down at the floor. "You seem to do it. You do it well. You get what you want, you do what you have to, but you have a reason, most of the time at least, right? You don’t do the things you do because you’re a miserable, selfish bastard. You don’t do things because you like hurting people. You’re not cruel."

  "I...Steve, I just don’t have anything to lose. I didn’t have your father," Stephen scoffed, still looking at the ground. "I had to open all of my doors myself. And sometimes I had to push. Sometimes I had to pick the locks. I’m not proud of those moments, and believe it or not, sometimes that’s enough to make me question what I really wanted in the first place."

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "You love your wife. You love your son. I don’t think you should feel bad about not wanting anything as much as you don’t want to lose them."

  "They’re my life, Alex," Stephen said, tears coming into his eyes. "Annabelle...I know you don’t like her, but I’m not the husband she dreamed of. I’m hardly the husband her father would have picked out for her. And you know how discriminating she can be. But she has never, ever once told me that I wasn’t good enough for her. She’s never regretted that I was Michael’s father. I love my wife. She deserves whatever sacrifice I've made to spare what little I’ve given her."

  He had trouble swallowing. "She’s lucky. And Michael’s lucky to have you too."

  Stephen nodded slowly. "She’s my life, but he’s the whole world. That’s what a child deserves from his father." Before either of them could say anything else, the tailor called Stephen. He left Alex to gather what was left of his integrity and leave for home.

  ~~~

  The Boston AIDS Ball of 1990 was the biggest event Annabelle Hendrickson Abbot had ever been responsible for. She had had to work every connection she had, including her sister-in-law Lucy Bartolome Hendrickson, for the privilege of chairing and organizing the benefit. It had been worth it. Within an hour, everyone in the grand ballroom was buzzing that it was the best party Boston had had in over a decade.

  Stephen too seemed to have put aside the damp, sour mood he’d had for the last few weeks. He was always good in a crowd—sometimes too much so—but tonight he seemed genuinely happy. He danced with her, and he looked at her the way he did when they’d been dating years before: before Michael, before the marriage, before Alex’s intrusion into her life. Tonight they were happy, and she was going to make sure they stayed happy.

  Suddenly, Stephen stopped dancing and his face turned white. She turned in the direction he was staring in. There was Alex. She sighed. Aristocratizing bastard. He was with his newest conquest, although Annabelle had to admit, she was much more attractive and much more in place at this benefit than many of Alex’s other companions.

  Stephen moved toward them as if he were about to say something. Annabelle followed. "Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Abbot? Can I get a picture?"

  "It’s the photographer from Boston Magazine," Annabelle whispered, and Stephen put his arm around her while the photographer snapped his picture. Beneath her smile, Annabelle noticed that he was looking at Alex kissing his companion’s forehead.

  As soon as the photographer moved, Stephen stormed over to Alex and his friend. "What the Hell are you two doing?" Annabelle was shocked. She’d never seen Stephen so angry, and she’d never seen him lose control like that in public. Not a good night to break that habit.

  Annabelle plastered a smile on her face as she turned to the crowd, and then turned to her husband. "Dear, maybe you and Alex can have this conversation in one of the smaller rooms?"

  Stephen, seething, looked at his wife as if he didn’t see her. She raised her eyebrows. "Please?" she asked calmly. He took a deep breath, nodded. "This way, please." Alex left with Stephen, and Alex’s companion smiled at Annabelle. It was such a strange look, as if she’d been waiting for the chance to speak to her.

  "I don’t think we’ve been introduced," Annabelle said graciously, holding out her hand. "I’m Annabelle Abbot."

  "Oh, I know, pleased to meet you." The pretty woman shook Annabelle’s hand. She seemed very charming. "I’m Tatiana Hamilton. You did a wonderful job tonight."

  "Why, thank you. I must say, I’m glad Alex picked tonight to finally show some good taste in a date. I hope we’ll see you more often."

  Tatiana beamed. "Yes, I hope so too."

  ~~~

  Stephen had kicked the staff out of one of the coat check rooms. He grabbed Alex by the tuxedo lapels their tailor had worked so hard on this week. "What do you think you are doing?" Alex smelled Stephen’s breath. He was sober.

  "What did you think was going to happen?" Alex said. "Did you think you could throw her away and then expect that no one else would…"

  "Throw her away? And no one else…" Stephen searched Alex’s face as if he were looking for something. "Are you everyone else now?" He threw Alex off. "How dare you?"

  Alex adjusted his jacket. "Let’s back up, shall we? Where do you get off being so indignant after what you did to your wife?"

  "Since when are you in Annabelle’s cheering section?"

  "That’s irrelevant to the fact that you were screwing around on her."

  "And what do you call what you’re doing to me?"

  "You don’t have any claim on her anymore, do you? It’s over, isn’t it? One of you had to make a choice. She chose me, you didn’t choose her. It doesn’t really matter which order that came in, but that’s where we are now."

  Stephen nodded his head slowly again, holding Alex with his eyes. "How long has this been going on?" he said at last. "How long has she been choosing you over me?"

  "What difference does it make?" Alex said with some pain. "I never would have had the chance if you’d been a man and done the right thing."

  "You have no idea what you’re doing. I’m sorry, I thought hands off was understood. And I thought you—you of all people!—owed me that. I never worried once."

  "Do you want her? Hmm? If you do, why don’t you march in there right now and tell her right now? Why don’t you tell your wife too? Why don’t you tell everyone in the room about the two of you? I think she’s in love with me, I really do. But I think that grand gesture on your part might just be enough to tip the scales back to you. Don’t you think?"

  Stephen didn’t say anything, but his hands shook. "If only everything were that simple," he hissed. "Too bad we can’t all see other people like just that many things. You’ll go far like that, Sheldon. But just make sure you always look over your shoulder in case you didn’t mow someone over completely."

  Alex was about to reply when someone coughed. They both turned to see Jim Hendrickson, tall and slim, his hairline just beginning to recede, standing in the doorway. "I’m sorry to interrupt, but Anna’s asked me to fetch the two of
you."

  "I’ll be out in a minute," Stephen said. "But Alex was just leaving."

  Jim nodded. "I’ll just tell Anna you’ll be another minute."

  Stephen grabbed Alex by the lapels again as soon as Jim was out of earshot. "Do not interfere in my life again, Alex. Stay away from me, stay away from my wife, and stay away from my son. Whatever happens now, don’t let it touch us, or you’re going to regret it." He threw Alex down, and went back into the hall. As he entered, Tatiana exited. He held her eyes and shook his head just as Alex had seen him do the first day he’d met Tatiana. But now she stood very straight, turned away and walked to Alex. Stephen glared at them for a moment before he went back to his wife.

  CHAPTER 32

  Miranda checked into the hotel in New York City at ten on Saturday morning. It was a smaller room than she was used to, but she didn’t have any company this time. She changed into her black skirt and black boots and dropped her stuff off. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t be alone.

  She took a cab to the Met and went to the room with the Greek sculptures. She loved this room. It was a testament to logic, to one culture’s belief in the beauty of harmony and order. It wasn’t as frighteningly magnificent as the Egyptian statues, which spoke more of gods and power. The Greek room reminded her of the perfectibility of people. Such beauty and order...but weren't they the ones who had locked the women up when visitors came and made a big deal about democracy while keeping slaves? She sighed. Where was perfection?

  She left the museum at two. It wasn’t dark enough yet. Kill a few more hours; then she could hit her usual circuit. She wandered into the big stores, looking for something to buy. The only things she still considered hers were what she’d left at Zainab’s. She knew she should have more things, but she didn’t want anything right now. Still, she forced herself to try on a few items, if only to kill some time.

  Four hours and two small shopping bags later, she walked back to the hotel and dropped her stuff off. She put on some makeup and left her room. Okay, now she could do it. She took a deep breath and walked out of the lobby past the guests sitting on the chairs and reading the paper…and back to the rest of her life.

  ~~~

  She got to the club at seven-thirty. At first, she wanted to run out when she got in. She’d never gone by herself. But it was Eighties night. Perfect. She ordered a drink. A nice looking blonde guy came over and asked if she wanted to dance, and once again she felt like herself.

  She danced to She Blinded Me with Science with the first guy, then a second guy for Glamorous Life. She’d started dancing to Let’s Dance with a third guy when she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Can I cut in?"

  She stopped dancing. She stopped breathing. Why should she be surprised?

  She got brave. "Sure, lover." She turned around. She felt like he was trying to pierce her with his eyes. She smiled. She clasped her hands behind her head and moved her hips and shoulders to the music. He didn’t move. "You know, this doesn’t work if you don’t dance too."

  "I want to talk."

  "Sorry, no talking allowed." She turned back around and started dancing with Guy Number Three again.

  He was still behind her. "I want to talk."

  "No. Get out of here now."

  "Sorry, I can’t hear you. The music’s really loud."

  "If I have to turn around again, I’m going to punch you in the face."

  "Hey, we’re trying to dance here," said an annoyed patron next to Michael. Seething but still not turning around, Miranda got off the dance floor and heard Michael follow her.

  She ordered a White Russian, knocked it back, and turned around to face him. His mouth was smirking, but his eyes were searching her. She didn’t care anymore.

  "You were pretty hot out there," he said. He looked at her like he owned her, and she wanted to slap that look off his face.

  "How long were you watching me?"

  "Long enough to see you go through three guys. Trying to prove something?"

  "Just trying to have a good time like a normal person. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. But you’re kind of cramping my style now, so move along."

  "What if that’s what I’m here for too?" He moved closer, and she trembled in spite of herself.

  "This isn’t a hookup spot. People are just here to dance, by and large. So if you’re here for some action, better look elsewhere."

  "Great, what did you have in mind?"

  She shivered. "Nothing at all—at least not with you. See if you can find someone with some ideas, but I’m going to dance now."

  He put his hand on her arm before she could walk away. "I didn’t sleep at all last night."

  "Yeah, you looked like you might have something to stay up for."

  "I didn’t. I made a mistake. I want to talk."

  "And I made a mistake too," she said in a sing-song tone, walking her fingers up his chest and then up to the tip of his nose. "Last Friday. Well, maybe not that. So then last Saturday, and then the next six days. But I’m done now. We’re done."

  He didn’t take his eyes off of her. "I did it on purpose."

  "That is so romantic, so sexy, I cannot even tell you. Almost as hot as it is that you followed me all the way here from Boston." She got right up in his face. She felt his heart beat. She knew he could probably feel hers, and that he probably knew that she was scared. "Go away," she forced herself to say. "You got what you wanted—me, and humiliating me. You win. You won. But you just can’t do any more harm."

  Before Michael could say anything, Housequake started playing, and she smiled. She turned and ordered a scotch, moving to the music, then shoved it in Michael’s face. "Now if you’ll excuse me, this is pretty much the best dance song ever, and I’m going to dance. And no, I won’t dance with you because as I recall you’re a pretty lousy dancer."

  "I’ve spent a lot of time in clubs."

  "Too bad you didn’t know what they were for, but that’s not a surprise."

  She skipped away. Just go away, she thought. Please go.

  ~~~

  By the time he’d put his drink down, she was dancing with Guy Number Two again. He watched her for a moment, her back to him as she shook, gyrated and waved her arms in the air. She turned a little bit and he could see that she was smiling at someone else. He didn’t care who else was there. He followed her and pulled her away.

  "Get off!" she said but she wouldn’t face him.

  "Is this guy giving you any trouble?" Guy Number Two asked.

  "Why don’t you stay out of this?" Michael said in his familiar, menacing tone. Miranda used the distraction to wriggle away from him. Before Michael could follow her, Number Two grabbed him by the shirt. Michael pushed him. The reply sent him into the lap of someone at the bar.

  Before he could get up, Miranda ran upstairs to the coat check. He was right behind her. She was breathless by the time she got to the door. "What kind of a place has this turned into?" Michael heard her say as soon as he was in earshot. She was pointing to him. "This guy would not leave me alone, and then he starts a fight with someone else and practically throws himself at some other girl at the bar. You know, I really thought this was one of the safer places in the city, but I’m going to have to tell my friends to go somewhere else."

  The big guy at the door turned to Michael. "Sir, is there a problem?" Before he could answer, Miranda bolted out the door and ran to the first cab.

  ~~~

  Miranda had made the cab driver drive around for twenty minutes and then drop her off a block away from where she wanted to go. Her hands had stopped shaking by the time she arrived. Still, her heart was beating so fast she could barely walk. A drink and some company might be just the thing she needed to calm down.

  A cute business-type with really short hair was sitting by himself when she got to the counter. "Is this seat taken?" she asked with a smile.

  He looked her up and down and smiled back. "No, please. Help yourself. Can I buy you a drink?"

  "I�
�ve had two White Russians so far. What do you recommend?"

  "How about another?"

  "Is that a good idea?"

  "It’s the weekend. Rules are a little different."

  "And of course you’ll be a gentleman if I need one?"

  "Gentlemen are a little different on the weekend too."

  "Don’t I know it."

  He ordered the White Russian and she sipped it. She was hungry, and she was feeling the drinks more than she usually would have. "So do you have a name?" he asked.

  She looked up from her drink and shook her head. "Not tonight."

  "Fair enough." He leaned in and put his hand on her thigh. He wasn’t as handsome up close. "So what’s say you finish that drink and we find somewhere a little more private?"

  Miranda was about to answer when she heard Michael right behind her. "Take your hand off of her before I break it. She’s not going anywhere with you."

  The man laughed. "And who are you? The big brother?"

  Miranda still couldn’t look at Michael. "Yeah, close enough. Thanks for the drink, sorry for the rest." It wasn’t worth prolonging the ordeal in another place she used to like. She jumped off the seat and ran to the ladies room. She turned all three faucets on. She had just heard Michael outside the door when she stood up on the toilet seat and pried the window open. She jumped out when she heard Michael curse from the open window. She ran through the alleyway away from the club entrance. When she got to the street he wasn’t there yet. She stopped for a moment to take a breath before she ran across to the next street. Where to, where to? She should just get into a cab and have it drive her around. Christ, take her to New Jersey if that was what it took.

  She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She turned around. He was staring at her from across the street.

  She ran. He was on her block, and the cross light was against her. She took a left, it was more crowded. She made it to the end of that block, trying to hide with the other people trying to cross. She couldn’t see him. She thought he was gone. But then she felt him grab her arm and pull her off the crosswalk.