Belonging

by Alexa Land

  “Take your time, I’m going to text Trevor and see how the birthday party went.”

  Zan was standing on the far side of the kitchen island with a glass of water when I came into the room. “I brought you something,” I said as I reached into the sack and grabbed its contents. He frowned at me as I held my hand over the kitchen island and dropped half a dozen little objects onto its surface. “Don’t throw them outside. I mean it.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” he exclaimed. “Why have you brought me Lilliputian oranges? What am I meant to do with them?”

  “They’re not oranges. They’re kumquats, and you’re meant to eat them.”

  He stared at me like I was completely insane. “Why?”

  “Because they’re delicious, because I don’t want you to die of scurvy, and because you need to try new things.”

  “This is your idea of getting me to try new things? Mutant micro-oranges?” Zan asked.

  “Yes. They’re small, cute and in no way intimidating.”

  He was still staring at me. “Why would anyone eat that? Because they wanted to pretend they were a giant? ‘Oh, look how big I am with these tiny oranges!’ Is that the idea?”

  Now it was my turn to stare. “No.”

  “So what’s the point, then? By the time you finish peeling the little blighter, you’re left with maybe half a teaspoon of fruit.”

  “Actually, you eat them peel and all.” His expression of utter disgust made me roll my eyes. “Oh, come on! You’re acting like I’m asking you to eat a bug.”

  “That’s probably next week’s exercise in trying something new.”

  I plucked one of the kumquats off the counter and said, “Watch. This is no big deal. You just remove the stem if it has one,” I did that, then headed to the sink, “and give it a quick rinse.” I did that, too, and dried my hand and the fruit on a towel before returning to my side of the kitchen island. “Then you just eat the damn thing!”

  When I popped the little fruit in my mouth and bit down, my eyes went wide. It was like biting into a lemon. Instantly, I teared up and my cheeks sucked in. I wanted to spit it out but I’d been trying to make a point, so I quickly chewed it up and swallowed it. I couldn’t quite stop myself from yelling, and it came out something like, “Arrrghfuckinghell!” But then, in the interest of trying to support my kumquat idea, I tacked on, “Refreshing!”

  Zan doubled over laughing, hanging on to the kitchen island to keep from falling over. I fought back a smile, put my hands on my hips, and waited him out. When he finally got it under control, he had to dry his eyes. He exclaimed, “Bloody hell, that was entertaining! My only regret is that I wasn’t able to get it on video. Now do you see why I refuse to eat the weird shite you bring me?”

  “They’re not usually that sour,” I told him.

  “Well maybe if they let those wee bastards grow bigger than a squirrel’s balls they’d have a chance to sweeten up a bit.”

  “Oh come on!” I grabbed a couple of the rounder kumquats off the counter and held them up, side by side. “Where the hell have you ever seen mutated squirrels hung like this? Did you vacation in Chernobyl as a kid?”

  His expression became grave. “Yes, actually. I was raised by a single mum and money was tight. You could get really good hotel prices in the Ukrainian countryside just outside the fallout zone in the years following the Chernobyl disaster.”

  “My God, are you serious?”

  This set him off on another laughing fit. “No, I’m not serious! My mum wasn’t daft. We’d vacation in Brighton for fuck’s sake, not the Soviet Union! You’re as gullible as a four-year-old girl.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and told him, “That’s sexist. A four-year-old girl would be no more or less gullible than a four-year-old boy.”

  “Fair point. I amend my previous statement. You’re as gullible as a four-year-old child of unspecified gender.”

  “You suck.”

  “Furthermore,” he added, “Chernobyl happened in 1986. I was twenty at the time. Were you picturing me at that age in a pair of short pants and a sailor hat, skipping along merrily with my mum on holiday while all around us, mutant giant-balled squirrels cavorted?” He was still chuckling.

  “I’m leaving.”

  As I turned and headed out of the kitchen he called, “Come back here and take your squirrel testicles with you!”

  “No.”

  “You can skip the freakish fruit next time,” Zan called after me. I ignored him and kept going. But as I headed down the long hallway, I was grinning.

  Chapter Five

  After I dropped Vincent off at his house, I texted Christian and Shea, who invited me over. When I arrived, Shea let me in and gave me a hug. Christian was propped up on the couch under a blanket. He looked pale and thin, but he was smiling. The brain surgery had necessitated shaving his head, and he’d kept it shaved during his follow-up chemo treatments since it probably would have fallen out anyway. He’d gotten in the habit of wearing a blue bandana tied around his head, and joked that all he needed was an eye patch and a parrot to complete the look.

  “Hey Christian,” I said as I bent to hug him. “You’re looking good.”

  “Liar. I look like a bald stick figure.”

  “Yeah, but a happy bald stick figure. How do you feel?” I asked as I settled into a chair.

  “Terrific. I finished my latest round of chemo on Friday. Just one more to go!”

  “These breaks in between the chemo sessions are so great. I’m planning to cook all of Christian’s favorite foods just as soon as his appetite comes back,” Shea said. He lifted his fiancé’s feet and sat on the couch, then began to massage them as he held them on his lap. He probably did that with no conscious thought. Shea’s love for Christian was a tangible thing, the way he cared for him completely second-nature.

  “We have some news,” Christian told me, picking up a piece of paper from the coffee table and handing it to me. It was a real estate flyer for an attractive midcentury modern home near the Castro. “We’re buying a house.”

  “Oh wow! Congratulations. I didn’t even know you were looking.”

  Christian said, “We’d been talking about getting a place that was both of ours for a long time and were going to start looking at properties when I was feeling a bit stronger. But yesterday we saw that house in some online real estate listings and it just clicked for both of us. We went and saw it and made an offer on the spot, which the owners accepted.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “It’s really nice on the inside and totally move-in ready. The current homeowners gutted it and opened up the floorplan, then put in lots of big windows and new hardwood floors.”

  “It sounds terrific,” I said.

  “It’s perfect for us. It’s even wheelchair accessible, since one of the current owners is in a chair. We don’t know that that’ll always be necessary, but right now it’s a good thing.” Christian had been in a wheelchair for several months, ever since the tumor had begun to affect his coordination. There was a chance he’d regain his mobility eventually, but for now the chair was a part of his life.

  “I’ll be happy to help you guys move,” I told them.

  “Thanks, we’ll take all the help we can get,” Shea said. “Our friend Chance and my roommates have volunteered to lend a hand, too.”

  “Oh right, your roommates. I almost forgot that you own a home with some friends.”

  “I do, but my friend Bas is in the process of buying out my share of that house. He broke up with his live-in girlfriend and needs to move,” Shea said. “Another nice thing is that this new place is only about a fifteen minute walk from the house I shared with my friends, so I don’t feel like I’m totally abandoning them.”

  “It sounds perfect all the way around,” I said.

  “It really is,” Christian agreed. “That’s why we jumped on it. It’s kind of impulsive to buy the first house we looked at, but it was just so right and we didn’t want anyone
buying it out from under us.”

  “Good call. That could happen so easily in this market.” I returned the flyer to the table and asked, “Did you tell your dad about this place?”

  “Yeah. We called him right after we looked at it and I sent him a bunch of photos. He’s excited for us,” Christian said.

  “He should be.”

  “Zan mentioned you were there doing yard work when we called. He says you have some big project going to make the property safe from wildfires. Thank you for doing that,” Christian said.

  “No problem.”

  “I want to pay you for all that extra work.”

  “No chance. You already pay me a ridiculously generous salary for an incredibly easy job. I’m not going to take more of your money,” I told him.

  “I insist. That’s way above and beyond your job description.”

  “No it isn’t. My job is basically to help out where needed, and that’s what I’m doing. If you want to, you can pay Vincent for his help, though. Although really, he loves this kind of thing. It’s fun for him.”

  “I’ll definitely pay him,” Christian said. “Please thank him for me, too.”

  “I will.”

  “How’s the rest of the job going?” Shea asked. “Is Zan warming up to you?”

  I frowned at that and leaned back in the upholstered chair. “Gradually, I guess. He warmed up to Vincent in about half a second today. I’m trying not to take that personally.”

  Christian said, “I really am sorry that he’s giving you a hard time.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “He just doesn’t like me. I did manage to goad him into a conversation the last couple times I’ve gone over there though, so that’s something.”

  That made both of them smile. “Yeah, the weird citrus fruit,” Shea said. “He told us.”

  “He probably thinks I’m nuts, but I don’t care. Not only do I really think he needs to try new things, I also think he needs me to rattle his cage a little. At the very least, it’s getting him to speak to me.”

  We visited for another twenty minutes before I told them I had to go and rose to my feet. I invited them both to Sunday dinner and told them, “Nana would love to see you and there’s always room for a couple more.”

  “Thanks, but we’ll have to take a raincheck,” Christian said. “My appetite always takes a few days to come back online after a round of chemo. Plus, I’ll be asleep by nine, my energy’s shot. Maybe next Sunday, though. I’ll probably be back to my old self by then.”

  *****

  “Please tell me you’re not souping that up so it’ll go faster.” I’d returned home to find the limo in the driveway with the hood up and Jessie partly stuffed inside the big engine compartment.

  He hopped out and looked up at me with a smile. He was dressed in red Converse, denim cut off shorts, and backwards-facing red baseball cap. The thing that really made the outfit though was a bright yellow t-shirt with a cartoon of a basketball and hoop that said: Work it around the rim before you sink it in. “I’m giving the Nanamobile a tune up. It might go faster by the time I’m done with it, but that’s not currently the goal.”

  “Not currently?” I repeated and his smile got wider.

  “I told you I’m not going to do anything to endanger Nana, but come on, seventy-five? That’s just weak.”

  I suppressed a sigh and started to head inside, but he called after me, “Oh hey, heads up when you open the front door.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see. Just be ready.”

  “That’s ominous.”

  “Oh wait, I have something that’ll help you.” With that he pulled a piece of fairly melted American cheese out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Be sure to take the wrapper off before you throw it.”

  “Why the hell would I be throwing American cheese?”

  “You’ll see.” He was smiling when he crawled back under the hood.

  I knit my brows at him, then went into the house and shut the door behind me. Nothing happened. What exactly was I supposed to be ready for?

  I found out about two seconds later. I’d made it across the foyer and was about to climb the stairs when something big and brown came barreling toward me from the back of the house. “Holy shit!” I exclaimed as the thing (a dog? A bear? A wookie?) jumped up on me, then tried to eat my shoes. I told it to stop, but the creature totally ignored that, wagging its tail wildly and grabbing my laces with its teeth.

  As I struggled to remain upright, I fumbled with the cellophane wrapper, which was, of course, stuck to the cheese (why would Jessie put it in his pocket?!) and finally managed to dislodge some and throw it onto my grandmother’s marble floor. The thing inhaled it like a vacuum and tried to go back to my sneakers. I scraped a little more cheese off with my fingernails and said, “Go get it, Chewbacca!” I threw it farther this time, and the creature went after it while I turned and bolted up the stairs. As I ran, I got the last of the cheese off the wrapper. The dog (probably) came bounding after me and really tried his damnedest to trip me in his quest to eat my footwear. Somehow, I made it to my bedroom door and threw the last of the cheese before diving inside and slamming the door shut behind me. The animal stood out in the hall whining as I pulled out my phone and called my grandmother.

  “Hi Johnnie, where are you?” Nana asked when she answered.

  “Upstairs. Do you know there’s a bear-wookie hybrid in the house?”

  “Do you mean Tom Selleck?”

  “Tom Selleck?”

  “The puppy! Isn’t he sweet?”

  “That thing’s a puppy? What kind?”

  Nana said, “The brown kind.”

  I fought back a sigh (I found myself doing that a lot around my family) and asked, “Whose is he?”

  “Mine. I adopted him this afternoon.”

  “My God, why?”

  “Why not?”

  I had to ask. “Why did you name him that?”

  “Because he looks like Tom Selleck.”

  “He really doesn’t.”

  “Sure he does,” Nana insisted. “Tom Selleck is a total fox, and the puppy is such a handsome boy!”

  “He is?”

  “Didn’t you notice?”

  “No. I was too busy trying not to fall flat on my face while he was eating my shoes. Do you really not know what kind of dog he is?” I asked.

  “He’s a mixed breed. Possibly part Saint Bernard, and then something to give him that long hair. We’re not entirely sure.” Nana swore and said, “I gotta go, my sauce is about to boil over.”

  “Do you need help cooking?”

  “Nah. Dante and sweet Charlie are helping me. You just keep playing with Tom Selleck.” With that, she hung up on me. I shook my head and went to pick the cheese out from under my fingernails.

  *****

  I ended up reading for a couple hours after I got cleaned up, emerging when I heard the doorbell. The house was completely still. Apparently the wookie was out somewhere with the rest of my family.

  Chance Matthews stood on the front stoop, looking a bit uncomfortable. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, tie, and dress pants, his normally shaggy dark brown hair neatly combed. “Hey, Gianni. Your grandmother invited me for Sunday dinner, but she hung up before telling me what time to be here. Am I early?”

  “Yeah, but that’s fine. We usually eat at seven.”

  “Oh! Shit, it’s only five-thirty. I’ll come back later.”

  “No, don’t go. Come on in and have a drink with me so we can catch up. I haven’t seen you since the cruise.” At Christmastime, Nana had gotten the whole family onto a Hawaiian cruise and ambushed Vincent and Trevor with a surprise wedding ceremony. Chance, who was a friend of Christian’s, had been the photographer and I’d gotten to know him a bit during that week at sea.

  “Well, if you’re sure I’m not interrupting.”

  “You’re not at all,” I said as I held the door open for him and he came into the foyer. “I was hiding in my r
oom because my grandmother adopted an incredibly rambunctious dog. I guess they took it for a walk or something, since it’s not attacking our feet right now.”

  I made us some cocktails and we carried them into the living room. As we settled onto the couch, Chance looked around and said, “This place is amazing. I knew Nana was well-off, but damn. This is the most beautiful home I’ve ever been in.”

  “It’s all very Nana,” I told him. The living room was decorated around a huge Persian rug, picking up its gold and deep red tones in the upholstered furniture and in the artwork. That tasteful foundation all went a bit askew, because the room was cluttered with family photos, random antiques and knickknacks that appealed to my grandmother.

  “I um...I heard your family is in the mafia and that’s how you made all this money.” He seemed embarrassed to bring it up. “That’s not really true, is it?”

  “It was true, for many generations. My father started to move the family away from the illegal end of things and my oldest brother Dante continued us on that path before stepping back and letting our cousin Jerry run things. All three of them have made a lot of smart investments and found ways to generate legitimate income for the family, so overall, we’re not really in that line of work anymore.”

  “Overall?”

  I took a sip of my drink and settled back against the couch. “With a history as long as ours, you can’t really throw your hands up one day, say ‘I’m done’ and then just walk away. The Dombrusos made plenty of enemies over the years. Because of that, there’s still a need to remain strong, if you know what I mean.” He made an effort to take that in stride, even though I knew how crazy it sounded.

  After we chatted for a few minutes, he glanced at me and said, “This is going to sound stupid, but would you let me photograph you? I’m taking a photography class at City College and I’m supposed to find a model and do a detailed study. If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re incredibly good-looking and I think it would be fun to do you.” When I chuckled at that, his blue eyes went wide and he exclaimed, “Oh shit! I just meant it’d be fun to make you the subject of the study.”