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“GRAMMA, ARE YOU OKAY? Do you want to rest for a minute?”
Three quarters of the way to church, regret settled in over letting his grandmother convince him she was fine to walk. Too busy telling her all his problems, he’d noticed how winded she was, even at their slow pace, only when she failed to offer great advice immediately. He steadied her with a hand on her elbow.
The walk through Judkins Park wasn’t steep or treacherous, and the endless highway construction of his childhood was finally done, but it meant no direct route to the church. Less than a mile, yet it might be too much for Gramma. With her dark-green wool coat buttoned to her chin, she looked shrunken, childlike.
“I’m fine, Ouji. If I can’t even make this short walk, I might as well die. We’re out here to enjoy this dry weather and talk about what’s bothering you. I’m capable of doing both and walking the last three blocks without a rest.”
A scold from anyone, but Gramma still smiled her beatific smile and patted his hand.
Ryan did his best to slow their pace. And he didn’t press his problems after having rambled on about them for eight blocks, but Gramma listened.
“Look at these chrysanthemums,” he pointed to corner of a blue house, “doing so well even with the rain we’ve had.” He wanted to give her a garden full of them, like she once had behind her little store.
“All flowers love rain. Maybe your recent troubles will be your rain with Ben, make you both grow. Now, what are you really worrying about? Is it the money for the apartment?”
A car waited for them to cross, so Ryan took his time answering her questions.
“It’s everything, Gramma.” He helped her up the curb and kept talking when she didn’t reply. “If I let Ben pay for most of it, because I don’t have as much to contribute, does it mean I’m obligated to him in a new way? He already thinks I’m not opening my heart to him.”
“You think the sharing he wants you to do is an obligation? You share your heart with him because you want to, because it feels right. Does it feel right?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I love him, but how can I respect myself if I let him handle the money? It’s not fair to either of us. But yesterday, after I realized how wrong I’ve been about my art being ready, I’m questioning everything I thought was right.”
“You are confusing your problems, Ouji. I see three separate decisions you need to make. Is Ben the one for you? If not, then the answer is obvious about taking money from him.”
“He’s the one for me.”
“Then if buying the apartment is something you want to do, you have to decide how to make it work. It’s okay to take money from someone who wants to give it to you. There must be things you do for Ben and others, without strings attached or belief they owe you.”
Everything around was different from the last time Ryan walked to church, back in high school. Many houses were the same, but since the Interstate 90 freeway construction finished, the streets and the traffic patterns were different enough for it to be disorienting. Like his own life recently.
“Of course. I don’t expect anything back for kindness, but this is different.”
Gramma shook her head, denying his statement. “You were a stubborn baby and you never changed, but sometimes you have to pause to breathe and see if you are right to hang on to these old ways of thinking.”
She was quiet for a second. Ryan listened to her labored breathing instead of focusing on his own issues. He slowed their pace more. She hummed like she did in the kitchen when she was deciding which ingredient to grab next.
“And it’s all connected. Even your worry about your art show. You say you were waiting to be ready. Whether your old teacher meant that you had to wait or not, it doesn’t matter. You waited because you weren’t ready. But you never did anything to back out of this art show, even though you are scared and believed yourself unready. So now you are ready, or you would have said no.”
Ryan’s laughter hung, a cloud in the chill air. “So I secretly knew all along I was ready for a gallery show with Terrence Chao?”
“You have to figure this out for yourself, that’s what I’ve tried to teach you. When you discover what was holding you back on art, you will see it was behind your choice to stay in the show. Now, you figure out why you won’t trust Ben to give you money without demanding something in return, and the rest will work itself out. He only wants to do things for you that will make your life better.”
“I don’t know if he always sees what is best for me. I’m not blaming him. It’s complicated.” It would be easier to believe she was right if Ben hadn’t suggested Ryan change his art for money, if he hadn’t brought Travis into it. But Ryan had been so wrong about Langdon, how could he be sure he wasn’t wrong about this too?
They walked in silence for half a block, Ryan listening to her breathing, worrying over how to know the right signs if she was truly in distress.
Gramma’s voice was a surprise when he’d been so intent on the rhythm of her breath. “I have some money for you, if you will take it more easily from me than you will from Ben.”
“I can’t take your money, Gramma. It’s not the same as from Ben. What if you need it for something?”
“Pish. It’s the redress money from the government. I gave half to your father and set the rest aside back then, in your name. I knew some day you’d need it for art or travel. I worried your dad wouldn’t support your art career if you chose to go that way. But maybe peace of mind going into your future with Ben is what you need to help your art career.”
Ryan’s breath hitched, nearly choking as he stifled a sob. A weight lifted. Any reason he found to tell her no would insult her, when she’d always meant this for him. Money didn’t solve all his problems, but might put him on even footing with Ben, giving him a solid place from which to figure everything else out. Now he only needed Ben in a new job, though he hadn’t told Gramma about conspiracy with Steven. Not worth jinxing it, in case it was only an impossible dream.
“Thank you, Gramma. It means a lot that you thought of me like this.” He squeezed her hand, and she gave him the brighter, wider version of her sweet smile.
They turned the corner to where the church building dominated the block.
“Come on, let’s go pray on it. Maybe now you’ve tried to explain it all to me, it will help clarify it in your mind, so you can say the things to Ben that you need to. God has a way of making things right. No need to climb out a window because a door closed. You need to seek the right path. Sometimes you can just knock on that door.”
She was pale rather than invigorated after their mile-long walk, more diminished than before, her mouth a tight line when she so often smiled. People moved out of their way as Ryan escorted her slowly up the church steps. At the top, Ryan released her and bent to tie his shoe.
A too-familiar voice called, “Mrs. Ikeda! Did you walk again? I’m glad you’re getting your exercise, but let me drive you home after service.”
Ryan stood and met the midnight-dark eyes of Hector Villanueva. Teto. Tall and broad featured, his bronze skin darker than Ryan remembered, as if he’d spent all summer playing outdoors. Black hair in the same short brush cut he’d worn since they were freshmen in high school, though now spiked at the front with styling product.
Ryan forced words past the constriction in his throat. “A ride home might be good. Thanks, Teto.” He darted a glance at Gramma, worried about speaking for her, but she’d never make the walk back. The best solution was putting her in Hector’s car, then catching the bus from here.
“Let me drive you both home.” Hector read Ryan’s mind, his smile wide and unreadable as ever. He was the one secret that Ryan kept from his grandmother. “But since you don’t need an escort today, I’ll meet you after. It’ll be nice to catch up.” Hector held the door for them.
Ryan got Gramma settled in the middle of the third pew, right side, a space that the rest of the congregation always held open for her.
Gramma leaned in close. “Speaking of what a stubborn boy you are, whatever happened between you and Teto, I hope you can be friends again.”
So much for keeping secrets from her. “Nothing happened. We’re still friends. Drifted apart as we got older is all. It’ll be nice to catch up with him after services.” The echo of Hector’s words came out stiff and perfunctory, the socially necessary lie too obvious. Telling her that Hector was the only person to ever truly break Ryan’s heart would out Hector, cruel and unfair.
Five and a half years ago, at the end of a two-year long clandestine relationship, Ryan confessed to Hector everything in his heart, his needs in bed, his true love. His insecurities about art, his dreams for his future, his desire to share all of that future with Hector, if only Hector would come out of the closet. A week later, Hector ceased to be Ryan’s Teto, when he broke it off between them to marry a woman.
Through the whole service, instead of focusing on a possible future with Ben, Ryan fell back into remembering how it had once been with his best friend from childhood, his on-and-off-again lover since high school.
◊
“Gramma, are you sure you don’t want to lie down? I can stay. Ben won’t mind if I’m late.” Ryan put a glass of water on the side table and hovered over her.
“I’m fine. You boys go on and leave me to rest.” She leaned back in her big gold arm chair. “Please just give me the remote.”
Hector stood in the entryway, smiling and shifting his weight; too polite to leave. Gramma was resolute on them leaving, but guilt over letting her walk to church kept Ryan in the room. He handed her the remote. “Will you be okay for dinner?”
“Your mother left too much food already made in the freezer. They’ll be home a couple hours anyway. Go on, you boys catch up. Teto, thank you for driving me. It’s always good to see you. Tell your wife I said hello.” She waved the remote, clicking them out the door.
Hector bowed slightly, hands in his pockets. “Yes, Mrs. Ikeda, I will. Both boys were sick today, or she would have been here.”
They put their shoes on in silence and Ryan focused on the broad line of Hector’s shoulders as they walked back to the car, the rhythm of his walk so familiar it beat out all the time and distance between them. His red baseball jacket clashed with the church clothes underneath. Certainly not the same jacket from high school, but this cleaner, newer version framed Teto the same as ever.
Hector opened the passenger door of the minivan. “You’re living down on the north Hill, right?”
“Yeah, off Roy. But I can get the bus. It’s fine, you’ve done enough today.” The unseasonal sun left the driveway smelling like summer concrete, warm and industrial, though the air was cool. A police siren blipped twice a few blocks away.
“Nah, you don’t need to take the bus. I gotcha.” Teto’s teeth gleamed, straightened by the braces he wore the first time he and Ryan kissed at fourteen. His eyes, so deep brown that Ryan had drawn them in midnight-blue many times, sparkled with amusement, as if he knew Ryan was going to get in the car but enjoying Ryan’s fake out attempt.
Up the street, a fire engine siren followed the police blips, echoing over the faint roar of I–90, a traffic sound that became like the ocean when you lived close, but on this day each car’s sound was somehow distinct. Ryan dropped his backpack behind the seat before he climbed in. Hector’s stereo thumped out KRS-One’s “R.E.A.L.I.T.Y.” The too-familiar motion of Teto turning down the volume spun Ryan into a vertigo of flashbacks. The minivan smelled of French fries, candy, and old socks. Like little kids plus a faint cloud of Drakar Noir over it all. The same cologne since Teto was seventeen.
Teto slammed his door closed. “I heard you got a big deal art show.”
Ryan twitched, agitated by how Teto’s voice rumbled through his core. Ryan still heard the tone of their youth, before puberty deepened it to a bass rumble. Knowing the answer, Ryan asked anyway, to fill the space between them. “Who told you that?”
“Mrs. Hino.” Teto glanced sideways, half smiling but cutting his eyes and lifting his chin at once. An old signal: I know you. I know who you are. I’m with you no matter what. It grated over the raw wound of their parting. A look of meaning that no longer meant anything. “She said you stayed in the hospital with her for three days. And at services today, Aurelia said she saw you at the hospital.”
Out the window, a motorcycle whined past setting Ryan’s teeth on edge. The brakes of a truck screeched as the motorcycle cut lanes too fast. Choking exhaust mixed with the other scents in the car.
“Mrs. Hino’s like family.”
Teto’s cologne, though faint, was the scent of furtive teenage orgasm. Their first hidden relationship, in high school, a miraculous secret. In public, everyone expected to see them together, best friends since childhood, never apart. Any covert minutes or hours they discovered, they touched, rushed into exhilarating release or long, languid make-out sessions. Teto’s public caution kept him from touching Ryan except by accident, which made the moments alone more special.
“Sure, but you’re still a good guy for doing it. Not everyone would have. Tell me about the show.”
“It isn’t a big deal. Just a group show. It’s Eli’s show. Remember him?”
Gramma was at home alone because Ryan got into this car and accepted this ride, and he used the time to talk about Eli?
“Yeah, bro, I saw some of his stuff when I was looking for something for Mariana—she’s pregnant again. I wanted to give her something special. I never knew Eli was Pinoy. Or Latino, maybe?”
At the park on Twentieth and Yesler, kids shrieked and chased each other, enjoying one last sunny day before the grey season came. In junior high, Ryan and Teto often rode here on their bikes after dark, leaning shoulder to shoulder against a tree and telling each other every secret.
“What? He’s not Filipino.” Ryan shut his eyes against memories of the park and didn’t open them until the minivan turned on to Fifteenth Avenue.
“It said ‘Elías Fuentes’ on the wall next to his picture. I recognized him from when you were together.”
“He’s another fucking white boy, trying to look interesting by stealing our shit.” Ryan resisted the pathetically hopeful spark: Teto still thinks about you. That Teto remembered Eli, thought of him in connection to Ryan after seeing his picture, meant nothing more than that they’d been friends since before they started school, and their families were still close despite the rift between them. But that wasn’t true. The launch of their second clandestine relationship, after college, reignited right after Ryan and Eli broke up. Teto broke up with his girlfriend and kissed Ryan behind the garage when Ryan went to console him. Every time in high school could be written off as boys will be boys, and puberty. But that kiss had intent.
“Glad I didn’t buy one of his pics for Mariana then. Though they were kind of you know.”
Outside, the deep green and pale brown of early fall were broken with bright flashes of chrysanthemums and larkspur blooming in well-tended yards. A Mustang revved and passed them illegally, while the hum of the minivan’s engine grated like a lawnmower.
“Know what?”
The kiss behind the garage lasted two years. Two long years of secret meetings, lies, and desperate, painful hope.
“Like, more your thing. Not really for my wife.”
Rage gagged Ryan’s first attempt to answer, canceling the dreamy memories and rushing into the terrible end. Teto’s wedding. The ongoing charade of friendship that forced Ryan to attend.
“Gay? Yeah, she probably wouldn’t like it.”
“I’m proud of you though. You told me once that you only needed a few good shows to get your work out there. I hope this is one of those shows.”
Ryan’s rage dissolved. Teto genuinely meant it; he always wanted other people’s happiness. That meant he left Ryan believing he’d never make Ryan happy. On a practical level, Ryan understood this, but the scent of Mariana’s perfume rose up in the car, deepening the ache of Ryan’s loss. Not Ryan’s Teto anymore; he was Mariana’s Hector. Husband and father.
The bit of fucking on the down low in high school left Ryan unsatisfied with anyone else, believing only his love for Hector outweighed any other. For the years of their second affair, Ryan longed for a declaration of Hector’s mutual devotion.
“Yeah, I hope it’s good.” For twenty years Ryan compulsively told Hector everything. On this day the urge vanished. Desperate to talk about everything happening in his life, the words to speak to Hector weren’t there; the connection had been severed years ago.
“Why, man, your stuff is killer,” Hector said. “Always was. Way better than Eli’s. You got this, I know it.”
Ryan kept every one of Hector’s secrets. In the end, Ryan wasn’t enough for Hector. He didn’t choose Ryan over his family’s wishes.
“Just been hard to decide what to show is all.”
“I’ll be praying for you. This will be so good for you, I can feel it.”
That second affair, and no question now it was ever any more than that, had darkness in those secret moments. The magic of surreptitious high school fucks disappeared when Ryan had finally experienced lovers who’d kiss him in public, at least in a gay bar or around the queer neighborhood on Capitol Hill. The loneliness from the lack of public contact had been amplified whenever Hector disappeared for weeks, sometimes not even calling. Fucking and dating other people further injured Ryan, while it never bothered Hector, all of it gasoline on the devastating fire of Hector ending it between them after Ryan declared his love and his desires.
Looking back, it was clear Ryan never stopped chasing those stolen moments in high school, when he’d been the most important, the most precious thing to Hector. Only one other person ever uplifted Ryan’s soul like that. Ben. And Ben did it proudly, right out in the daylight for anyone to see.
“Hey, you can let me off up here.” Ryan pointed to the corner of Aloha Street and Federal Avenue. Ryan had been wrong for eight years, believing Langdon’s excuses for cutting Ryan out of a gallery show. How long had he been wrong about what was between him and Hector?
“Nah, I’ll take you all the way.”
Lights flashed too bright at the intersection a block away. The street was quiet enough that Ryan heard the traffic farther up Broadway. The air in the minivan suffocated. French fries and old socks. Mariana’s flowery perfume overpowering the unforgettable scent of Hector.
“No, it’s cool. A quick walk for me. It’s a lot of tiny side streets. This way you can go back down Broadway.”
Ryan recognized Hector’s expression; he didn’t want to stop. His inflexibility, even when being kind, was intense. But he pulled far enough into Federal Avenue to prevent the cars careening down Aloha Street from smashing into them.
“Thanks for the ride, Teto.”
Ryan already had the door open.
“No one’s called me that in an age, man. We should—”
The swoosh of the minivan back door opening cut off Hector’s words, but Ryan anticipated them. “Yeah, let’s hang some time.”
The sliding door stuck. Ryan tugged at it, juggling his backpack to grab the door itself and not the handle. It slammed shut.
Ryan stared, his hand disappearing into the seam of the door. Everything twisted, a slow vortex of sound and vision, the van’s scent lingering. Dropping his backpack, Ryan grabbed for the handle to open the door. His brain screamed that it should hurt, would hurt.
Pain jolted up his arm as he got the door open. “Fuck!”
“Are you okay?” Hector asked, his face hidden from view by the headrest.
“Yeah, it’s cool. Caught my backpack strap in the door like an idiot. Go, I’m fine.” The calm words jangled with the pain searing through his hand. Ben would know Ryan’s distress immediately.
To prevent the ridiculous scene of Hector to running after him, Ryan slammed the van’s door shut and darted across Tenth Avenue and down to Broadway, the light in his favor. Down a one-way street where Hector couldn’t easily follow, Ryan stopped and clutched his wrist. A few deep breaths unwound his dizziness.
Halfway between home and the hospital, and his hand was definitely broken. No point in going home.