by Anna Zabo
She nodded and set the tray down next to the photos and retreated to her chair.
Silence. Eli took one of the mugs and sipped, the warmth of the brew easing the pain in both his throat and chest. He studied his parents, their long, worried faces. He shared his father’s eye and hair color—though his father now sported more white than black. His features, though, he found mirrored in his mother. Hers were softer, but the same length and angles looked back. He was a product of these two, but also of himself and of time.
“I am not the man you wanted me to be. I will never be that man.” Eli paused. “And I’m not sorry for it.”
They both shifted, looked at each other, and back at him. Fingers gripped mugs tighter.
“None of it was the fault of the accident. If that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be who I am now, but I don’t think I’d be all that different. Not in the ways you hate me for.”
His mother exhaled. “We don’t hate you, Eli.”
Hearing his name from her felt like being stabbed with many, many needles. He tried not to flinch. “No,” he said, the words like pebbles in his mouth. “You hate what I’ve become. You want this boy.” He touched the photo of the two-year-old. “Or who you hoped he’d become, back when he was young and innocent.” He touched another picture, him at his bar mitzvah. “Or maybe this one, set to become a pillar of the community.”
“Can you blame us?” His mother looked into her mug.
“I can. I have.” Completely. Utterly. “Because you hate me for every unreasonable expectation you ever had.”
Both of them started. His father made to rise.
“Don’t,” Eli said. “Hear me out this one time. You’ll never know if you’re justified in believing I’m the wretched and ungrateful son who does not honor his parents if you throw me out now.”
An odd look from his father, but he settled into his chair. His mother’s hands shook.
“I’m gay. I’ve always been gay. I’m going to be gay for the rest of my life.” They surely knew this, but it still felt good to say it out loud.
His father worked his jaw, but remained silent. His mother set down her mug and folded her hands into her lap. “That boy Noah—”
“Noah had nothing to do with it!” He nearly slammed the mug onto the table. The sudden welling of anger shook him. He set the cup down gently and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Noah didn’t turn me gay.” Hell, Noah might have been bisexual. He’d mentioned girls a few of the times they’d fooled around in some of the more secluded parts of Frick Park. No way to know now.
“He took advantage of you.”
“Oh, Mom.” So, so not the case. “If anything, it was the other way around.”
His father rose at that. “We don’t need to hear about your . . . exploits.”
Exploits. He mouthed the word. Ladino again. Understanding came so easily. Speaking less so. So in English, then. “Not exploits. I’m being forthright.” He tapped the fourteen-year-old version of himself. “You should have figured that out when dealing with this one.”
His mother stared at the photo and her shoulders dropped. “You did have a way of asking for what you wanted.” She turned to his father. “Do you remember, Jaco? When he talked you into that video game thing?”
His father grunted. “I remember a twisted logical argument about hand-eye coordination and how gamers were better at math and if I wanted you to get into Carnegie Mellon, you absolutely needed a PlayStation.”
Eli’s face warmed. “I did get into CMU. Twice.”
“Twice?” That from his father.
They didn’t know about the second time. Why would they? “After I graduated with my BS in business admin, I went back for my MBA. Graduated with honors that time, too.”
“That’s . . . good, Eli.”
He shrugged. “I wanted it. I got it. I’ve never been afraid of hard work. It’s the easy stuff that bores me.”
Another nod from his father. “You’ve done well?”
“Reasonably. I’ve lost a few positions over my . . .” How should he phrase it? “My insistence on the proper way to manage things. But I’m a chief financial officer now, and that’s the perfect place for such a quirk.”
“You’re an executive?” His father sat up and even looked a bit proud. “At thirty-four?”
“I signed on last year. A small consulting firm, but Sam is well known in the industry. We’re growing.”
“Such a coup.”
“Yes, it is.” He picked up his mug and finished the tea. “Not bad for your sexually deviant monster of a son.”
They both recoiled. His mother looked mortified.
“I’ve heard the things you’ve muttered. I’m still involved enough with the community that I eventually hear your complaints.” Back to Noah again. “He didn’t abuse me, and he certainly didn’t rape me. I asked him for sex.”
“You were fifteen!”
“I was five days shy of sixteen! He’d just turned eighteen. Hell, he was born late enough at night he was probably still seventeen when I fu—”
They’d both gone crimson. Eli sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Yes, your son has a sex life. Even if I were straight, I’d still have one.”
“You don’t need to share it.” His father spoke through a clenched jaw.
“In this case, I do. You sued Noah’s parents. He was barely in the ground when you—” His throat tightened again. The sharp pain, the ringing in his ears. I will not flash back now. Not here. He waited a few seconds until his heart rate slowed, until his vision wasn’t hazy. “Why did you do it? I can’t change the past. I’ve had to live with what you did for more than half my life. But I want to know why you put Noah’s blood on my hands.”
Both his parents shrank back, both stared at him, his mother covering her mouth with her hand.
Had they only now realized what they’d done?
“I loved him,” Eli said. “As much as I could at that age. Then you made me the instrument of his parents’ punishment for a crime they didn’t commit, that he didn’t commit. I’ve been the one paying for it since. All because I trusted you. Trusted Rebbe Coen.”
“We . . . thought we were doing the right thing. Protecting you.”
He wanted to scream, From what? but swallowed the words, kept his voice neutral. “That wasn’t the result. At all.”
“We never intended to hurt you. We just wanted you to have a normal life.”
“You wanted me to be straight. To turn back into the studious, religious boy I’d been before every adult I had ever trusted, ever loved, betrayed me.” He shook his head.
“We didn’t . . .”
“Yes, yes, you did. I may have been hopped up on painkillers, but I remember what you said.” Such an ungrateful son. How could you do this to us? We didn’t raise you to be an animal. At least now they had the wherewithal to look chagrined.
“I don’t expect you to accept me or love me.” That hope died years ago. “But I want this”—he gestured between them—“to stop. The snide remarks. The chatter. All of it.” He held their gazes, each in turn. “You’re adults. Act like it.”
He had expected his father to rise, to order him out of the house, but that didn’t happen. Tears fell from his mother’s eyes. “We do love you, Eli.”
The despair that lurked deep, the anger and the pain surged out of his heart and tangled his head in razor wire. “If that’s true,” he said through a throat that burned, “you’ve had an exceedingly horrible way of showing it for the last eighteen years.”
“What do you want us to do?” His father’s voice carried the same layer of anger and pain.
“Leave me alone.” Eli reached for his cane and stood. “Or actually love me. One or the other.”
They both rose as well. Shakily, slowly, but they stood. “Do you even care which?” His father’s anger had deepened, brought out his accent more.
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.” He walked to the hallway and pulled h
is coat out of the closet. “The question is, do either of you? You know how to find me.” He donned his coat, scarf, and gloves and opened the front door. “Thanks for the tea, Mom.”
“Eli—”
He walked out into the night and pulled the door closed behind him. Time to go home.
* * *
The front door opening startled Justin and he flinched, sending a tablet and a pen crashing to the floor next to the couch. Lavi opened an eye and flicked his tail over on the far end of the sectional.
In the front hall, Eli unwound his scarf and chuckled. “Did you fall asleep?”
He must have, given that his book was resting, spine up, on his chest. Jesus. He knew better than to study while lying down. “What time is it?”
Eli hung his coat up and checked his watch. “Nine forty.”
Holy hell. Eli had been gone for more than two and a half hours. And he’d been out . . . nearly as long. “Quite a walk.” He picked the book off his chest, fetched the fallen pad and pen, and placed all of them on the coffee table.
“Not really.” Eli pushed Justin’s legs out of the way and sat down on the edge of the couch. “I had a chat with my parents.”
Those were the last words Justin had expected. Eli was smiling, bright-eyed, ruddy-cheeked. Not traumatized. “How—” He choked on the word. “How did it go?”
Eli stroked Justin’s calf. “Better than I expected. For me, at least. I’m sure it was horrible for them.”
“Well, good.” Served them right.
Eli lost his humor. “I’ve always had this hope—stupid as it is—that someday, they might come to their senses. I’m not a horrible person. I gave them one last chance.”
“They ought to be proud of you. You’re perfect.”
Eli’s laugh was short. He leaned over and kissed Justin. “Flattery gets you nowhere.”
“On the contrary.” Justin stroked Eli’s cheek, then pulled him closer for another kiss. “It got you here.”
Eli huffed and sat back. “How’s the studying going?” He eyed Justin’s notepad, which was entirely free of notes.
“Good. Except for the part where I took a nap.” He shrugged. “I’ll read the chapters tomorrow.”
“It’s not even ten yet.” There was Eli’s raised eyebrow.
“I’d rather go upstairs with you.” He ran his hand up Eli’s side. Muscles quivered against his touch.
Eli’s smile was pure evil. “And if I gave you incentive to do a little work first?”
That was completely different. “What are we talking here? A fuck? A blow job?”
“How about whatever you want to do to me?”
The bottom fell out of Justin’s world. Not Eli the Dom talking. Yet . . . they were negotiating. “You . . . serious?”
“Very.” Eli caressed Justin’s neck. “What’s that worth?”
Everything. Anything. “A chapter?”
Eli snorted. “I am not that cheap.”
Yeah, he didn’t think he’d get away with that. His stomach somersaulted. “Two, then? That’s like a hundred fifty pages.”
“Is that what you’d planned?”
He’d planned three. But two would put him where he needed to be. Still, the presumption chaffed a bit. “I’m not a child, you know.”
“No, you’re not.” Eli leaned in and brushed his lips against Justin’s, lingering long enough for Justin to smell the cold night air that hung in his curls. “You’re the love of my life.”
The world tumbled, like a boat rocking on the sea. Or maybe that was him. Eli offered everything, in one sentence. “Two chapters.” It was fair—the work he needed to complete.
Eli grinned. “I’ll be waiting.” He stood and headed upstairs.
Justin pulled his book, notepad, and pen off the table. Two chapters. Notes. Then Eli.
You’re the love of my life.
Careful notes, because he would not disappoint Eli or himself with sloppy work. Then on to graduation. After that? He knew exactly what he wanted after that.
He damn well would be the love of Eli’s life, no matter what Eli’s parents—or his own—said.
Chapter Twenty-two
Mercy had saved Eli a seat with Justin’s family for the MBA graduation ceremony, but it was Justin’s mom who dragged him over to join them. “He wouldn’t want you lurking in the back of the room.”
They’d warmed to him over the past few days. Surprising, but heartening.
“Did you know the hoods are plaid?” Justin’s mom waved her hand. “It’s . . . odd.”
Eli coughed a laugh. “Carnegie tartan is the school color. At least the collar is something that matches.” Other masters programs were not as fortunate. The MBA was tan, not pink or orange or light blue.
A hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey, E.” Sam’s voice.
He turned and found Michael as well. “Have you met Justin’s family?”
They hadn’t. A round of introductions later, Sam and Michael settled into the seats behind them. Just in time, too. A hush fell over the audience and the first speaker approached the podium.
Eli scanned the group of graduates—they would be seated in alphabetical order—and yes, there was Justin. As if he sensed Eli’s appraisal, Justin looked back and smiled.
* * *
After graduation, Eli hung back as Justin’s parents and Mercy moved forward. A delight to watch Justin beaming in his cap and gown, suit and tie peeking out from beneath the robe. Vivid blue to match his eyes—the first tie Eli had bought him. An unexpected ache tightened Eli’s chest as he watched Justin’s father engulf his son into a hug and his mother kiss his cheek. Mercy, resplendent in her uniform, mock-punched Justin in the stomach.
He hadn’t had that when he graduated—either time. Yes, Michael had been there and a few other friends, but no one else. He looked down at the cane beneath his palms. Some pain never left.
“Eli? What are you doing?”
He tore his gaze off his hands and found Justin in front of him, the edge of his smile shifting into worry. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Close behind Justin were his parents, arm in arm, with Mercy at their side. She winked at him. “I didn’t want to ruin your time with your family.”
“Ruin . . . ?” Justin stepped forward—too close—and caught Eli’s tie with one hand. The other wrapped around the back of Eli’s neck and before he could even breathe, Justin kissed him. Hard. Deep.
Eli’s world tumbled so fast he had to grab on to Justin with both hands to stay upright. His cane fell somewhere—it bounced on his foot, but that barely registered because Justin was doing things with his mouth that should be illegal in the state. Probably would have been, had he been kissing Eli anywhere else. Warmth and desire and love swept through Eli, leaving him dizzy and totally out of control of the situation.
For once, he didn’t care.
When Justin relented, a round of applause broke out. A different heat rose, straight to his cheeks, but he was far too breathless to say a word. He could only stare at Justin.
“You can beat me later for that,” he murmured so softly no one else could possibly have heard.
Eli swallowed and tightened his grip. He would. Quite soundly, too. “What was that for?”
“Because you’re being an idiot.” Justin smoothed down the tie he’d gripped and tucked it back into the vest of Eli’s suit. “You are family.”
“But I’m not—” A gleam in Justin’s eyes stopped Eli in his tracks. The air was so charged.
Then Justin took hold of both Eli’s hands.
Oh shit. “I swear to God, Justin, if you make me cry in public . . .”
So of course he dropped to one knee. “Eli Ovadia, will you marry me?” From somewhere, Justin produced a ring. Matte black, with a thin line of silver cutting through the middle.
Heat prickled from his toes to his head—even his lips tingled as he stared down at Justin. You are family.
“Yes, of course.” Somehow he pus
hed the words out his mouth, then Justin was in his arms and the round of applause was far louder and longer this time. He caught sight of Michael and Sam, both of whom looked far too pleased with themselves. Bastards.
This time, he was the one who pulled Justin into a toe-curling kiss—one that forced a tiny moan that only he felt and heard.
When they broke apart the second time, they were surrounded by well wishes and hugs and laughter and—
Eli caught his breath. This—this was what the opposite of heartache felt like. So much joy Eli though he might crack apart from the lightness and fullness of it, or burst into flames, or . . . live.
He laughed and let the tears come as they may.
Epilogue
One year later
When Noah’s parents entered the synagogue, Eli’s heart skipped a beat. They were older, but somehow still the same. Between them, he could almost see how Noah might have looked as an adult.
They shook hands with Rabbi Berkowitz, then caught sight of him.
“Eli!” Mrs. Feinberg folded him into a hug that crushed his ribs. “Look at you! So handsome! And where’s this man of yours?”
Before he could introduce Justin, Noah’s mom hugged him, too. Noah’s father shook Eli’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “You should have seen her when we got the invite. We’re both very happy for you, and I think Noah would be, too.”
There was that pull of guilt. Eli let it hurt. A necessary pain, even on this day. Nothing would change his past. “I’d like to think so.”
A few more pleasantries and Sam stepped forward to lead them to their seats. They were the closest thing he had to parents on this day.
He’d seen his parents a few times in the past year. No insults, but nothing else, either. He’d sent an invitation anyway, as a courtesy, but there was no RSVP.
He hadn’t expected any.
Eli turned back to the door in time to watch his father and mother enter and the world tilted sideways into chaos. He grabbed Justin’s arm, because the cane was not going to be enough to keep him upright.
They were here. They’d come. A Reform synagogue. A gay wedding—his wedding. They were here.
