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ELI PULLED ON A CLEAN long-sleeve shirt, which he hoped would distract from his sloppy sweatpants. He didn’t smell too good either, and the prolonged hiss of Bo’s shower only reminded him of what he was missing. He grabbed his crutches and hobbled to the small powder room. Bo had a basket of clean hand-towels under the sink, and there was soap and water.
As much as Eli hoped that Bo loved his body odor as much as Eli loved his, he had no such delusions about his parents’ sensibilities. He took a quick sponge bath, brushed his teeth, and shaved the 4-day scruff off his cheeks with a measure of regret.
It had looked kind of cool, in an up-to-date sort of way.
He might regrow it.
Maybe.
The shower upstairs was still running when Eli dried his face and hands, and declared himself presentable.
The doorbell rang.
“Coming!” Eli shouted, positioned his crutches, and made his way down hardwood hallway and into the small, tiled foyer to the front door. The irregular panes of the stained-glass front door window showed more than one outline.
He opened.
“Hey, Eli, right? Is Bo home yet?”
Eli gaped. These were not his parents – this was the band. He’d not have recognized them if they hadn’t visited him in the hospital. The broad, wide guy trying to hide a chubby baby face behind a short beard played the keyboards. His name was tucked away somewhere in the recesses of Eli’s mind. Same counted for the tall, slender man next to him.
And the drummer’s name was Allison. “Is Allison here, too?”
“Right here!” Allison peeked from behind them, braided hair and everything.
“Bo’s still in the shower.” This visit was unexpected. “Come in,” Eli said, and swiveled sideways to make room.
“Thanks,” the keyboards dude said. “We missed two rehearsals already and we’re working on some new material, so we better move it.” As they filed inside and Allison closed the door, the tall guy headed for the library. He pushed the heavy wooden panel of the sliding pocket door open, and Eli cringed as his unmade bed and a pile of dirty laundry came into view. “Wow.”
“Sorry,” Eli said. “Is that where you guys usually play?”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter,” the tall guitarist said. “Ralph, we’ll take the living room like we used to.
Eli’s heart skipped with relieved joy. He had two names now. Allison, Ralph, and...”
“Let’s push the sofa, Jay,” Ralph said, and Eli smiled, repeating the names to himself in a humming undertone.
“You sit here,” Ralph pointed to the sofa. “And don’t move until we’re set up.
Fifteen minutes of carrying, moving about, and fussing turned the carpeted living room into a rehearsal space.
“Hey, guys!” Eli didn’t see Bo come in from where he was sprawled on a sofa that was now pushed into a corner. “Aren’t you a bit early? Didn’t we say at eight?”
“I tried to text,” Ralph said. “And I figured we could order out for pizza.”
“No pizza.” Bo’s voice was flat as he crinkled his nose. “I was going to cook!”
“Um, Bo.” Eli raised his voice, and had to repeat himself three times to cut through the loud crowd and attract their attention. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but my parents are coming, and they’re bringing Thai.” The action stopped, as though everyone had forgotten he’d been sitting there. “Let me give them a call before it gets loud in here, okay?”
He dialed the familiar number.
“Hi Mom! Yeah, I’m good... better, definitely... yep, still on the pain meds but the swelling seems to be going down... hey, about dinner.”
The phone call lasted but a few minutes. Eli slipped his phone into his shirt pocket and looked up. “I hope you all like Thai food. They’re bringing extra, and Mom said she’ll get paper plates.”
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HIS OLD, RUN-DOWN VICTORIAN used to be such a quiet place. For a whole hour of focused rehearsal, Bo had felt the backdrop of its innate silence, the peaceful pall that soothed him after a long day’s work. The volume of the music was inconsequential. Music wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t busy. It was peace, a lake of meditative rhythms and harmonies, loosening him up and undoing the damage he racked up while standing at the furnace gathering glass for eight hours a day.
His house had been peaceful in that musical, meditative way until the doorbell rang again. Bo jumped, drawing a dissonant wail from his bass as he tried to set it down and beat Eli to the door. Eli didn’t have to weave through the chaos of cords and chairs and music stands, however, and even though he had to hobble on his crutches, he beat him to the door and let his parents in.
Twenty minutes of hurried introductions and confused bumping around in the too-small space passed like a dazed whirlwind, a time during which Bo tried hard to absorb what Eli’s parents were actually like, and how much they were bound to hate him. A blue-collar rocker without an education to speak of, living in a house whose peeling paint attested to the level of Bo’s resources.
This couldn’t possibly go well.
Bo dug into pad thai and chewed with nervous determination. Art Winkler insisted on being called Art. His full head of hair showed the kind of gray people usually managed with a judicious application of dye, and his face was clean-shaven, just like Eli’s. Art was taller than Eli by about four inches and their familiar resemblance was unmistakable. Art also wore proper slacks, dress shoes, a shirt and a blazer, and his watch looked like one of those expensive deals Bo usually saw advertised right before Christmas.
Eli’s mother was a short woman with more weight below the waist than she had above. Her platinum-blonde hair gleamed, all shiny, bobbed, and perfectly coordinated with her gold jewelry and a tan and cream pantsuit. Bo glanced down, surprised to find her wear sensible, low-heeled shoes.
“I’m Mimi Winkler, but call me Mom if you want,” she said. “And thank you for taking care of our Eli. Although I packed enough to stay, and I certainly insist on lending a helping hand.” Her straight, white teeth gleamed as she smiled at Bo from across the dining room table.
It was the teeth that pushed Bo over the edge. Eli’s parents were loaded. His dad worked some kind of an office job he couldn’t leave for long stretches, and his mom looked polished enough to be on TV. Sure, her make-up was minimal and her nails were short and clean instead of long and painted, but that made her even scarier.
Bo didn’t know what to make of her.
Maybe he’d been shooting too high with Eli. How could they ever click? The only college graduate in Bo’s immediate family was his sister Anna, who got her degree after eight hard, grueling years of working in a flower shop during the day and going to a community college at night. His two brothers were both in construction and got the right certifications that came with their jobs, but they were more beer-and-football kind of guys. Bo was considered weird with his music and his band and writing new songs that would probably never be heard. The Winklers, though?
Way too educated.
Bo was outclassed.
Just as Jay reached for seconds of the green-looking duck curry, the doorbell rang.
“I got it,” Bo said, shriveling inside. It better not be...
It was.
“Hi Mom, hi Dad.” He surveyed his crowded little porch. What a clusterfuck this was going to be. “You should’ve called first.”
“Nonsense,” Beth Bartowski said as she pushed up on her toes and pecked his cheek. “We never call, you know that.” She turned back. “Anna, Joseph, Mark, go settle those dishes in the kitchen!” She rolled her eyes in the direction of her husband, Greg. “Dad thought you boys needed a case of beer, which is patently ridiculous, what with that boy still being on pain killers!”
“It’s just IC light,” Bo’s dad said with a wink. “You want this in the kitchen?”
Bo nodded. “Thanks, Dad.” The beer might save the whole unplanned collision of worlds and expectations.
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THEY RAN OUT OF CHAIRS. They ran out of glasses, too, and the guys ended up drinking their beer straight out of the can. This included Art Winkler, who’d taken off his fancy, gold-buttoned blazer a while ago.
“Now I cooked up a tray of stuffed cabbages, and here’s the manicotti, and the last is a pork roast the way you like it,” Bo’s mom explained in Bo’s direction. “With the two of you here, you can’t possibly cook for yourselves. Anna will come over on Sunday to collect the dishes and bring something fresh.” She froze, and looked at Eli, who sat with his dad on one side and Allison on the other, looking lost. “Oh dear. I sure hope you ain’t Jewish!”
The Winkler’s perked up at that. Bo saw Mimi Winkler stiffen and Art bite the inside of his cheek.
“Why actually, I am,” Eli said. “Is that a problem?” The way he said it told Bo it had been a problem in the past. To his great consternation, his mother spun and pinned Bo with a look that could kill. “Bohuslav Otto Bartowski, why didn’t you inform me Eli here was Jewish?”
Bo’s twitched at hearing his full name and forced himself to give a lame shrug. “I didn’t know. And besides, it sure doesn’t matter. Just because you go church doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.” Not for the first time, Bo noticed the gap in his mother’s teeth. Funny how being able to afford dental work, or not, pegged one’s status in the social pecking order. She was his Mom and he loved her, and he wished she’d let him pay for the dentist so the likes of Mimi Winkler didn’t look down on her.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what religion Eli was, as long as he doesn’t go nutty over it.” And as long as he was able to accept Bo with all his flaws – but Bo couldn’t say that.
And now Eli knew his full name. His full, embarrassing name his mother insisted on pinning on someone in the family for tradition’s sake. His deeply religious mother, who tried in vain to wrangle the rest of the family into attending Mass at St. Stanislaw’s every week, and who saddled him with an unspeakable Czech name that used to be his grandfather’s.
The evening couldn’t be over fast enough.
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ELI TURNED, SEARCHING for his crutches. Bo caught his impatient look, stood away from the table, and delivered the pair of fallen and lost crutches into Eli’s eager hands.
“Thanks,” Eli whispered. He wanted to kiss Bo so much, but with both of their families and the whole band, didn’t dare do more than hold his gaze a bit longer than necessary.
“Bathroom?” Bo murmured discretely.
“The porch. I need to get out.”
“Okay. Mind if I join you?” Bo’s low voice wavered, as though he expected to be pushed away. Bo’s mom had certainly made the evening memorable with the pork roast incident, and Eli’s mom had been smooth as ever when she offered to trade pork roast recipes. The smells of food and the noise of several conversations pressed on Eli like an uninvited force after several day of having been mostly alone and bored out of his mind.
“No, come along.” Eli led the way to the door, aware that Bo ducked into the library for something or else. He was back fast enough to open the door for him.
“Watch out, there’s a little step,” Bo said as he pushed the door open. The air turned cooler and softer against Eli’s fresh-shaven skin.
He made it onto the old wooden planks and looked toward the street. “It’s raining,” he said, surprised, as though rain in Pittsburgh was a noteworthy event.
“That’s why I got you a pillow and a blanket,” Bo said behind him. He placed the pillow on the bench porch swing. “That’s for your leg.” He draped a fuzzy plaid-print blanket over the back of the chair. “That’s to keep you warm.”
Eli was blown away. “Thanks.” He felt like a mere thanks didn’t cover it. “I’m sorry,” he added as he settled onto the pillow carefully, letting Bo hold the swing still. “I’m making a wreck of your life!”
Bo sat down next to him and pulled the edges of the blanket over Eli’s neck and right side while he warmed him from the middle. His leg barely brushed Eli’s, as though only the awareness of Eli’s injury was keeping him away. Eli glanced at him, surprised to see him shudder in the brisk April evening air.
“No you didn’t,” Bo said. “My life’s a wreck all by itself. My family’s crazy and so are my friends.” He paused. “Different kind of crazy from yours,” he said.
“You think?” Eli didn’t bother to keep his amusement out of his voice. “Don’t judge a book by its cover. Mom spends most of her days dressed in old rags and there’s paint in her hair. Dad’s into bad pranks. I don’t have any siblings, so Mom and Dad will take any opportunity to travel out and catch up.” He noticed the fond tone of his own voice and thought fast, trying to make Bo feel included in the happy feels. “Besides, your family’s nice. They came to help and I’m a stranger.”
Bo tensed next to him. “But that Jewish comment!”
Yeah, that Jewish comment. Being a part of a religious minority was a big deal in Pittsburgh, where the question “Which church do you go to?” was considered a suitable, neutral topic of conversation. Not like out East, where people kept religion to themselves, and were eager to discuss politics instead.
Eli drew a cleansing breath of the rain-scrubbed, fresh spring air. The clashing food smells from inside were rinsed off and something faint and floral reached his nose. “She said it because she cares, Bo,” Eli said finally, trying to frame the embarrassing incident in the most positive light. “Look, lots of Jews keep kosher. We don’t. We’re pretty secular. Dad’s not Jewish, Mom is. And her parents and even grandparents were Reformed as soon as that had become a thing. We eat pork and shrimp, we wear mixed fibers, we don’t sell our daughters into slavery...” Eli turned toward Bo, wanting to see his face.
“Yeah. I guess.” Bo didn’t sound convinced.
“She’s nice and she loves you,” Eli said, determined to wipe any doubt or misgivings off Bo’s face. “Lean closer.”
Their eyes met. Bo hesitated – and what was that all about? He did lean in, though, and as he did, Eli captured his lush mouth with his own lips and wrapped his injured hand lightly around his neck.
The kiss was sweet, almost fleeting at first, yet they didn’t break apart. They lingered, waiting to see what might come, suspended in a haze of tension.
Eli ran his fingers through the hair on the nape of Bo’s neck. Bo whimpered. Exalted, Eli added a bit of tongue, just along the seam of his lips. They stayed like that for a while, sharing warmth and closeness, keeping out the chill while the April drizzle turned into a heavy springtime rain. Its drumming on the porch roof soothed Eli, coaxed him to close his eyes and snuggle closer to Bo, who wrapped his arm around Eli’s shoulders and gently pulled him in.
“I could stay like this forever,” Eli whispered, breaking their kiss. “I know I’ve said it before, but you smell so good.”
“I do?” Bo’s voice came out hoarse.
“Yeah. You think we would fit on that bed downstairs?”
“No,” Bo said. “Too small. I’d kick you in the middle of the night.”
Eli didn’t feel comfortable inviting himself upstairs. Besides, if he managed to scale the stairs, it would show he didn’t really need to stay here. He might as well languish in his apartment. Dad would go back to work, because Eli’s place was too small for all three of them and Dad’s work demanded a hands-on touch with the rest of the staff. Mom would end up trying to sleep on the sofa and she’d be miserable, or she’d have to sleep in Eli’s bed, which would be awkward.
As much as Eli wanted to snuggle down for the night upstairs in Bo’s room, he didn’t want a good reason to leave his library sick-room and his daily company.
Bo was good-looking, nice, and his smell was so hot he could cause a forest fire. Even better, Eli didn’t miss the occasional, lingering look and the assessing greed in Bo’s eyes when he thought nobody was looking. Eli was pretty sure Bo wanted him, and he wanted him bad. He was holding back right now, but if Eli got to stay, there was hope for a relationship on the horizon.