Hold My Hand Read online

  “That’s a good idea, honey.” Mr. Khederian didn’t even look up from the newspaper he was reading.

  When all the details and instructions were issued, Mrs. Khederian hung up the phone.

  “Now, honey, we wanted to talk to you.” Mrs. Khederian settled next to her husband at the kitchen table, across from Alek, in their traditional “we need to talk” position. “But is there something you want to tell us first?” Mrs. Khederian poured a bag of pistachios into a bowl, and the three of them dove in, as if a multicourse dinner wasn’t being delivered to them shortly.

  “Not really.” Alek prayed, against all odds, that that would be that. But, as he had learned, most prayers went unanswered.

  “So we need to remind you of all the rules you broke last weekend?” Mr. Khederian shook his head. “On your first unchaperoned trip to NYC, you broke your curfew by hours. Do you know how worried we were?” His father barreled forward without giving Alek a chance to respond to the rest of the offenses: departing from the itinerary, failing to call every hour. The list went on and on. “Then you skipped church, spending the whole day in your room, which you barely left today. Even people as clueless as your parents can see there’s something going on.”

  Mrs. Khederian laid her hand on her husband’s. “We are trying to be understanding about this, but we’re worried.”

  “Don’t worry, guys, I promise this won’t affect my grades, so you don’t have anything to actually be nervous about.” The sarcasm dripped off Alek’s voice like sweet-and-sour sauce.

  “I’m not going to rise to your bait, Aleksander.” In spite of what she claimed, Alek could hear the ire in his mother’s voice as she invoked his full name. “If you choose not to tell us what’s happening, we’ll have no option but to punish you.”

  “Oh, I see, so you’re going to coerce me into confiding in you?”

  “If that’s how you choose to interpret it, we can’t stop you,” his father responded.

  “So if I tell you what happened, you won’t punish me?”

  “We’re not saying that, either, Alek. We just wish you’d tell us what’s going on.”

  “And I just wish you’d leave me alone, okay? So can I go now?”

  “Not yet. We still need to talk to you about something else.” His mom fidgeted with her pile of pistachio shells. “Father Reverend spoke to us after church yesterday…”

  “Yes?” Alek prompted.

  “Was it absolutely necessary for you to come out to him?” his father blurted.

  Alek put his hands on the table. “I was wondering when my parents’ liberalness would finally spend itself.”

  “Now, now, Alek, don’t be so dramatic.” His mother began setting the table for the Chinese food. “Sometimes, you’ll learn, it’s just easier not to rock the boat. You know we have no problem with your sexuality…”

  “… except in church.” Alek conjured his best-but-not-too-offensive impersonation of his mother. “Where it embarrasses us.”

  Footsteps thumped down the staircase. For once, Alek was grateful for his brother’s presence, as well as his rudeness and total lack of concern for interrupting a preexisting conversation. “Can I take the car?” Nik yelled from the front door.

  Anxiety and concern, rivals for Mrs. Khederian’s default emotion, flashed across her face. “I don’t know, honey. It may snow, in which case the roads will be icy tonight.”

  “I’ll drive slowly the whole time.” Alek heard the strain in his brother’s voice as he tried his best to sound reasonable. “I swear.”

  “And where are you going?” their father asked warily.

  “To hang out with some friends.”

  “Which friends?” his mother persisted.

  “God—do you want me to send over their transcripts so you can make sure their GPAs are above 3.5?”

  “Weighted or unweighted?” Mr. Khederian asked, with no irony.

  Nik stomped into the kitchen and threw the car keys that he wouldn’t be using tonight down on the table. “Never mind. I’ll just have someone come and pick me up. Again. Because I have the only parents in the entirety of Central New Jersey who don’t trust their son, whose GPA is 4.3 and who was accepted to Cornell early decision and who passed his driver’s license exam three months ago with flying colors and hasn’t gotten into a single accident since, to drive ten minutes to his friend’s house!” Nik took his winter hat out of his jacket pocket and yanked it down on his head. “And I bet you by the time dumb-ass over here gets his license, you’re going to let him drive wherever he wants. Maybe even buy him his own car. The way you always do whatever he freakin’ wants.”

  “Nik, language, please.” Alek feigned delicacy.

  “You’re such a dingleberry.” Nik stomped back to the front door and stuck his feet into his boots, which had been removed by the front door to the house, the way all shoes had to be in the Khederian house during winter. And fall. And spring. And summer. “I’m going to the diner.”

  A dramatic exit was more difficult in winter, when you needed to bundle up. Confronting his parents about driving was one thing, but Nik knew better than to leave the Khederian house without a scarf, hat, and gloves lest he truly invoke their wrath. A few awkward moments later, Nik left, closing the door behind him with more force than he usually would, but not enough to qualify for an actual slam, which would’ve clearly violated one of the many Khederian house rules.

  “Are there any other places you’d prefer for me to stay closeted?” Now that his brother had left, Alek could get back to confronting his parents.

  “Alek, I wish you didn’t overreact to everything,” his mother said.

  “And I wish you guys weren’t so embarrassingly heteronormative!” Alek shot back. Fighting about church, he was discovering, was infinitely easier than talking about Ethan.

  “That’s right. We’re your terrible heteronormative, heterosexual parents who have repeatedly welcomed your boyfriend into our house and tried to show you and him every courtesy we can. And now we’re even worse because we’re worried sick because we believe you’ve had a breakup.” Mr. Khederian pushed his glasses back on his nose.

  “You don’t have a breakup—jeesh—you just break up!” Alek corrected him.

  “Is that what happened?” His mother masked her desperate hunger for the information as best she could.

  “I don’t know, okay? And why don’t you guys believe me when I tell you that I don’t want to talk about it? Is it confusing? Is it unclear? I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “We just want you to know that we support you, honey, okay—”

  “—as long as it doesn’t cause any actual conflict,” Alek finished. “Don’t you hear yourselves, expressing concern over whether or not I broke up with my boyfriend but asking me to stay closeted at church in the same conversation? Don’t you see how crazy that is? And why haven’t you asked yourselves why you’re going to a church that doesn’t support women’s rights, or gay rights, or any of the other values you have?”

  “Just because we go to the Armenian Church doesn’t mean we condone all of its positions, Alek,” his father said. “It’s not that black and white.”

  “Okay, but have you asked yourself where the money that you put in that collection plate goes? What if some of it goes to fight abortion rights? Or what if some of it goes to support laws that stop people from using whatever bathroom they want?”

  His parents didn’t respond.

  “Okay. Whatever.” Alek turned and left, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t bother calling me when the food arrives. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  13

  “You said that to them?” Arno’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “If I spoke to my parents that way, they’d pack me up this afternoon and send me to live with my cousins in Armenia, and I’m not sure they have indoor plumbing!”

  “It wasn’t that big of a deal.” Alek played it cool, although he was pretty sure the only reason he hadn’t been grounded for the r
est of his preadult life was because his parents were taking pity on him. “Besides, can you believe that Reverend Father talked to them about me? Like he doesn’t have anything else to worry about. Like, what about trying to find out who wrote gyot in your book?”

  “Let that go, Alek. You already got the reverend father to come to class and talk about it.”

  “But that was total bullshit! And now my parents are freaking out because I came out to him.”

  “I haven’t even come out to my parents yet. Or anyone else, other than you. You are such a … badass.” Arno stumbled over the profanity.

  Alek and Arno both hushed up as they heard a swarm of people moving past the little alcove where they hid after smuggling two cups of coffee and a plate of frosted ma’amoul stuffed with pistachios from the main hall.

  They should’ve been with their families, sampling the treats and shopping for gifts at the annual Christmas bazaar that took over the church. Coincidentally, the day was December 25—the same day that Western Christian religions celebrated Christmas, unlike the Eastern Orthodox churches, which celebrated it twelve days later. But the Armenian craftspeople, artists, and bakers from the congregation and the surrounding community seemed oblivious to this fact in St. Stephen’s Church. Stands featuring a wide display of possible Christmas gifts alternated with the full array of edible delicacies, both savory (kibbi, hummus, bourmah, tourshi, and all six varieties of buregs), and sweet, like the stand from which Alek and Arno had got their ma’amoul, which also offered baklava, apricot squares, vanilla cookies, and nutmeg cake with rose, honey, and pistachios.

  Technically, the two of them weren’t doing anything wrong, hiding out here in the alcove. Technically, should someone have stumbled upon them, they wouldn’t have had anything to hide. But it still felt clandestine, sneaking off together when they should’ve been with everyone else in the bazaar, buying tickets for the 50/50 raffle, watching children tell Santa what they wanted, or playing any of the lame carnival games.

  “If we were, like, real badasses, we’d totally be smoking right now.” Arno lifted his chin and looked away into the distance, fantasizing.

  “You smoke?” Alek didn’t disguise the surprise or disgust in his voice.

  “Of course not!” Arno snapped back to reality. “Smoking is terrible for you!”

  “I know,” Alek agreed. “And the smell…”

  “Right!” Arno took a small sip of his black coffee. The way he grimaced led Alek to suspect that black wasn’t how he usually drank it. “It’s like, if you’re going to spend money killing yourself, can you at least do it in some way that’s not so stinky?”

  “And what’s up with vaping?”

  “I guess it’s better for you.”

  “I guess. Until they find out it gives you lip cancer or whatever.”

  “It’s all so gross.” Arno grimaced through another sip of coffee. “Do you think people who do that think they’re cool?”

  Alek laughed. He dropped his voice, imitating his idea of a smoker’s inner thoughts. “‘Oh, look at me, I’m such a badass I’m willing to risk cancer to show you how much of a badass I really am.’” When Arno laughed, Alek continued. “‘Everyone tremble at the sight of my badassery.’”

  This time they both cracked up, leaning against each other, almost spilling their cups of steaming black coffee.

  “I really appreciate what you did, Alek—all of it.” Arno wiped away some crumbs of the ma’amoul that had been clinging to his lower lip.

  “I’m only getting started,” Alek confided.

  “What?” Arno exclaimed. “I don’t want you doing anything else that might get you in trouble.”

  “I’m tired of all this bullshit. Can you imagine if someone had written boz on Shushan’s script? Or vochkhar on Nik’s? Nobody would’ve stood for someone calling her a whore or him an idiot. But instead, because we’re gay, we’re supposed to just shut up and be thankful that we’re not being excommunicated.” For the first time since Alek had deduced Ethan’s infidelity, he felt excited, like something in the world actually mattered. “If we let ourselves be treated this way, we’re saying we don’t deserve any better.”

  “But what can you possibly do about it?”

  “In light of recent events, it feels like what it means to be Armenian has really changed for me…”

  Arno slowly put down his coffee. “Alek, I don’t like where this is going.”

  “… and it would be dishonest if my award-winning paper didn’t somehow reflect that, you know? And what more perfect opportunity for me than to share with the whole congregation exactly what I’m feeling? Don’t try to talk me out of it, okay?”

  “Okay.” Arno put his coffee down so that he could wring his hands nervously. “Just say something to the reverend father before, okay? I have a feeling this isn’t the kind of surprise he’d like.”

  Alek left his conversation with Arno feeling inspired, feeling like he had direction. But before he could work on the changes to his paper, before he could do anything, he had to do the one thing he’d been putting off.

  * * *

  Ethan’s eyes were bloodshot, underlined with dark half circles, like a football player’s. His hair jutted out of the deflated winter hat that usually sat jauntily on his head. Alek would be lying if he pretended that Ethan’s misery didn’t give him satisfaction. He didn’t want to be the only one suffering.

  “It’s good to see you.” Ethan went in for the hug, but Alek pulled away.

  If Alek hadn’t steeled himself for the abandoned-puppy look on Ethan’s face, he might’ve caved right there. The temptation to succumb to the comfort and familiarity of Ethan’s embrace was great. But that wasn’t why he’d agreed to see Ethan, when he’d finally returned all those ignored calls and texts. Five days had passed since their six-month anniversary, and even though he hadn’t felt the same conviction he had when he’d first talked about it to Becky, Alek was here to break up with Ethan, for good.

  Alek stepped outside of his house, quickly pulling the door behind him shut. His parents were upstairs, he knew, but especially after their last conversation, he couldn’t deal with them or their questions. Besides, he had nothing to tell them. At least, not yet.

  Since they’d started dating, Ethan had come knocking for Alek many times. Every time Alek had opened the door to find Ethan, he felt surprised all over again that someone like Ethan could be interested in someone like him.

  But Alek regarded the Ethan standing in the doorway now, in rumpled clothes that looked as if he’d slept in them. This Ethan fidgeted, unsure of where to look. This Ethan slouched. If this Ethan inspired any emotion, it was pity. But it didn’t really matter, since this was the last time Alek was going to answer the door to any of the Ethans.

  “Should we hit the diner?” Ethan looked down when he talked, his hands stuffed in his jacket.

  “Let’s just walk.” Alek hadn’t meant to bark the words, but that’s how they came out. He felt like a piano with only two keys, both painfully out of tune.

  They walked in silence down Mercer Street, meandering without direction. An overnight snowfall had reblanketed the houses, whiting them out, making them even more indistinguishable.

  “It’s too bad it’s so cold,” Ethan observed. “Otherwise, we’d get your bike out and I could jump on my board. Or we could hit the courts.”

  Alek just continued walking.

  They wound their way to the tunnel that had connected the two sides of the train station until the overpass had been built.

  “Remember when,” Ethan started, “this was before we even met, like officially—remember when you came over to the other side of the tunnel and Jack almost beat the shit out of you? And I was like, ‘Pick on someone your own size’? And he let you go. Remember that?” Ethan kicked a rock that skittered down through the opening.

  “Yeah, I remember that, Ethan. I remember what a sad, pitiful loser I was and how I dressed horribly and how I still hadn’t come out an
d that I couldn’t stand up for myself. And how you came to my rescue. Well, don’t worry. You won’t ever have to do that again.”

  Ethan turned, the smile on his face collapsing. “Come on, you know that’s not what I mean.”

  “It was Remi, wasn’t it?” The words surprised Alek. Only now did it occur to him that he had blocked out any imagination of the details of the cheating. But now that he was with Ethan, with the one person who had the information he’d denied himself wanting, he couldn’t help himself.

  Ethan nodded, his head hanging in shame.

  “The night of my birthday.” Alek wasn’t accusing him. Nor was he asking. He was just stating facts.

  Ethan nodded again. “Please, do we have to talk about it? Can’t we just talk about what I can do to make it better? Or even what you’ve done the last few days. I haven’t seen you. I haven’t heard from you. I’m not used to not knowing what’s up with you. Is your brother still pouting about the essay? How’re your parents? And Becky and Dustin—do you think they have a shot?”

  “You don’t get to—” Alek felt like he’d bitten into a rotten grapefruit and was spitting out its bitterness. “You don’t get to ask about things like everything’s okay. You don’t get to do that.”

  “Do you want to know what I’ve been doing?” Ethan asked pitifully.

  “No. I don’t. I want you to tell me what happened.”

  “You mean—that night?”

  Alek nodded yes.

  “Please don’t do this,” Ethan begged. “Let’s just figure out how to put it behind us, and move on, and become Alek and Ethan again. That’s all I want.”

  “I don’t care what you want.” Alek spoke slowly, intentionally, unsentimentally. He didn’t have to look for the words. They were waiting for him, like ready weapons, itching to be used. “You gave up the right to have what you want when you cheated on me, then lied to me about it, remember?”

  “I didn’t lie—”

  “Not saying anything is just like lying, Ethan, so don’t pretend it’s not.”