When he woke in the morning, the covers were cocooned about him, and Mark was asleep on his back, naked. Gilead was glad the curtains were drawn, but surprised at how upset he was at himself, how much he cared about the boy sleeping beside him. Mark seemed exposed, too vulnerable. His mouth was open a little, and his hands palms up, his chest rising and falling as Gilead’s eyes traveled to his sex, coral in a thicket of soft blackness. He climbed out of bed, and as Mark snored, covered him quickly, as if something would happen to him unless he was blanketed. They were drawn to each other. Mark was his equal, gallant, polished, whip smart, and Gilead admitted how much he had fallen for him, but when they undressed, when he saw Mark’s body, which was strong, and muscled like a young runner’s, he was not filled with lust, but love and the desire to shelter him. The Mark sleeping beside him seemed so vulnerable, and Gilead imagined he would do whatever he had to protect him if it ever came to that.
He remembered coming to Joe Smith’s funeral, and he remembered now why he had. Gilead had heard of Mark Young, running half naked and streaked in sweat on the hottest day of the year, and picturing him that way, which, because he had seen Mark in a pair of shorts with no shirt, should have been stunning, but instead made him feel stunned, troubled for his fragility.
He felt a slight cuff on his chin and looked down to see Mark grinning up at him in that goofy way.
“Why so serious?” he croaked.
“Your breath is gross,” Gilead said.
Mark turned from him and laughed.
“I’m about to go to the bathroom,” he said, “or else something else gross is going to come out of me.”
Without ceremony, Mark climbed over him and went into the little bathroom, and while he was in there, Gilead thought about how he wished he had gone first, and he hoped that Mark wasn’t stinking up the fucking place, and he was relieved when the toilet flushed a few minutes later and Mark came out, still looking sleepy, some of the wavy black hair sticking up, and he kissed Gil.
“In my haste I forgot my toothbrush, but I rinsed my mouth out.”
“For later reference, you can use my toothbrush,” Gilead told him. “Unless you don’t want to. Which is—”
“I wasn’t sure if we were close like that.”
“We’re naked in the same bed,” Gilead said.
“Well, then yes I will use your toothbrush.”
“I’m going to the bathroom, and I can’t promise to be as quick as you were.”
“I thought the same,” Mark said, “But it was a false alarm. For any sounds or smells that happen after I go back to sleep, I apologize.”
As Gilead climbed out of bed, he looked at Mark snuggling under the covers.
“We’re talking about sharing toothbrushes and bodily functions. We’re together now, aren’t we?”
Mark made a contented sound under the covers and belched loudly.
Gilead Story, who felt the pang of nature calling, said, “I’m going take that as a yes.”
Gilead was gone, and home seemed strange. The Christmas tree was bigger and more beautiful than ever, and tomorrow, starting with Aunt Kristin and the new baby, family would arrive. But he was not the same, and he felt like part of him could not be home right here. Cody would come over the holidays, and everyone would embrace him and welcome him into the family, and they would look at each other and make up strange things to say.
Russell had not explained to Thom and Patti where he was last night or where he had come from this morning. He picked up the phone and called Chayne before he could tell himself not to.
“Hello,” Rob picked up.
“Rob, I need you or Chayne to call over here. I need you to call and say you need me for something.”
“What?”
“Mom and Dad think I was there last night.”
“But where were you last night?”
“Rob?”
“Yeah,” Rob said in a voice that clearly stated the conversation would go no further until Russell told him.
“I was with Jason.”
“I see.”
“Trying to get back to normal.”
“So you think if you tell your parents you’re coming here because they think you just left here, that would be suspicious. So you want us to call and say we need you to come back.”
“Yes.”
“Had it occurred to you to just tell them you were going to Jason’s, and then come here?”
“You’re really difficult, today,” Russell said.
“Nevermind. I’ll call.”
Rob hung up, and a few minutes later the phone rang and then there was a tap on the door. When Russell said come in, Thom entered and said, “Chayne told me he needs you.”
“It was Chayne?” Russell was surprised at this, and Thom said, “Yeah. I could drive you.”
“I’m gonna walk. I need the air. It keeps me from being a depressed teenager.”
“Alright,” Thom nodded.
“Say, Russ, we should talk about this whole Cody thing.”
For a moment Russell had the strange sensation that Thom knew about him sleeping Cody.
He thought about saying, “There’s nothing to say,” but then thought better of it.
“Whaddo you wanna talk about?”
“Uh…”
There it was, when parents said, maybe we should talk about something, just shift that shit on them.
“How do you feel?” Thom asked.
And now he’s shifting that shit on me.
“I love Cody,” Russell said, honestly.
He added, “How does Mom feel?”
Ah, there we go.
“She’s… fine.”
“Maybe I’ll talk to her, then,” Russell said.
“That might not be a bad idea,” Thom said.
Suddenly, Russell hugged his Dad who smelled like Marlboros and cologne, and he said as he squeezed him, “We’re only human, right?”
Thom looked at his son, his dark eyes grinning, and said, “Yeah, Russ.”
“Now let me get my coat and go over to Chayne’s.”
He needed to be at this old house on Curtain Street that smelled like coffee and cake and hand rolled cigarettes, and it would take more than a hug and some understanding words to get past Chayne who sat in the kitchen where he had dragged out the tower and the monitor of his computer and was artfully moving between, smoking, typing and drinking from his coffee mug.
“Coffee’s in the pot. Pie is in the fridge,” Chayne said.
“I have so much to tell you,” Russell said.
“Is it so much?”
“It feels like it.”
Chayne kept typing until he got to the end of his paragraph, stopped, and turned to Russell.
Looking at him, Russell said, “You know.”
“Of course I know.”
“How long?”
“I’m not magic,” Chayne said with almost irritation. “I’m not Odin. Rob told me because Cody told him, and I assume you told Gilead.”
“Yeah.”
“Well then that Mark knows.”
“Gilead wouldn’t tell Mark.”
“Of course he would,” Chayne said. “Don’t be stupider than you already have been. But,” Chayne said, not paying attention to how he had mildly offended Russell, “Mark is a vault. That boy will keep everything to himself.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the way that Gil is your best friend, Gil is his. The only person he’d tell a deep secret to is Gilead, and Gilead already knows.”
“You know a lot about people.”
“I know some about some people.”
Then Chayne said, “He’s twenty-three.”
When Russell said nothing else, Chayne said, “Before everything, he’s twenty-three.”
“I know.”
“Patti would kill him.”
Russell said nothing and Chayne continued: “Your father would be beside himself.”
“What about you?” Russell said.
Before Chayne could answer, Russell said, “I didn’t tell Cody how old I was… when it happened.”
But he didn’t want to lie to Chayne, and so he added, “When things happened the first time, he didn’t know how old I was. I didn’t know how old he was either.”
“But you had some idea,” Chayne said. “And so did he.
“So… if there was a first time…. There was a second time.”
“It was when we first met,” Russell said. “And then… the other night.”
Chayne’s face was Buddha calm. He waited for Russell to continue.
“It was the same night we found out. Right before we found out.”
“Oh,” the breath came from Chayne like a popped balloon.
“Yeah,” said Russell, who realized he was still standing up.
Now Russell went to make a cup of coffee. He took off his great coat and his scarf and sat at the table.
“I tried to ignore my feelings, and then Jason came over, trying to apologize—“
“Really?”
“Yes. And I went straight to Cody, and that’s how everything happened. Please don’t judge…. I don’t care if you judge me. I know you won’t. Please don’t judge him.”
Chayne took a sip from his coffee and said, “I don’t like it when you don’t tell me things.”
Russell sat back in his chair, for the first time looking ashamed.
“Every since this summer, you’ve been having this life for yourself that you keep to yourself. I understand that, but I don’t like that you think you can’t tell me things.”
“I can tell you things,” Russell said. “But I can’t tell you everything.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m honestly surprised by some of the things I’ve done… and I’m not always sure if I’m embarrassed by them.”
“You can always come to me.”
“I know that.”
“Are you sure?”
When Russell didn’t answer, Chayne got up and went to the refrigerator, and as he pulled out the half eaten cake, Russell answered.
“Yes. Yes, I know. But sometimes I need to NOT tell. Do you understand? I need some things to just be mine until I’ve figured them out.”
“That’s fine. That’s growing up. But there’s a fine line between keeping your own council and hiding your life away.”
“Yes,” Russell said. “I’m starting to see that.”
