Hold My Hand Page 6

  Five.

  He had told his family that he’d meet up with them afterward, ignoring their quizzical looks and questions, and gone to the end of the line of congregants, whom Reverend Father Stepanian greeted by name after the service as they left the sanctuary.

  Two.

  “How’s your mother holding up, Pertag?”

  “Did you enjoy your time in the Caribbean, Zanazan?”

  Finally, Alek and the reverend father were face-to-face.

  “You have any exciting birthday plans coming up, Alek?” He smiled.

  “Yes, thanks for asking.” He spent a precious minute telling the reverend father about his birthday plans in the city. But he forced himself to get to the point. “I was wondering if I can talk to you about something else for a moment?”

  “Of course.” Reverend Father Stepanian put one of his strong, solid hands on Alek’s shoulder and led him to a pew inside the sanctuary. “What can I help you with?”

  “It’s about when you came and spoke to our Saturday school class yesterday, Reverend Father.”

  “Ah, yes. I want to thank you for telling the Yeretzgin about that incident. I’m so glad she brought it to my attention.”

  It would’ve been easy to leave it at that, to have accepted a compliment from this figure he’d admired his entire life.

  But as Reverend Father Stepanian turned to go, his robes rustling with the movement, Alek found his voice. “I really appreciate you coming and talking to the class about what happened, but I’m not sure you actually helped.”

  The reverend father turned back, regarding Alek. “Is that so?” He sat back down. “What would you have done differently?”

  “When you use phrases like ‘people who’ve lost their path from God,’ you’re actually encouraging bullying. You’re telling people it’s all right to treat them differently.”

  “But, Alek, you must know the church’s view on homosexuality.”

  “Come on, Reverend Father. We live in the twenty-first century. Gay marriage is legal in every state in this country, as well as Canada, Brazil, New Zealand, Ireland, Chile, Germany, and Mexico! You don’t really believe that nonsense, do you?” Alek immediately wondered if he’d taken things too far. But the reverend didn’t seem upset—just reflective. It was something that Alek had always admired about him—the amount of time he took before speaking.

  After a few more moments of deliberation, the reverend father said, “As a pastor in this church and the reverend father of this congregation, it is my duty to shepherd the spiritual lives of my flock.”

  “So you’re saying that you agree with the church’s position?”

  “Alek, you want a simple answer here, but sometimes the truth lies in the space between more complex things.”

  “And sometimes it doesn’t!” Alek’s exasperation found its way into his voice. “Have you, or anyone in the whole church for that matter, ever thought about what it might be like for someone who doesn’t subscribe to these heteronormative standards to be part of this congregation?” Alek hadn’t meant to out himself to the reverend father. But as the words came tumbling out of his mouth, they both realized that he had done so.

  “Oh! I see.” Reverend Father Stepanian exhaled gently as he realized what Alek was telling him. “I see,” he repeated, without judgment.

  “So what—now you think I’m a bad Armenian?” Alek pressed.

  “How long has your family been coming to St. Stephen’s?”

  “I’m not sure; since before my brother was born?”

  “So almost twenty years.”

  “At least.”

  “I remember baptizing you. You were a very good baby—no crying at all. Unlike your older brother, Andranik. He made such a fuss, you should’ve heard him. Screaming at the top of his lungs. I’ve known you your whole life, and I know you are a good boy, Alek. And a good Armenian. Learning this isn’t going to change any of that.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Alek leaned back in the pew and released the breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

  “The world has changed in many ways since you were born—mostly for the good, I’m happy to say. But the church takes a long time to catch up. That’s why I ask you to understand my position. I adore your family, even though I know that I can count on you to be at least twenty minutes late.” The reverend and Alek shared a smile at his own joke. “After service, your mother’s dolma is always the best at the buffet.”

  “My father’s dolma, you mean,” Alek corrected him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My father makes the dolma.”

  The reverend father smiled, sheepishly running his hand over his immaculately trimmed beard, which showed the slightest signs of graying. “My apologies—I suppose it was foolish of me to make that assumption. We learn so much about ourselves by the things we take for granted, don’t we?” He started again. “Your family’s dolma is always the best. But the church is very clear about its doctrine. Homosexuality is a sin.”

  “Do you have any gay friends, Reverend Father?”

  He regarded Alek. “Of course I do…”

  “And do you believe, in your heart of hearts, that your gay friends can lead upstanding lives, but when they get to heaven’s gates, they will be denied entrance for being gay? If I died right now in some freaky alien invasion, would I go to hell?”

  “What I believe is not relevant here, Alek. The belief of the church is what’s important.”

  “So your beliefs are different than the church’s?”

  The reverend father smiled. “You’re not going to trick me into an admission, Alek. We pastors wrestle with this all the time. But the church’s position is that love and sex are special gifts from God to be enjoyed within the sacrament of marriage. I say therefore to the unmarried and widows, it is good for them if they abide even as I: But if they cannot contain, let them arry: for it is better to marry than to burn. 1 Corinthians, 7:8-9. All sex outside of marriage is considered the sin of fornication.”

  “So if Ethan and I got married, everything would be all right?”

  Sadness crept over the reverend father’s face. “I’m afraid not. Romans chapter one, verses twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-six, and twenty-seven make it very clear that the special gift of love is reserved for a man and woman. So does Leviticus.”

  “Leviticus also says not to eat shellfish or the fat from a goat, lamb, or sheep. And I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about good ol’ Leviticus’s stand on mixed seeds or fabrics. Who gets to decide which passages in the Bible you have to take at face value and which ones you get to interpret? And how?”

  “That’s the whole point of the church, at least the Armenian Church. We priests have spent our lives studying the Bible, Alek—its writing, its interpretation, its meaning. That’s our job.”

  “From where I’m sitting, mixing fabrics is much more shocking than me having a boyfriend. Why, just last week, I saw your wife sporting a cashmere pashmina over a wool jacket. And I think her blouse was made of cotton. I prayed extra hard for her that night, Reverend Father.”

  Father Stepanian laughed heartily. “It’s nice to talk to you like this—and see how passionately you feel about it.” The reverend father leaned in, confiding. “To be honest, between you and me, I think the church’s view on some things could use updating. But it takes time, Alek, for a ship this size to change direction. You have to remember, the Armenians were the first people to convert to Christianity, and it is my job to uphold the church’s beliefs. You know, a heretic is not someone who doesn’t believe. He’s someone who picks and chooses which doctrines he follows and which ones he doesn’t. But true faith doesn’t work that way. It’s not a buffet that you can sample at will. You have to sign up for the whole deal.”

  “So single-fabric outfits for everyone from now on?” Alek asked.

  The reverend father laughed again. “From now on, for simplicity’s sake, let’s make it easy, okay? Just keep your personal life personal
. I will think about this conversation, Alek, and I hope you do, too.” The reverend father got up to leave. “And happy birthday, Alek.”

  “The big one-five.”

  “I consider our congregation very lucky to have such an intelligent young man speaking at our service on Christmas Eve. Mrs. Stepanian shared your winning essay with me, and I can’t wait for you to share it with the whole congregation.”

  The very germ of an idea began sprouting in Alek’s mind. “Neither can I, Reverend Father. Neither can I.”

  7

  “Hello, and welcome to Green Hill. My name is Beckett, and I’ll be tending to your needs tonight.” A mustache so bushy it looked fake sprouted from the waiter’s nose. The disdain with which he looked at the empty chair at the table, which the Khederians were saving for Ethan’s dad, made it clear what he thought of seating incomplete parties. “Can I start you off with something to drink while you’re waiting?”

  Mr. Khederian, Nik, Alek, and even Ethan turned to Alek’s mom expectantly. “Just water for me, please,” Mrs. Khederian said, the first step in an elaborate dance that everyone at her table knew well.

  “Flat or bubbly?” the waiter asked, inadvertently playing along.

  “What bottled waters do you have?” she asked on cue.

  “Actually, we stopped ordering bottled waters years ago.” Beckett’s tone hovered between bored and droll. “Plastic bottles are full of polyvinyl chlorides and bisphenol A—entirely defeats the purpose.”

  “That’s why I only order glass.” Mrs. Khederian gently adjusted the folded napkin on her lap.

  “Glass is even worse!” Beckett spoke with the superiority of the environmentally conscious. “Do you know how much fossil fuel is burned to transport those heavy bottles? It’s like a giant stomping around a forest, leaving carbon footprints everywhere! That’s why Green Hill triple-filters our own water. We use a state-of-the-art Natura system that removes all the metallic impurities, like lead and zinc, as well as the chemical impurities, like chlorine. All of the water here, even what we use in cooking, goes through the same process.” Beckett sat down across from Alek, in the red upholstered seat being saved for Ethan’s dad, and crossed his legs, oblivious that it might not be appropriate to leisurely lounge with the party he was serving. “So, flat or bubbly?”

  “We’ll take one of each,” Alek’s dad answered, putting his hand around his wife’s shoulders to make sure she was okay. Mrs. Khederian just looked away, like a true believer recently discovering her god was false.

  Beckett nodded, uncrossed his legs, rose, and slowly drifted back to the kitchen.

  The dining room at Green Hill smelled exactly the way Alek had imagined when he chose it as the location for his birthday meal: sophisticated, earthy, fragrant, and exotic, the odors wafting from the open kitchen in the back of the restaurant.

  Nik wore the scowl that had been permanently imprinted on his face ever since Alek’s essay had beaten his. And the fact that the Khederians had celebrated Nik’s birthday a few months ago at their grandmother’s house didn’t help, Alek surmised.

  Alek’s hand nestled into Ethan’s under the restaurant table, always the perfect fit.

  “This is as good a time as any for gifts, right?” Mrs. Khederian smiled, reaching into her purse and removing a small, wrapped box the size of a candy bar.

  “We know we said you’d have to be sixteen to get one, but we’ve been so proud of you in school this semester, we decided to get you…” Mr. Khederian trailed off.

  Alek attacked the box as if unearthing its contents was a life-or-death scenario. He didn’t dare dream. He didn’t dare wish. But could his parents have finally relented and gotten him …

  “… a cell phone!”

  “Oh my God, you guys are the best!” Alek exclaimed. He yanked the box open. It didn’t have to be the latest iPhone or Galaxy or even LG. He just wanted to join the ranks of everyone else his age. And now he’d finally be able to do it. His hand reached into the box and pulled out his brand-new …

  “Is that…” Wonder and curiosity inflected Ethan’s voice. “Is that a flip phone?”

  Nik chortled.

  “Wow!” Alek did his best to muster enthusiasm. “Gosh, I didn’t even know they made these anymore.”

  “We had to search extra hard to find it!” his father said proudly.

  “We didn’t want you distracted by Internet access or apps. I’m sure you’ve read all the articles I sent you about how cell phones are destroying attention spans. And you know that ligament reconstruction and tendon interposition surgery for thumbs has increased by over four hundred percent in the last decade, right?” Alek’s mother tentatively took a sip of the water that had just been poured.

  “Thanks, guys.” Alek flipped his phone open, wondering if the artifact was even capable of getting a signal. It was so perfectly like his parents to get him exactly what he wanted and yet still miss the point entirely.

  “And we’ve got one more gift for you, Alek,” his father said.

  “We’ve thought about this long and hard, and…”

  His mother paused dramatically as Alek steeled himself. The entirety of the car ride into the city that Saturday to celebrate his birthday had been full of the kind of signs that had taught him to be suspicious: He’d caught his parents making nervous eye contact on multiple occasions without saying anything. His mother hadn’t complained about the traffic, the pollution, or even the noise.

  The chatter of the sophisticated New Yorkers dining nearby swelled for a moment. When his mother didn’t continue after it dipped back down, Alek prompted her. “Yes?”

  But she couldn’t finish the sentiment, so his father stepped in. “We’ve decided that now that you are fifteen, you can go into the city without adult supervision.”

  Alek waited for his parents to tell him they were just kidding. He didn’t even dare to make eye contact with Ethan, who was trembling with excitement. And before he let himself hope, he asked his father to repeat what he’d just said, to make sure he’d heard the actual words uttered and not his fantasy of them.

  “With a few caveats, of course.” Alek’s mother jumped in just after his dad had confirmed Alek’s wildest dream. “You’ll have to come home before sunset and call us every hour to make sure you’re okay. And we’ll need to approve your itinerary a week in advance…” She continued to recite rules and regulations more arcane than the US electoral system. Alek nodded through them all.

  “So, like, if Alek and I wanted to go into the city next Saturday,” Ethan mused when Mrs. Khederian finished speaking, “to celebrate our six-month, we could?” Ethan’s hand squeezed Alek’s hopefully.

  Mrs. Khederian closed her eyes, as if the horror of actually having to implement the gift was too much. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Rockin’.” Ethan beamed.

  “This totally sucks.” Nik glowered. “You only let me go into the city without you after I turned seventeen.”

  “But, Nik, you are forgetting all the other liberties we permit you,” his father chimed in. “Like allowing you to join the National Honor Society and the debate team, even though we were worried that those extracurricular activities would interfere with your schoolwork.”

  “Whatever.” Nik slouched in his chair even farther. “You guys are totally heterophobic.”

  Alek, a dumb smile plastered to his face, was too happy to even gloat in Nik’s general direction. It was inconceivable that anything would stop this from being the best birthday to date.

  Until Ethan’s dad walked into the restaurant a moment later. “Hey, everyone, sorry I’m late. I was just catching up with a former student.” He stepped aside and revealed the tall, strapping young man whom Alek immediately recognized as Ethan’s ex, Remi. Alek had first seen a picture of Remi almost six months ago, and neither that one nor the ones he’d seen since conveyed how movie-star handsome the young Australian was.

  “Hope you guys don’t mind I popped by.” Remi stood by the
head of the table, smiling sheepishly. “When Rupert told me where he was going, I insisted on walking him over so that I could wish you a happy birthday.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?” The cluelessness surrounding Mr. Novick like a cumulonimbus cloud dispersed for a moment, and Alek saw him consider the potential bad taste in showing up to your son’s boyfriend’s birthday party with your son’s ex. But it reformed a moment later.

  “What up, Remi?” Ethan seemed as unaffected as always, as if running into the ex who ghosted you over a year ago happened every day.

  “How’s it going, Eth?”

  Alek knew Remi was not going to stay. His parents had also taught him to be a good host, and especially since there wasn’t room for an extra chair and moving to a larger table wasn’t an option in the packed Manhattan dining room, he didn’t think he was actually risking anything when he stood up, shook Remi’s hand, and said, “Pleased to meet you, Remi. Would you care to join us?”

  “Thanks, mate.” And just like that, Ethan’s ex crashed Alek’s birthday party.

  “Here, you can take my chair.” Nik stood before Remi even had a chance to respond, stumbling over himself like he was trying to impress a girl he was crushing on. It would take Nik five minutes to hail a waiter, convince him to find another chair, and figure out how to fit it around the table. The whole time, Remi appeared unimpressed by Nik’s sacrifice, as if he were doing Nik the favor.

  “So you were hanging out with Ethan’s dad?” Alek asked, wondering what horrible karmic thing he had done to deserve this, especially on his birthday.

  “Rupert took me in when I lost my scholarship,” Remi said between mouthfuls of sprouted bread dunked in organic olive oil. “Now that I’m back, I looked him up so that I could thank him properly.”

  Ethan smiled blankly, opaque and indecipherable.

  “So tell us about yourself.” Mrs. Khederian looked over her menu, which she was mentally dissecting, the way a macabre scientist might a frog, in preparation for round two with the waiter.