sandwich. This one I took actual bites from, and on my second bite, he said, “So, what did you say?”
I grinned through the PB&J on my teeth. “Food of the fuckin’ gods.”
He laughed then, and I thought that he looked like he’d gotten a little older too.
“What’s the matter, Rex? You look exhausted .”
Rex gestured to the chair that Professor Pritchard had vacated and sat down on his own bed, pulling one knee up under his chin. “Did it really bother you? That whole, ‘declaring your major’ thing?”
I took another bite of my sandwich. “You weren’t trying to be mean,” I said, thinking. “I mean, you gave a shit, and that was nice.”
“But it bothered you,” he stated, and I shrugged.
“You know . . . I guess I just wasn’t ready to be pushed. I’m not smart—”
“Rusty!”
“Okay, I’m not quick . But I get to most stuff on my own. I just . . . I needed some quiet I guess, you know, in my head? To think about Oliver and me.”
Rex laughed a little and nodded. “But you know, you’ve hardly talked in the last couple of weeks. How much more quiet did it need to be?”
I shrugged and set my sandwich down. It was my third—I figured I’d done enough damage. “It wasn’t quiet,” I said, feeling empty after the storm that had blown through me. “It was all messy and loud.”
Rex nodded, like he understood. “What’d’ya have to do to quiet it down?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I had to decide who I was.”
A slow grin bloomed on Rex’s uncharacteristically thoughtful face. “Who are you?”
“I’m not a Berkeley man,” I said, and for the first time, this didn’t make me want to cry. “And I’m not going to be my dad’s little clone. And women don’t turn me on. And Oliver is my home.”
Rex put both feet on the floor and hopped up. “Well boo-fuckin’-yah!” he whooped, and then picked me up in a colossal bear hug and whirled me around the room. Two months ago, I would have batted him off and called him a fucking moron, but not now. Now I laughed, and let him hug me, and tried to remember, really remember, the last time I’d been touched.
He set me down, and I was standing there, in his arms, my head on his chest, when he gave me a friend-to-friend kiss on the top of the head.
“Nicole,” I said out loud, and he jerked back.
“Rex. And I thought we were celebrating your coming out?”
I looked up at him, because he was six five, and shook my head. “No. It’s my little sister. She’s the last person who hugged me.”
So that’s what was happening when Professor Pritchard came in with my guidance counselor. We were standing in the middle of the room and Rex was hugging me, and he was crying. I couldn’t ever get him to say why.
The professor brought us pie. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do. Banana cream pie from the grocery store. Oh, man—it was like the best pie. We sat around the dorm and ate pie for no reason at all, and the guidance counselor—a short, round Asian woman with a mouth that formed a flat line when she was thinking—made polite talk. She sort of looked scary, but she was very nice, showed me pictures of her grandkids, who she said were all going to be doctors. For a minute, I felt bad—they were going to be doctors and I was going to be no one—but she didn’t come across like that. It was more like, they could be doctors because they could be anything .
That was nice. I told her that sincerely. That permission to be anything , that was a big deal.
“So,” she said innocently, taking a very large bite of pie, “what do you want permission to be?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “I want to work construction,” I said. “I want to be a contractor, like Oliver’s dad. I want . . .” My face got hot, and I took a bite of pie to hide.
“You want what?” she insisted, and I sucked every last calorie of happy out of that pie before I answered, and when I did answer, I was pretty
I grinned through the PB&J on my teeth. “Food of the fuckin’ gods.”
He laughed then, and I thought that he looked like he’d gotten a little older too.
“What’s the matter, Rex? You look exhausted .”
Rex gestured to the chair that Professor Pritchard had vacated and sat down on his own bed, pulling one knee up under his chin. “Did it really bother you? That whole, ‘declaring your major’ thing?”
I took another bite of my sandwich. “You weren’t trying to be mean,” I said, thinking. “I mean, you gave a shit, and that was nice.”
“But it bothered you,” he stated, and I shrugged.
“You know . . . I guess I just wasn’t ready to be pushed. I’m not smart—”
“Rusty!”
“Okay, I’m not quick . But I get to most stuff on my own. I just . . . I needed some quiet I guess, you know, in my head? To think about Oliver and me.”
Rex laughed a little and nodded. “But you know, you’ve hardly talked in the last couple of weeks. How much more quiet did it need to be?”
I shrugged and set my sandwich down. It was my third—I figured I’d done enough damage. “It wasn’t quiet,” I said, feeling empty after the storm that had blown through me. “It was all messy and loud.”
Rex nodded, like he understood. “What’d’ya have to do to quiet it down?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I had to decide who I was.”
A slow grin bloomed on Rex’s uncharacteristically thoughtful face. “Who are you?”
“I’m not a Berkeley man,” I said, and for the first time, this didn’t make me want to cry. “And I’m not going to be my dad’s little clone. And women don’t turn me on. And Oliver is my home.”
Rex put both feet on the floor and hopped up. “Well boo-fuckin’-yah!” he whooped, and then picked me up in a colossal bear hug and whirled me around the room. Two months ago, I would have batted him off and called him a fucking moron, but not now. Now I laughed, and let him hug me, and tried to remember, really remember, the last time I’d been touched.
He set me down, and I was standing there, in his arms, my head on his chest, when he gave me a friend-to-friend kiss on the top of the head.
“Nicole,” I said out loud, and he jerked back.
“Rex. And I thought we were celebrating your coming out?”
I looked up at him, because he was six five, and shook my head. “No. It’s my little sister. She’s the last person who hugged me.”
So that’s what was happening when Professor Pritchard came in with my guidance counselor. We were standing in the middle of the room and Rex was hugging me, and he was crying. I couldn’t ever get him to say why.
The professor brought us pie. I don’t know why I remember that, but I do. Banana cream pie from the grocery store. Oh, man—it was like the best pie. We sat around the dorm and ate pie for no reason at all, and the guidance counselor—a short, round Asian woman with a mouth that formed a flat line when she was thinking—made polite talk. She sort of looked scary, but she was very nice, showed me pictures of her grandkids, who she said were all going to be doctors. For a minute, I felt bad—they were going to be doctors and I was going to be no one—but she didn’t come across like that. It was more like, they could be doctors because they could be anything .
That was nice. I told her that sincerely. That permission to be anything , that was a big deal.
“So,” she said innocently, taking a very large bite of pie, “what do you want permission to be?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “I want to work construction,” I said. “I want to be a contractor, like Oliver’s dad. I want . . .” My face got hot, and I took a bite of pie to hide.
“You want what?” she insisted, and I sucked every last calorie of happy out of that pie before I answered, and when I did answer, I was pretty
Similar Books
