Out of the Blackness (13 page)
“Consider it a trial run for Christmas,” he offers with a smile.
That seals it. I have to do it now. I’ll be able to use the time to convince him he shouldn’t come for the holiday. Silently, I nod my acquiescence.
“Win!” he crows triumphantly. I throw him what I hope is a dirty look. Apparently I’m bad at them because he just laughs.
***
It isn’t as terrifying as I thought it would be. The room is small, yes, but Noah chooses a seat at the far end of the table, leaving me the spot nearest the door. I don’t know how he just instinctively
gets
these things about me—keeping his distance, trying to minimize his size, leaving me an option to escape—but there’s no question that he does. Perhaps one of these days I’ll feel comfortable enough to ask him. In the meantime, I listen with half an ear to the mindless conversation Molly has engaged him in while I pretend to concentrate on my beef enchiladas warming in the microwave.
I notice Molly has some weird vegetarian lasagna thing already warmed up, ready to go. She’s digging in with gusto even as she peppers Noah with questions. I turn to see what the big man is having for lunch and sigh when I see two cold cut sandwiches on white bread, a small bag of chips, and a single-serving container of tapioca pudding.
When the microwave signals, I take my meal to my seat and sit down, covering my lap with a couple of paper towels. I glance up to find Noah staring at me with a goofy grin on his face. Immediately I go on the defensive. “What?”
“I feel like a grade-schooler here. You both have hot lunches and I have—” he indicates his disgusting lunch “—this stuff.”
I frown. “Can’t you cook?”
He laughs. “Nothing anyone would survive eating! No, that’s not true. I can make pretty good chocolate chip cookies. But man cannot live on cookies alone. I know; I’ve tried.”
Molly giggles and I laugh. Pointing to his supposed food, I ask, “Is this what you have for lunch every day?”
Noah shrugs. “Usually. Sometimes I have fast food or a can of soup or something like that.”
Molly looks up from her grazing. “That’s really a shame, Noah. You should take better care of yourself. Avoid meat. It’s cruelty to animals. Plus, it makes you smell.”
Noah blushes slightly. “Do I stink?”
“Ignore her,” I jump in. “She's always trying to convert people to the vegetarian lifestyle.”
She smacks my shoulder. “I am not. Well, maybe. But the point
is
, Noah obviously needs someone to look after him.”
“What’s that have to do with avoiding meat?” I challenge.
She crosses her eyes at me. “It doesn’t, okay? I was just saying that one of the ways he can do better for himself is to not eat meat, especially that processed crap that passes for meat these days.”
“I need lots of protein,” Noah inserts.
Molly nods enthusiastically. “There are plenty of ways to get the protein you need without meat.”
I look up in time to see the pained look on Noah's face and laugh. “Molly, the man likes meat. Leave him alone.”
Both of them choke on their food. It takes me a minute to figure out why, but when I do my face heats fiercely. I stare down at my enchiladas like
they
did something wrong. Despite Noah's hearty laughter, I’m supremely embarrassed. I
never
make sexual innuendos, so this one was completely unplanned. I have no idea how to react, where to go from here. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, still staring down at my food.
Noah struggles to stop laughing. “No, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it that way. But you’re right in both cases.”
I shiver suddenly as the confirmation of Noah Yates’s sexuality washes over me. I’ve suspected that might be where some of his interest in me originated, but I’ve never been sure. Of course, just because Noah's gay doesn’t mean he thinks of me that way. He could just think, wrongly to be sure, that I’d make a good friend for him.
I glance up as Noah takes a bite of his pathetic sandwich and shudder for a completely different reason.
No more
, a voice in my head says, and I completely agree.
Molly polishes off her veggie concoctions and goes to the refrigerator for her customary after-lunch ice cream. Not for the first time, I wonder about her affection for the dairy treat, but I’m not about to ask her how she justifies it. Either I don’t understand vegetarianism or I don’t understand her version. Regardless, I’m not in the mood for a full-on discourse about it. She sits back down around the corner from me and points between Noah and me with her spoon.
“I think it’s really great that you’re going to spend Christmas with Avery, Noah.”
I blanch at the reminder, but Molly just plows on in her usual oblivious way. “He would never admit it, but he likes you a lot. And Sam and Kira are great. I think you’ll have a terrific time.”
Noah laughs in that easy way of his, even as I pray for my chair to swallow me whole. “Well, unfortunately, I won’t have the whole day to spend with them. My grandparents and little brother and I are gathering for lunch at my mom’s. But after that, I’ll be free.”
“Noah, Sam wouldn’t want to take you away from your family,” I rush to interject, seeing my chance. “You really don’t need to abandon them just to see us.”
“Oh, it’s fine. After lunch the ladies go play cards down the street and grandpa and little brother will sleep away the afternoon pretending to watch football.”
“But still, wouldn’t you rather have the whole day with family?” I wince and yell “Ouch!” as Molly's boot connects with my shin.
Noah just shakes his head and smiles. “You’re not getting away from me that easily. Besides, I already think of you as family. I’ll be there with bells on, buddy. Count on it.”
I
have a memory of a Christmas at my grandparents’ house from before my dad died. It’s not really a memory of events so much as a sense memory. I can smell the old house. Houses built right after the Second World War have a peculiar smell to them. I don’t know if it’s the wood used to construct them or the particular varnish used in that era or what, but it’s a truly special smell. It hints of permanence, of stability, and of happiness. I don’t remember what my presents were that year, but for some reasons I remember sitting at the table with my mom and dad and his parents. In this misty, watercolor memory there are two things on my plate I can’t get enough of—and one thing I never want to see again. The bad was stuffing, which was just too freaky for my little boy brain, mushy but crunchy at the same time, all while tasting suspiciously like wood.
But the two things I loved most I could only vaguely remember. Never once in the years of state care were we ever served anything like them again. So when Sam and I were preparing for our first Christmas after the group home, I searched the internet cooking sites furiously for hints about those two dishes. The only thing I had to go on were vague recollections of apples and oranges. I didn’t find the recipes that first year and Sam was absolutely no help. I think he secretly felt I’d finally gone off the deep end. With that motivation, I was determined to find them before that second Christmas rolled around.
Finally, just after Thanksgiving that year, I found them in a church cookbook at the local library. I made the “apple-banana salad” that following Christmas, much to Sam’s delight. It was the only homemade dish amid a bunch of Chinese food. The salad consists of apples, bananas, chopped walnuts, and maraschino cherries, all tossed in a sweet and tangy mayonnaise-based sauce. Sam loved it so much he will sometimes ask me to make it with no holiday in sight. The second dish I call Orange Fluff. It’s a tapioca pudding-based dessert with whipped cream, mandarin oranges and a couple packages of Jell-O pudding. Sam wasn't so sure about that one since Mandarin oranges aren’t his favorite thing. But I love it even more than the apple-banana salad. Its deliciousness brings back the good feelings and vague memories of being part of a loving family. Those dishes make me feel safe and cared for, even if I have to make them myself.
Seeing the blissful expression on Noah's face as he savored each bite of his tapioca pudding cup at lunch on Friday convinced me that he’d probably love the Orange Fluff. I refuse to look too deeply into why it’s so important to me that he enjoys it. I’m chalking it up to being a good host. I may not really want him here today, but since he is so bound and determined to show his face, the least I can do is be sure there’s something on the table I think he’ll like.
Unlike the Orange Fluff, which I made yesterday and left in the fridge to set up, I have to make the apple-banana salad today. I’m not about to take a chance on serving Noah discolored fruit. The stuff the man shoves in his face is disgusting enough, he needs to see that cooking for himself is not only the healthier choice, but isn’t difficult. Not that whipped cream, lots of pudding and mayonnaise are healthy, but I tell myself they can’t be as bad as processed meats and white bread. Here I am, Mister Limited Menu, trying to turn someone else on to home cooking. Irony’s not a very nice woman.
Of course, I’ll never get the dang thing done if Sam doesn’t stop swiping apple pieces. I smack his hand as he reaches into the bowl for the fortieth time. “Samuel Jackson Kenyon, I will cut off your hand if you do that again,” I warn in my sternest voice.
Sam gapes at me like he’s afraid, then smiles and ruffles my overlong hair. I really do need to get that mop cut, but I just hate, hate, hate people touching me, even that much. “Geez, Aves. Uptight much? Relax, buddy, Noah's going to have a great time.”
I glare at him and throw a whole apple in his general direction. He lunges to the right to catch it. I shake my head and resume cutting, wondering why things never end up where I aim them. “Stuff that in your mouth, brat,” I grouse around a hidden smile.
Sam takes a big noisy bite out of the Red Delicious and talks around it. “You’re cute when you’re nervous about a guy.”
My knife stills instantly and I stare up at him, praying he won’t see the pain in my eyes. He’s starting the pawn-Avery-off stuff earlier than I expected. I figured he’d at least wait until the end of the day, after he’d seen how well or not Noah and I get along, but apparently that doesn’t matter to his plan. “You invited him. Now I have to try to make him feel welcome.”
Sam nods and takes another bite of apple. “Does it bother you that I invited him?”
I sigh heavily and push away from the table, needing space. I pretend I’m not freaking out, covering my tracks by retrieving a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “What’s done is done,” I say noncommittally.
Sam regards me for a minute, his head cocked to the side slightly. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t like him?”
I shrug and pick up the small bag of walnuts that needs chopped. “He’s okay.”
Sam grins around a fresh bite of apple. “He’s okay. Hmm.” He turns to check the progress of the turkey in the oven. Why Sam has taken on the particularly unpleasant task of cooking the bird himself, I have no idea. Apparently the whole traditional holiday thing is really taking root in Sam’s psyche, which is just another reason why I have to make this therapy thing work, or find a fool-proof way to be with Joey. Unfortunately, as far as I know, there is no fool-proof method. I’d find a way to mess it up, even if there was one.
“He seems really taken with you,” Sam says, taking the last bite of his apple. He tosses the core into the trash like he’s playing basketball.
I frown into my chopped walnut mess. “I don’t know what you mean.” My chest clenches and stars sparkle at the edges of my vision. He’s really going to make me do this. Here in the kitchen, with me in sleep pants and a t-shirt, he’s going to push the Pawning Avery on Noah subject. I’m so not prepared for this, not when I’m going to have to play nice with the both of them for the rest of the day.
Sam scoffs slightly. “C’mon, little brother. You have to admit he’s different from everyone else. He understands how to interact with you in a way that not only doesn’t scare you but puts you at ease. Well, as at ease as you are with anyone who isn’t me.” I refuse to look up when he pauses, but I hear the smile in his voice as he continues. “Face it, buddy, the guy’s into you. You just have to decide what to do about it.”
The starbursts increase. My shaking hands gather the finished walnuts and sprinkle them in the bowl. Tears spring to my eyes as my voice deserts me. “Please,” I whisper. “Please stop pushing me at him.” The pain of Sam’s rejection slams into my chest, tightening the fist clamping down hard on my heart.
“What?”
Sam may be able to pretend he doesn’t know what’s going on, but I can’t, not anymore. It’s been tearing me apart for more than a week. I can’t let it go now. I can’t keep pretending it’s not happening or that it’s okay. He’s taking away my one safe zone and it’s killing me inside. My arms wrap around my waist, the way I wish Sam’s would, except I’m the only person who can comfort me now. I feel the wet splat of hot tears on my arms and hate myself for being so weak.
Sam’s warm hand covers my shoulder and I flinch away. I force my eyes open to see him kneeling beside me, shock losing the war with concern on his face. He leans forward to draw me into the safety of his arms, but with a shattered cry, I skitter away, coming to rest across the kitchen from him, the pain oozing from my heart and eyes.
He sits back on his heels. “Avery, what’s wrong?” He sounds genuinely perplexed, and maybe he is because I’m sure he didn’t expect me to figure it out so soon.
“D-don’t pretend!” I beg.
“I don’t know what you’re freaking out about, buddy. All I wanna do is help like I always do. What’s going on?”
The hollowness inside is so intense I feel like I might explode from it, just shatter into a million pieces. I’m not even sobbing. The numbness inside is so great the tears are simply flowing from my eyes. “You can’t just hand me over to him,” I cry.
“What? Aves—”
“You can’t be like my mother! If you don’t want me around anymore, then say so, but you can’t just turn me over to Noah like Mom did.”