THE NEXT day started the next afternoon. Mine started late morning with a workout in the building’s gym, blessedly free of the Spotter. I might possibly have teased Caden and Lance with a workout selfie. All in all, I found the day quiet and peaceful. My grandparents didn’t surface until close to dinner, which I took charge of. The only text to violate my phone, however, was the outraged ones I received from Caden and Lance after dinner. Those consisted of one word each: “bastard” and “asshole.”
I hated to think I’d grown accustomed to Michael’s silence, so I distracted myself by writing a postcard. I didn’t entrust too much to what was basically a public advertisement that I possessed the leisure and money to travel. I put a bit more thought into it than “The weather’s frigid, wish you were here” but not much more.
Lance, Caden, and I traded party schedules after dinner and usually managed to find each other at subsequent affairs. They helped to pass the time until Christmas. We even met for lunch and shopping a couple of times. It gave me a chance to find presents for my grandparents.
“No word yet?” Caden said over lunch.
I shook my head. “I keep texting and e-mailing like normal, but it’s scaring me.”
“Dude.” Lance sighed. “You’ve got to grow a pair and call him on a landline. So what if it’s old school or you end up talking to his big bad parents?”
“Lance is right. If he’s the stand-up guy you say he is, something’s wrong. There’s no way he’d dump you with a fade-out. That’s what I’d do, and I’m a douche,” Caden said. “Your Sir wouldn’t do that. Damn. Do you really call him that?”
My eyes twinkled. “I don’t know. Do I?”
They both looked hungry for a moment before they covered it up. Were we all subby bottoms who wanted it to hurt? I laughed. “No, but think how much fun you’ve had with that.”
Lance threw his crumpled-up napkin at me. “Rude.”
But Caden stared at me. “There’s something he’s not telling us, Lance.”
“Maybe.” I smiled demurely.
“Don’t make me tickle you,” Caden said.
I rolled my eyes. “I can outrun you both.”
“You can’t outrun your feelings, and right now you’re feeling pretty low where your guy’s concerned.” Lance’s arrow hit me right where it hurt, too.
“I’ll call, I promise. Now can we please get this conversation off of my failings and onto some of yours?” I glared at Caden. “So. You’re a two-timing douche, you say?”
Lance laughed. “Yeah, tell us about that. Why do I get the sense you’re in a frat, too?”
“They kicked me out after I boned the president’s girlfriend.” Caden paused to make sure he had our attention. “And his little brother.”
“I suddenly have the idea you don’t mean in the frat buddy-system sense, either.” Lance met my eyes and shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he found it hilarious or if it made him jealous. Interesting.
CHRISTMAS DAY passed quietly. I’d assumed that all that shopping would be my gift, but I had assumed wrong.
What had Grandma done, nipped off to the Apple Store while Sylvia had me trapped with the tailor altering my tux? “Here’s my credit card. I’ll take one of everything for my grandson.” Because that’s what it looked like. New laptops (regular and Air), new iPhone, a couple of new iPads? Check.
I’d already learned the futility of arguing with my grandparents, so there was no point in that, but there was no way I could accept all of this. Maybe Michael or Geoff needed something? I was worried about Michael and pissed at my brother, but I knew neither state would last forever.
Fortunately I’d managed to slip a few things for my grandparents into my suitcase before I’d left Sacramento, and again after various shopping expeditions in Chicago. At least when I wasn’t limited by my own lack of money, I liked to buy art or small antiques for gifts. They were difficult to return. So thanks, Mom and Dad! You’re the ones who taught me that trick. I’m not speaking to you, but Grandma and Grandpa loved that Hiroshige print I found on the Miracle Mile and that lithograph I brought with me from Sacramento. The best part was, no one in their circle had anything like it, and I think that’s what mattered at that point in their lives. They could buy anything they wanted, but one-upping their friends? That was the key.
Likewise that small mirror from the antique store? Couldn’t forget that. It didn’t cost a whole lot, relatively speaking, but it predated the transcontinental railroad, according to the antiques dealer I bought it off of before I left school. That meant it reached California the hard way, by sailing around the horn to get to San Francisco. There was even faint writing in different hands stating the names of different owners and dates, so I believed her. I added my own name and the date before I passed it on to my grandparents.
Once I figured that out, I felt better about the parties and being squeezed for information. Material things meant little since Grandma and Grandpa bought whatever they needed, but conversation pieces and petty triumphs over their friends? Worth more than gold and gems. Apparently that counted as currency in their circles.
As I put the finishing touches on brunch, Grandma said, “So tell us about this boyfriend of yours, dear.”
Were they genuinely interested, or was this one more piece in what for all I knew was an endless game between them and their friends? That I understood their game didn’t necessarily mean I was ready to convert all of my life to game chips.
“He’s a prince, but his parents are another matter.”
“They’re not homophobic, are they?” Grandpa glared at me, but I knew it was directed at the Castelreighs.
I thought about that for a moment. The fact that they didn’t like a particular gay man didn’t necessarily follow that they were homophobic per se. “I’m not sure, to be honest. They used to be much more supportive of our relationship, and I don’t know what’s changed.”
Grandpa frowned. “What about your condition? Are they upset by it? Is he upset by it?”
“I really don’t know what to say about Michael’s parents.” I opened my shirt collar and showed them the leathern collar Michael gave me. “Do you know what this plus sign means?”
“We do, dear. Your mother told us about your… troubles.”
That wasn’t what I’d expected to hear, and for a bunch of reasons. I’d never had the least idea Mom kept in touch with her parents, for one thing. “Does… does it bother you?”
“It certainly wouldn’t have been our first choice for you, Liebling.” Grandpa sighed. “But listen, we’re modern. We get it. It’s a condition, not the wrath of God. You look healthy. You’d have to be to do what you do in those boats.”
“True fact. I admit, it’s a balancing act, and one of the things that worries me about training on the level I’ll need to for the national team is whether I can maintain the balance. It’s something I’ll need to talk to my doctor about before I commit.” I thought for a moment. “From what I’ve read online, there’s been at least one Olympic gold medal winner who’s been poz, so it should be possible to train at the levels needed without compromising my health, and crew’s a noncontact sport, so I don’t have to worry about putting my fellow athletes in danger, either.”
I practically saw Grandma relax before my eyes. “That’s been our biggest worry, dear. That you’d overexert yourself and get sick again. The fact that you’re aware of the possibility is very reassuring.”
“I have to be, don’t I?”
“Actually, you don’t.” Grandpa gave me a very direct look. “There seem to be a great many people who move through this world heedless of their own safety and that of others, and I’m not talking about the apparently large numbers of men your age who don’t know their own HIV status, or at least not solely.”
I thought about that for a while. “The summer before my senior year was a rough one. I grew up very quickly.”
“We can tell, dear. More espresso?”
I laughed at that. Espresso appeared to be Grandma’s solution to everything, and I had grown addicted in the short time I’d stayed with them. “Yes, but please teach me how to make it. I’ll be sunk when I return home if I don’t learn. I can already tell I’ll need to buy my own machine and grinder.”
“Good luck,” Grandpa said. “I’ve been trying for years, but no one makes it like your grandmother.”
“I’ll settle for even minimal competency,” I said as I followed Grandma to the kitchen, our conversation about Michael set aside for the time being. Set aside, but not forgotten.
AS I checked my e-mail later that evening, the Skype icon started jumping up and down on the dock. I clicked it, and up popped Michael.
“Oh thank God.” I practically sobbed. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Where’ve you been?”
“Where have I—?” Michael all but yelled back.
That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “What? I told you where I was going.”
He looked terrible. “I know, but then I didn’t hear anything….”
“My phone works, and I’ve texted you nonstop since I got here. Texted and e-mailed. I’ve even sent you a postcard.” This couldn’t be good. I was suddenly terrified because Michael looked scared.
“My parents took my phone away.” He chewed on a fingernail.
“What? What’s been going on? How are you contacting me now?”
Michael hesitated. “It’s been horrible around here. Your parents seem to think I know where you are—”
“You do. If they paid attention to their credit card statements, they would, too, Mom especially. They’re her parents, after all.” And he hadn’t answered my question….
“But, Rem, they blame me for some reason, and Geoff’s frantic with worry.”
Welcome to the parental blame club. Sucks, doesn’t it? Jeez, I couldn’t let myself head down that road. “That’s crazy, Michael, bone-deep crazy, and why did your parents take your phone away?”
He closed his eyes, sighing. “They found out that we went to the prom together, and since they know you couldn’t have bought the tickets, I’m on restriction. So they took away my phone. My computer, too. They’ll have to give that back once school starts, but not until then. I’m actually using their computer right now.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, in part because I’d thought that crashing the prom was a bad idea, but I couldn’t exactly say that. My guy was suffering, and crowing “I told you so” wasn’t my style.
Okay, it totally was, but not to Michael and not over something this serious. Definitely not when he appeared so beat-up by it.
Michael looked like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t. Like he was afraid to tell me. He closed his eyes for a moment. “They found my Truvada.”
Oh. Shit.
I hardly knew what to feel. Anger? Defeat? Hopelessness? Extreme hatred?
“Are they trying to break us up?” I’m not sure I wanted the answer, but I had to know.
“The only reason I’m able to contact you now is because there was some kind of accident at one of the dry-cleaning plants. Not one of the stores, but the plants. Is it horrible I’m happy about environmental degradation?” He wiped away a tear, and I’d never felt so helpless.
I touched the screen. What else could I do?
My guy needed ideas right now, so I thought hard and fast. “Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. First, Truvada works best when you take it every day, but I’m not there, so it’s not the end of the world. It’s not like we bareback anyway. When we hang up, see if you can find it and then contact Geoff. Explain what’s going on, and see if he’ll hold it for you until I get back. If all else fails, we’ll call Dr. Kravitz and get more when I return—”
“Rem! They flushed it.”
I swore. “Assholes. As far as Geoff goes, he knows my phone number—”
“Rem, has it never occurred to you that people are afraid of you? That Geoff’s afraid of you? Afraid of losing you?”
“Then maybe he should’ve kept his pie hole shut in the first place. He was dead wrong, and until he’s man enough to admit it, I have nothing to say to him. I’m not too dependent on you, and that’s a fact.” Damn. This whole thing pissed me off all over again. “When it comes down to it, everyone knows how to reach me, be it on the phone or via e-mail.”
“Even me?” he said in a small, quiet voice.
Was he crying? Fucking hell, he was. I promised to feed the rest of the Babcocks to the bottom-feeders at the port for this.
“Michael, I’m so sorry your parents are insane. I can’t believe they were in denial about us having an adult relationship and taking all appropriate steps to protect your health. Regardless of what lies they may have told you, that’s a sign of maturity on both our parts. Obviously I had no idea they’d taken your phone and your computer.” I hated to see him cry. Had I ever seen him cry? Damn. I was two thousand miles away, and there was nothing I could do about it but shake in impotent fury. “I’ll be home soon. Can you hang on? Will I even be allowed to see you when I get home?”
“I can always sneak out my bedroom window. They still haven’t figured that out.” He gave me a watery smile.
I thought for a moment. “If you can get out, I want you to go to the library and set up a free e-mail account. Then e-mail me the mailing address of a friend who can receive mail for you. Another thought, Casey and James both owe us big time. I’ll send you a burner phone.”
“Won’t that cost a lot?” Michael frowned. “I mean, I appreciate it and all—”
I cut him off. “Money’s not an issue, not with my grandparents, trust me. Besides, I didn’t say I was sending you a new iPhone, although I bet they’d pay for it.”
Michael stared at me. “You’re kidding.”
“You have no idea. None. It’s insane. I’ll tell you—and show you—when I get home.” I shook my head. “But that’s not the hot issue right now. I don’t know how long your parents will be gone, and I want you to meet my grandparents. Can you hang on a sec?”
Michael nodded, drying his eyes.
“Grandma! Grandpa!” I called, carrying my laptop out to the living room. “I made contact with Michael.”
After several minutes of squinting, Grandpa said, “I’m sorry, Michael, I simply can’t see on Jeremy’s laptop screen. It’s too small. I presume he has your contact information?”
“Yes, sir.” That was my boy, always polite.
“Then he’ll call you right back, dear,” my grandmother said. “Hang tight.”
Grandpa led us into his office, where not one but three studio displays waited. “I have no idea how to use that many screens,” I said. “What do you do with them?”
Grandma laughed. “Your grandfather never retired, dear. He’s up dark and early monitoring the markets and running circles around men not much older than you. He loves it.” She smiled fondly at her husband. “So… three screens, three huge screens.”
“They have to be that big at my age,” Grandpa said. “Your eyes are worthless after sixty, even with laser surgery.”
I still couldn’t believe my parents had deprived me of these warm, caring, and hilarious people for all these years. Then it hit me. Mom had done exactly what I was doing—cleaving to her man. I needed to talk to her without anyone else around. Was there some rule that the older you got, the more complicated everything grew?
So I called Michael back on Skype and made introductions.
“You don’t look any different,” Michael said.
I snorted. “You do. You’re about two feet tall. Grandpa’s got these enormous displays to keep track of I don’t know how many different markets.”
“Money can hold time at bay, but it will win in the end, boys. Always remember that,” Grandpa said. “Yes, money makes life very comfortable, but all it really is, is a convenient way to keep score. The only thing that matters is your family, your loved ones.”
I noticed a certain pain behind those words, and it made me wonder what it cost my grandparents to be semiestranged from my mother, their only child. I guess I could vow to reunite them, but from what Grandma said about knowing my serostatus, they maintained some sort of contact. Besides, my plate was full enough, and I couldn’t fix the world. Hell, I could barely keep myself out of trouble. Some things were above my pay grade, and one day I knew I’d have to accept that.
After Grandma and Grandpa visited with Michael for a few minutes, they left the two of us alone, but as Michael grew increasingly edgy about getting caught, I knew it was time to go.
“Remember: e-mail, address, and a burner phone.” I felt horrible, and I had to wonder, which had been worse—no contact or this?
Michael nodded. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
“And I’ll see what I can do about returning as soon as possible after New Year’s Eve.”
“You’ll deal with your parents?”
“For you, Michael? Anything.” I meant it, too.
He looked so forlorn. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah. Soon.”
The screen went dark. “Good-bye,” I whispered. “I love you.”
I pulled myself together. And went to face my grandparents. To thank them, really. I appreciated that they took the time to meet my boyfriend and that Grandpa allowed us to use the screens in his office. I had no idea how to turn them off.
“What’s wrong, Jeremy?” Grandpa said when I entered the living room. Guess I hadn’t pulled myself together as well as I’d thought.
I fought back more tears. “Michael’s very upset. He hasn’t replied to any of my attempts to contact him since I left, and now I know why. His parents took away his phone and impounded his computer. I’m actually kind of afraid for him.” I promised myself I wouldn’t break down, but right then I thought I might break that promise. Michael was the kindest, sweetest person I knew, and for his parents to treat him like this…. They were supposed to love him more than anyone else in the world, and that they’d treat him like a felon because of me made me feel lower than something I’d scrape off my shoe. “They’ve disapproved of our relationship, of me, since I started college, but this level of crazy is new. I don’t understand why they’re doing this to him now, of all times. It’s hard not to think this is aimed at me.”
Grandma patted the sofa next to me, and once I’d seated myself, pulled me into a hug. “That sounds very rough, dear.”
“I feel so powerless.” I sniffled. “I wonder what happened to the Michael who stood up for me, the Michael who protected me when I got so sick?”
I sounded like Geoff did when he grilled me after the Head of the Charles. I wanted to kick myself. Or choke on the irony. “I used to be so fierce, too.”
Grandpa gave me a look of purest sympathy. “Jeremy, you’re young. I know you’ve seen and done a lot, but you’re not even nineteen yet. You don’t have to answer every question. Sometimes observing a pattern is enough. Maybe the two of you aren’t fierce right now because you don’t have to be. I’ve seen a lot of anger in you, but unless you control it, direct it to a productive end, you’re nothing but a pissed-off teenager.”
Not even nineteen, yet. I could hear Paul Hardcastle’s “19” in my head. Mad and bewildered, yes, but at least I wasn’t lost in the jungles of Vietnam, just lost in the thickets of relationships—parents, Michael, friends, crew.
“Your grandfather’s right, dear. No one in the history of the world has ever taken an angry teenager seriously, but a young man with righteous arguments and a goal is something to be reckoned with. Maybe it’s time to start being fierce again, dear. For Michael, if not for yourself.”
“Let me put it to you this way, Jeremy, and this is something I’ve learned the hard way over decades. Success, however you define it, is a fairly simple thing. Figure out what you want. Determine what it’ll cost you.” Grandpa smiled at me. “Then pay the price.”
I jumped when Grandpa pronounced his steps to success so emphatically, but I found myself nodding. They were right. I’d already spent too much time allowing my parents to call the tune and picking the dance for me. Hell, my presence at CalPac was Exhibit A. Maybe that wasn’t the best example, after all. I liked CalPac and no longer wanted to transfer, opening an entirely new can of worms. But my grandparents were right. People took one look at angry teens and wrote them off as pouting hormone cases. As it was, even young adults with well-reasoned arguments stood decent chances of dismissal due to age alone. And I was angry. I could stay angry—at my parents, at my brother, at Michael’s parents—or I could grow up and use that anger, that passion, to fuel my plans forward. I could also use that anger to benefit Michael and myself. As Grandpa said, the steps to success weren’t all that profound. That didn’t mean they were easy, but that they weren’t a secret.
“I’m going to have to think about how best to help Michael, because righteous arguments or not, I’m eighteen, and he’s still a minor. But your steps to success?” I nodded my understanding. “I think I’ve been using them in crew without even knowing it.”
Grandpa smiled. “It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s pretty simple. Never easy, but simple.”
“I’ve willingly paid the price for years, but the next step? That’s a whole new price altogether, and I admit it scares me. What if I fail?” It was the first time I had ever contemplated failing in crew, but it was bound to happen sooner or later.
“But, my dear, what if you fly?” Grandma said.
I couldn’t answer that one. I would only fly by dint of excruciatingly hard work, harder than any I’d known before. But then, couldn’t I say that about every goal in crew up to this point? I’d spent the summer before my first trip to the Youth Nationals sculling many hours per day, sculling until my hands looked like hamburger from gripping the oar handles tighter than I should’ve and by putting in more time on the ergs than was perhaps healthy. My caloric intake had skyrocketed, and if I hadn’t gotten so sick with what turned out to be HIV that following fall, I would’ve been in danger of gaining a ton of weight.
I nodded to acknowledge her point. “I also have to talk my parents into paying for it, and right now I’m not speaking to them,” I said without considering the implications or the audience. My mind and attention were two thousand miles away in Davis.
Grandpa waved a dismissive hand, but that was easy for him to do. He was richer than God. “Stuff and nonsense. You let us worry about that. We’re your grandparents. Spoiling you is what we live for, and we haven’t been allowed to do it for far too long. We’ve got years of pent-up spoiling to do.”
That brought my attention back to the here and now. I wanted to smack a hand across my mouth, but barn door? Horses? “More bragging rights?”
“Well, there is that, too, dear.” Grandma smiled.
My jaw hung open. “You can’t be serious. It’s… it’s too much.”
I couldn’t understand how they kept score. Right when I thought I had it figured out, they introduced some new wrinkle to throw me for a loop.
“Why don’t you let us worry about that, dear? How much will you need?”
I felt kind of stupid. “I don’t actually know.”
Grandpa patted my hand. “Why don’t I talk to your coach? That’ll make things easier. You can name your boat after us or something.”
“This is a joke. You’re kidding, right?”
Grandpa’s eyes held a twinkle. “Am I?”
He laughed, and I laughed, too, but what if he wasn’t kidding?