12: Growing Up

The plastic folder was lying on my desk, waiting for me. I dressed slowly, concentrating on every movement…drank tea, ate a dry bagel… My stomach was a mess. Coffee would make me throw up, I was sure of it.

I already had my jacket on when my phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and stared at the display.

Lena König calling.

Mattias was right; it was time I grew up. I went to the living room window and stared at the people passing on the street: dog walkers, early shoppers, weekend tourists. Every one of them had bigger problems than I ever did, I was sure of it. Life in perspective. I called Lena back.

“Alex?”

“Hello, Lena.” I sounded surprisingly calm. I squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled, waiting for the doom.

“I’ve been trying to reach Christian. He’s not answering his phone.”

Of course, he’d turned it off so I wouldn’t bother him.

“I can ask him to call you. I’m just on my way over there.”

A beat of silence. “You are? It’s Saturday morning.”

“Yes, I need to talk to him. I’ll pass on your message.”

“Talk about what?”

“I’m sorry, Lena. It’s private. He will tell you if he wants to.”

More silence. And then… “So, you do have a backbone. I’ve always wondered.”

It should have made me laugh. Under different circumstances, it would have.

“I’m leaving my apartment right now. I’ll ask him to call you. I’m sure he’s okay.”

“I want you to call me, too. We might have something to discuss.”

“We might,” I agreed. I was surprised how little I was intimidated by Lena after having experienced her son’s disdain. Lena König no longer had power over me. Christian held all the strings.

***

I huddled the folder close to my chest, shuffling through the drizzle. The sidewalks were gray, the houses were gray—the sky, too—and my mind was a mass of jittering jelly. Altogether a dark, eerie morning.

I knew the entry code to Christian’s building. I let myself in, climbed the stairs, and knocked on his door. No answer. I knocked again.

It was completely silent on the other side of the door. I heard footsteps in the hall and turned. A young girl in high-heeled boots walked toward me. She had a fancy black coat and elaborate makeup.

“Hi, I’m looking for Christian. Have you seen him?”

“He went out. Why don’t you call him?” She sounded prissy. She passed me without stopping and continued down the stairs. So, this was Jana.

“He’s not answering his phone. I think his battery is dead.”

“Can’t help you,” she called, already out of the main entrance. The heavy door banged shut behind her. Christian was right. She was a bitch.

I looked around, weighing my options. I could hear pots banging in the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, I went down the hall.

The kitchen was neat—a huge change since I’d been there the first time. By the sink stood Dieter—with his clothes on this time. He heard me approaching and turned. He didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrows at me expectantly.

“Hi. I’m sorry for barging in here. I’m looking for Christian.”

Dieter didn’t answer immediately. He took his plate, filled with eggs and a sandwich, walked to the table and sat down. The fork was already there, as well as a mug of coffee. He cut a piece from an egg, sunny side up, and chewed slowly.

I waited.

Dieter swallowed and looked at me, tilting his head. I tightened my grip on the folder.

“He’s pissed at you. And sad,” he finally said and proceeded to prepare another bite of his eggs.

“I just need to talk to him and give him this.” I tapped a finger on the plastic-covered stack of papers I was hugging to my chest.

“Will he be angry at me if I tell you where he went?” Dieter asked, completely serious.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I can give him the stuff if you want.”

I sighed. Okay. That could work. I trusted Dieter. He was always refreshingly honest.

“I won’t open it. It’s private.” He nodded to himself and ate, not saying anything else.

I laid the folder on the table next to his coffee mug and forced my hand into my jacket pocket.

“Okay, good.” I turned to leave. “Dieter, thank you, and…you know…”

“I won’t open it, and I won’t show it to anyone else.”

“Okay, thanks, man.”

He nodded, his mouth full again.

“Bye,” I said. Dieter just hummed in response.

I left the Stusie and walked back to town in the gray November rain.

At home, I changed for running. I took my car into the Black Forest and ran intervals up some ridiculously steep hill until I limped. Hot shower, pasta with olive oil for lunch, because I couldn’t stomach anything else, and I worked. I edited the syllabus for the spring semester, adjusted the reading lists, answered all my emails, and re-read some essays. I organized my files, vacuumed the apartment, scrubbed the bathroom floor, and washed two loads of laundry. I cooked chicken soup for dinner because that I could eat.

Exhausted to the core, I fell asleep at nine and slept until six in the morning. Another day in front of me.

***

I didn’t know how long I was supposed to wait. I called Mattias and asked him to give me a deadline. He told me I was a loser and hung up.

I gave myself a deadline. Three days. I was a writer—I was good at waiting for answers. I remembered my first wait after sending a book to a publisher. I’d waited for five months. Then four more after rewriting and resubmitting. They’d said no. I’d sent it elsewhere and waited again. I had a battery of exercises to go through if I wanted to be able to wait without badgering the other party: running, taking a train somewhere random, writing something else. Even the obsessive checking of my phone and email, the jumping at the sound of steps on the stairs or the ding of a message—I knew all of that and thought I could deal.

I was wrong.

Two days into the wait, I was a complete wreck. I ran daily so I was exhausted enough to sleep. Even so, I woke up in the middle of the night just to feel sorry for myself for a few hours. I held a lecture on synopses on Monday, and it was abysmal. My students threw me pitying glances. Bastards. Usually, when I forgot what I was going to say, they whispered and laughed. But no. This time, they had to underline my misery by feeling genuinely sorry for me. When I was leaving the seminar room, I overheard a couple of girls seriously discussing if Popescu was manic depressive. If that wasn’t enough of a wake-up call…

After the English department meeting, my boss asked if I was having a personal crisis and said I could take a week off to get myself under control. I somehow managed to convince her I was okay. I don’t even remember what I said to her. She looked suspicious but left me alone. After seeing my face in the bathroom mirror, I understood. I looked like Death on a February morning.

I hid in my office for the day and procrastinated by looking through Christian’s old Facebook pictures. Pathetic.

I had to get myself under control. A good start would be at least eating properly. I needed to cook something normal. And screw it, I needed a beer. This self-punishing asceticism didn’t work for me at all. I would eat a turkey schnitzel, and a full bowl of salad with spinach, goat’s cheese, and ooh! Walnuts and honey! Drink two beers, take a walk, and buy something nice. A new button-down. Something which felt nice against my skin. And then I’d take a bath. With bubbles, damn it!

I left work feeling marginally better. I had a plan.

With a bag from Alnatura in one hand and a six-pack of exclusive Czech lager in the other, I climbed the stairs back to my place. I was almost not thinking about Christian. He was on my mind all the time, but sometimes I managed to get my brain occupied enough to push him into the background for a moment or two. Of course, that was when I almost ran him over, right there on the stairs in front of my apartment.

He seemed to be leaving, no doubt after knocking on my door and getting no answer.

We stopped and stared at each other for a beat.

“Oh,” I said.

“Hi,” he answered. “Can we take a walk?”

After a few seconds, I recovered enough to form words. “Hi. Sorry. Went shopping for food. Let me just—” I fumbled with my keys “—drop this off.”

He stepped aside to let me pass and open my door. I dumped the grocery bag and beer on the floor and turned to him. He seemed so collected, together. It made me feel inadequate. His wild haircut was almost tamed, golden strands hanging over his ear. He’d dressed up a bit. For me? I recognized the petrol-colored scarf. I’d bought it for him in Basel. He had a matching shirt with a quirky subtle pattern of pinecones on it. The dark-blue parka reached almost to his knees, making him look a little like a young boy in his father’s coat.

He gazed at me steadily, as if he knew what would happen in the next few minutes. Christian wasn’t a boy anymore. There was nothing boyish about the way his look pinned me in place. I ate him up with my eyes, so starved for his presence.

Only then did I notice the rolled-up papers in his hands. He glanced at them, smacking the roll into his palm once, twice, then lifted his eyes to me again.

“Okay. Let’s go,” he said.

I locked my door and followed him down the stairs and onto the street. We went silently. The streets were busy. Late in the afternoon on a weekday, everybody seemed to hurry somewhere.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked when we passed Bertoldsbrunnen, the biggest tram crossing in Old Town Freiburg.

It was cold but not freezing, growing darker by the minute. Nights came fast this late in November. Low gray clouds covered the town like a lid.

Chris zipped up his parka and squinted into the distance. The crowds flowed around us, an endless stream of crawling, scrambling humanity. “Would it be calmer around Schlossberg?” he asked.

“I guess.” If I can survive the fifteen-minute walk there.

We went down Salzstrasse all the way to Oberlinden tram stop and then through the old Schwaben gate. It took forever. In my peripheral vision, I could see the papers in Christian’s hand. He seemed to carry them with care, sometimes holding them with both hands, closer to his chest.

I’d imagined this moment a thousand times, recapping it in my head every sleepless hour since Chris had left. I’d had it planned, formulated, and polished. Now, I couldn’t remember a single word.

I wandered in circles inside my head, trying to come up with things to say. How to explain? I couldn’t think. Every line of reasoning seemed to scatter and fall away, becoming lost in the street, hijacked by the flashes of Christian’s blond hair, the pink of his cheeks in the chilly November breeze. Every time I caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye, walking steadily and purposefully next to me, my brain blanked. Thinking was hopeless when even breathing was a challenge.

I wanted him to stay in my life. That was all. Whatever the cost. Was there anything I could have said or done to save our friendship? Was there anything I could say now? He knew everything already. The papers in his hands were proof of that. I was powerless. I could only wait.

Finally, we reached the walkway leading up the steep hills cutting into the heart of Old Town Freiburg. Soon, we were surrounded by trees, leaving the crowds and noise behind.

“So…” he said.

I’d walked like a sheep next to him all the way here. Suddenly, I couldn’t keep it together anymore. I groaned out loud and clutched my head with my hands. Seeking support, I went farther up the hill and flopped on the nearest bench, covering my eyes. I rubbed my face trying to soothe the pounding in my head.

I heard a squeak of shoes, a rustle of Christian’s parka as he sat. I felt the warmth next to me. My heart thrashed in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by my hands.

“I can see that,” he said, cool and calm.

Do it, Alex. Now, for fuck’s sake!

I took a breath, straightened, and turned. Christian watched me, almost amused. Almost. There was a nervous wrinkle in between his eyebrows. I knew him so well.

“I love you,” I said. Finally. His gaze roamed my face, waiting so patiently. “I fucked us up. I’m sorry. I wanted you to have an amazing life, free from heartbreak and the mess everybody else goes through. I had this vision of you. Christian, blissfully happy and unaware. Like I could protect you from…I don’t know what. From everything and everybody. From me, too. And then it was me who hurt you.”

He was quiet for a moment, watching me steadily. His intelligence, the immense brilliance of his mind, it shone through his eyes, humbling me all over again.

“Life’s messy. That’s what makes it interesting,” he said quietly, one corner of his mouth lifting in wry amusement.

“That’s lucky. Because this is as interesting as it gets.”

He was silent, still watching me, still holding the papers in his hands.

“The stupid part is, I don’t even know what to say, what to do now. How to make this…bearable. I don’t want to lose you, but I understand if you… It could get awkward. I understand. If you need space. I…” Fuck. I was digging myself a hole, a crater. And he was frowning at me. Like he was disappointed with me. Aaargh! “I can…we can maybe see each other a little less for a while, I don’t know. Until I can get my head straightened.” Panicking, I babbled on. “We could try to… Shit. I don’t want to lose you, okay? Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Simple as that.”

A dog barked somewhere behind the trees. A wiry jogger ran past us, clad in black tights and a neon-green jacket, fighting his way up the incline. He didn’t notice us sitting in the dark by the steep path.

Christian sighed. “Alex,” he began, his expression so sober, so adult, “what do you want?”

I’ve just said that, haven’t I? “What do I want?” I repeated.

“Yes. I don’t care about what you think I want. Not even what you think you can have. What do you want?”

“You.” I laughed at the simplicity of my answer and looked away. I couldn’t bear to watch him while he decided about the rest of my miserable life. Instead, I observed the crooked branches of the old oaks around us.

The city lights came to life one by one. It was twilight already. A lamp flickered a few meters away. The cold seeped into my ass from the damp wooden bench. The chill made my craving to lean closer to Christian unbearable. “I want you, any way I can have you. I told you, I love you. Isn’t it clear? I do. It’s like I’m finally learning what it means.”

My chin wobbled. From the cold. “I want you with me all the time, for dinners and breakfasts and trips to the mountains. I want you in my bed—you have no idea. I’m so starved for you it’s like I have phantom pains at night, almost feeling you there. It’s driving me nuts. I want to take you out and show you off. I want us to go to Spain, together this time. I want you to have Christmas dinner with my sister’s family, to go to Berlin with you and hold hands in front of your mother—even though she’ll try to castrate me with a fork.”

I shuddered, closing my eyes for the last part, that part about the future I never thought I could have. “All the grand things you’re going to do in your life, I want to be there on the sidelines. I want to be the one who gets to take care of you when you’re sick. I want to be able to see inside your head, even if the workings of your brain intimidate the hell out of me most of the time.” I had to shut up, or I’d make myself cry. “I want to know what you think, what you wish for. So I can try to get it for you.” I trailed off, aware how brittle and desperate I sounded.

I heard him swallow. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

I ventured to look at him again. In the dim light of the streetlamps, his eyes shone with moisture. “You’re twenty-one, Christian. You’ve never been in a serious relationship…”

“Neither have you!” he snapped at me.

I chuckled unhappily. “You’re right. Nevertheless, I didn’t think I had a chance. I didn’t want to lose you over it.”

Christian sighed again, as if he were dealing with a difficult child. He stroked the papers in his hands, almost caressing them. Then, in a smooth move, he was suddenly in my space, one warm hand on my cheek, his other arm around my neck, still guarding the letters I’d written for him.

“I’m so mad at you,” he growled, frowning ferociously, his canines showing. In an instant, I was bitch-slapped by arousal.

He kissed me deeply, kissed me stupid. When he let go, I was panting, clutching fistfuls of his parka, holding on for dear life, my forehead pressed against his, my eyes squeezed tight shut. Hope wreaked havoc in my brain and body.

“Christian, baby…if I asked you…would you…?” Why was this so hard?

“C’mon, ask me.” I had him so close. I couldn’t screw up now. I had to do this right.

“Christian, I love you. I want us to be together.”

He chuckled, and I felt his hot breath against my lips. “That’s still not a question,” he said.

That sound, the happiness in his voice, it was everything. I looked deep into his eyes.

“Do you want me? Would you… Can you love me, too?” There.

He kissed me again, just a soft hint of wet warmth on my upper lip. I closed my eyes again, waiting, wanting. I was terrified. Until he whispered into my ear.

“I do. I can.”

My eyes rolled back into my head. Unable to help myself, I held him closer, his chest against mine. I crushed him to me. Was there even the slightest chance he was real? Or would I wake up any second, my hand down my pajama pants, my pillow drenched with drool and tears?

“Careful,” he whispered, disentangling his arm and laying the papers on the bench next to us.

“I’ll print out new ones for you. Hell, I’ll write you new ones!”

His palms framed my face, a startling heat in the cold.

“I like those.” He smiled gently and leaned in for another kiss as if it was a completely natural, everyday thing. I was ecstatic, bursting out of my skin, and he kissed me as if we’d done it a thousand times already.

I dug my fingers into his hair and looped my arm around his torso. Our tongues touched, and he sighed into my mouth. I felt his body melt in my arms; his nails danced through my buzzed hair, making me shiver. I almost reached for his hips, craving to feel him on my lap, but we were on a bench in a city park.

He was breathing harshly, small puffs of mist drifting away from his lips. His pale skin was glowing; he looked like a creature from another world. The overwhelming feeling of love, craving, and longing, it grew in my chest, pressing on my lungs, squishing my insides, until I felt sick to my stomach. I sucked in a breath. I never knew love came with this kind of fear, this debilitating terror.

“My ass is freezing off,” I whispered, mangling my words, begging him silently to understand.

Christian nodded. “Let’s go back to your place,” he responded, and took my hand.

***

I walked in a dream. The darkened city changed colors in front of my eyes, and I looked up. I never used to do that, but now, I looked upward and saw the facades, the dancing shadows, the crooked windows, and naked branches of vines crawling up the balconies. Christian walked by my side, his arm brushing mine.

Finally, at my place, he hung his parka on the peg by the door and slipped off his shoes. He went into my living room and carefully put the papers on my coffee table. He turned and smiled faintly, nervously.

“Are you going to stand there long?” he asked.

I shook my head, and then I was all over him, toppling him onto the sofa. My hands went under his shirt, kneading his skin as if I could absorb him into me through my palms. He cradled my head, rubbing his cheek against my thinning hair. My lips found his throat. I opened my mouth over his skin and felt his chest heave. I was almost tearing his clothes as I dragged them over his head.

He loved me. He wanted me. He did; I felt it. Unmistakable now.

This time, he didn’t say anything. He let me taste him and kiss him all over. Strip him bare and suck him all the way down until I couldn’t breathe. I gratefully choked on his cock. He came in my mouth on a hoarse cry, and I licked him clean. Every man tastes different. How I hoped his taste would be my last. I wouldn’t ever need to try anything else. He owned me.

***

We lay there later, him naked, me with my jeans open and shirt bunched up under my armpits since all Christian’s attempts to disrobe me ended with us becoming distracted. We kissed, and I nuzzled his face again and again. I muttered nonsense directly into his ear, making him laugh and moan alternately. He seemed content, and I had an epiphany: I could ask him.

“How do you feel, baby? You look happy,” I whispered, still disbelieving.

“I am.” He caressed my hand resting on his face and kissed my palm. “I intend to work on making you happy.”

“I am. I’m delirious!”

He grinned. “You’re terrified, Alex. That’s fine. We’ll work on it together.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed hard. I couldn’t stop the guffaws. He was always going to be right.

“That’s it. Let it out,” Christian praised, still grinning.

“I never stood a chance,” I wheezed.

“Nope,” he murmured against my cheek. “I used to have such a crush on you.”

That made me pause. “What? When?”

“Since Spain. Completely innocent at first. You were like this glamorous celebrity I admired from afar.”

“You’re joking…”

“I’m not. I realized you never saw me like that. I was only a child to you. I tried to get over it. With Martin, things got confused. And then I saw you over the weekend last spring, and I felt it again. Just stronger. I hoped you’d notice me—I don’t know if I was already in love with you then. It felt surreal most of the time. A big maybe in some impossible future. I moved here to make it possible. I saw you almost every day, and you were so close. So…infuriating.”

“Infuriating?” I choked out. I didn’t deserve him. Never would.

“Christian needs to be careful with his relationships. Christian should date someone close to his age. Christian doesn’t have a clue what he wants, so we should tell him. Christian shouldn’t have sex with people Alex doesn’t approve of…” His fingers danced over my eyebrows, my nose, and mouth. He spoke matter-of-factly, no sting in his words. “Every time, I wanted to slap you and shout in your face, ‘I’m a man, not a fucking child. I want you and not your advice.’ I admit, with Andres, I hoped to make you jealous, but you clammed up on me instead. So, yes. Infuriating!”

“I was jealous. That was evil, by the way.” The look he gave me was unrepentant. Coy. “I’ve loved you the whole time,” I admitted.

He smiled—a warm, forgiving smile.

“Good. It would be a shame to have my first love unrequited.”

First. I winced. It was instinctual. He’ll leave. One day, in the future, he’ll leave me.

“Alex! Look at me.”

I tried. I lifted my eyes and tried to keep it together.

“I love you. I know myself, and I know what I want.”

For now.

“I’m going to prove it. I’m going to spend the next forty years saying, ‘I told you so,’ every fucking morning just to make you crazy.”

I hugged him to me and tried to believe. A big part of me still felt as if I had been treading water for too long. Because really, what was there about me he could possibly want to keep for years to come? I shut down that thought. I wasn’t going to ruin it already. Just…no.

“I dreamed of you so many times,” I whispered. He nuzzled the skin under my jaw. I could only sigh and settle deeper into the sofa.

“What did you dream of?”

“Silly, bizarre things. Only once, we made love. I hated waking up that morning. And once, you rode away on a tram, and the town was flooded. You were wearing a white tuxedo—I remember that. You looked so…untouchable.”

“That couldn’t have been me. I never wear white. I look ghastly in it. And I’m very touchable.” The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. I kissed them, the left and right corners, then his upper lip.

“You are.” I paused, looking at his face once more, trying to see through the filter of my anxiety and self-doubt. The Christian in my dreams looked nothing like the warm, trusting man in my arms right now. “Maybe it wasn’t you. I think it might have been me…judging.”

***

The low hum of arousal never went away as we cuddled and talked. He finally tugged my shirt off, and I dragged a blanket over us. With the velvet of his skin under my hands and against my chest, I could have stayed holed up for a week. His cheeks were stained with pink, his eyes glistened and crinkled at the corners when he looked at me. Oh, heavens, I was going to have sex, sex, sex! Like sex on tap. With the love of my life. We could have been doing it already were it not for the boring practicalities like showering and eating. It was barely eight, and my grocery bag lay forgotten by the door.

“How about I make us dinner?” I suggested.

“I’d never say no to your cooking.”

“Good.” I kissed his nose, making him grin. God, he was lovely.

I sat up to reach for my phone. Christian lay behind me, the blanket tangled around his hips. He stroked my lower back absentmindedly. He must have felt it when my whole body tensed.

“Chris, have you turned off your phone?”

“No, it’s in my pocket.”

He sat next to me, leaning over my shoulder. I just showed him the screen.

Four missed calls. From Lena.

Christian rose fluidly, the blanket falling to the floor. Gloriously naked, he padded to the hall and came back with his phone in his hand. My eyes followed him, and I momentarily forgot about the mother issue. He was beautiful.

“She called me, too. And she wrote a message. She never does that. She thinks it’s demeaning.” Scrolling through his messages, he sat down next to me. He took my hand and squeezed. There was a beat of silence, and I knew before he said it.

“She’s coming.”

“Here?” I breathed.

Chris nodded and laid his phone on the table.

“When?”

“Alex, please, don’t freak out. But we should probably put some clothes on, soon,” Christian said, far too calmly.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck!”

My vision blurred. I started running around the apartment at lightning speed. The dishes weren’t done; in my heartbroken funk, I hadn’t cleaned anything for days. There were dirty clothes on my bedroom floor. I never did that! My stinky running gear hung in the bathroom. Half dressed, I picked the clothes from the floor and balled them up so they would fit in the half-full hamper.

“Alex.”

I zipped into the kitchen and started on the dishes. There were breadcrumbs on the counter, and the coffee I’d spilled that morning had dried into map-like markings on my white kitchen table.

“Alex!”

I lifted my head. Christian stood by the kitchen door, dressed, his shirt buttons undone, his hair a mess, his cheeks covered with beard burn. Fuck. She was going to take one look at us… Soapy water dripped onto my bare feet, and I winced.

“She’s not coming to evaluate your housekeeping, you know.”

I dropped the sponge into the sink. It splashed. Both hands on the counter, I leaned forward and inhaled, exhaled…

“The living room looks okay,” he said. “I picked up all the tissues and threw them in the trash in the bathroom.”

Jesus. We both smelled of come.

I heard steps, and then a warm body pressed against my back. Christian held one of my kitchen towels. Hugging me from behind, he gently wiped my hands. He folded the towel and set it on the counter. I let him turn me, so we faced each other.

“Chris, she’s going to think that I’m…using you.”

Christian grimaced. “Just let me talk to her,” he said. “I know how to handle her.”

I nodded. I had to trust him. Still, I felt ashamed. It was such a cliché. A mature, experienced teacher fucking an innocent student. I felt bile rising in my throat. This was bad.

“Alex,” he repeated. I lifted my eyes. He was confident, sure of himself. He was sure of us. Maybe I was ashamed, but I was damned proud of him. He snuck one hand up my neck, and, holding the back of my shorn skull, he leaned in for a slow, careful, gentle kiss.

“You said you wanted to hold hands in front of my mother.”

“I thought there would be more of a…buildup to that.”

There was a knock on my door.

“No time,” he whispered and gave me a peck on the cheek before he turned and went to open the door.

Okay. Okay, I could do this. I took one last deep breath and followed Christian through the living room toward my tiny hallway.

Christian held the door open, and Lena König stepped into the room. She’d had her shiny blond hair chopped short into a tomboy look that contradicted her fitted feminine suit. Her figure was slim; she looked much younger than she was, fit and gracious on her elegant high heels with a long coat over her arm and a small practical suitcase on wheels. She looked flawless as always.

“Good evening, Lena,” I ventured.

She didn’t answer. She looked me up and down, then she looked the same way at her son. They were so similar in features yet so different. Where Christian was gentle and soft, she was hardened, edgy.

Her eyes swept the apartment. She took a few steps into the living room, put her bag on the couch and laid her coat carefully over the backrest.

“I’d like a glass of water, Alex,” she said.

I nodded. I fetched the glass and found her sitting on the couch, watching her son, her face blank. Christian rocked on his heels, standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets; he, too, was silent.

“Here’s your water,” I rasped and set the glass on the coffee table in front of her. I tried not to think about what we’d done on that couch just an hour ago.

She took a sip, put it back.

If somebody didn’t speak soon, my head was going to explode.

“I distinctly remember asking you not to make me come here,” she finally said. I shuddered at her tone.

“Lena, I am s—”

This time, it was Christian who interrupted me.

“Nobody made you.” He spoke evenly, his confidence in sharp contrast with my floundering. “You had a conference in Basel. You just stopped by on your way. You didn’t have to. I don’t spend your money. My grades are top notch, and I’m healthy and happy.”

“You haven’t answered your phone for six days, Christian.”

“I wrote you several texts saying I’m fine. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I had something I needed to think through.”

“When your mother is calling, you pick up. It’s called respect.”

“Like you respect me?” The question cut deep. I could see it in the way Lena’s shoulders stiffened and her eyes widened.

“Christian!” she raised her voice. He didn’t even flinch. “Alex, would you let us speak alone, please?” she asked, her tone carefully measured again.

“He’s staying,” Christian said, looking straight at me.

This was it. My cue. My heart thrashed in my chest. Three steps, and I stood right next to him. I took his hand. He squeezed it.

Lena watched us for a long minute. I tried hard not to squirm. I focused on the feel of his hand in mine. It was cool, soft, and dry, while mine was hot and clammy. Ah, to hell with it. I was fed up with my fear and shame. A guy who’s old enough to start losing his hair should be able to stand by his choices. I lifted Christian’s hand to my lips and kissed the back of it.

“You thought I didn’t know?” Lena snipped.

Christian scoffed. Miraculously, I remained standing.

She leaned back, suddenly looking tired, and flipped her slim, manicured hand my way. “The whole reason he wanted to transfer to Freiburg was to be with you.”

“I…”

“Why did you pretend not to know, then?” Chris asked.

“What difference would it have made? If I told you I thought you could do better, you’d do the exact opposite, anyway.”

Well, she was right about that; he could do better.

“You are not going to insult Alex in his own home, Mother.”

“Don’t be dramatic. Alex agrees with me.” She pinned her blue eyes on me, addressing me. “He’s twelve years younger than you and has never been in a relationship. How long do you expect this to last?”

Now, that was a kick in the balls. “I don’t—”

“Mother! I spent the last three months trying to convince—”

“Will one of you ever let me finish a sentence?!”

Whoa. I heard my voice boom through the apartment, surprising myself. Chris watched me with his mouth hanging open. Lena raised an eyebrow. I’d got their attention. It was imperative I said something that made sense. And it did—in my head. I squeezed Christian’s hand again, needing an anchor.

“I’m in love with him. Maybe I’m too selfish to deny myself anything. Maybe it’s shortsighted. In that case, one day, you will have the pleasure of telling me ‘I told you so.’ Nevertheless, he is of age and way wiser than I could ever hope to be. As incredible as it seems, he wants to be with me. I’m not going to ask for your permission or blessing. Not even your opinion.”

Shit, I was on a roll. I was going to pay for this. It was going to come and bite me in the ass one day. But for now…

“You are lucky to have an immensely talented, responsible, and caring son. A man who is perfectly capable of making decisions about his life. I was a fool when I thought I could decide things for him. I will never make the same mistake again.”

Chris hugged me, hiding his face in my shoulder. I pressed a kiss on his temple.

Lena observed the display of affection with her mouth pinched, unimpressed.

“You think I don’t respect you?” she asked, her eyes on the back of Christian’s head. I was going to be ignored again. Well, fuck it. I was a teacher. I was used to being ignored.

“You want a beer?” I asked Christian when he stepped back, turning toward his mom again. He nodded. I left.

When I came back, carrying two beer bottles, they were sitting on the couch next to each other. I offered one bottle to Lena who, to my surprise, reached for it wordlessly, and took a deep swig. In spite of her power suit and flawless makeup, the beer made her appear almost human. I sank into the chair to their left. I would have given them space, but Christian didn’t want me to leave.

“Mom, I always toed the line. I never broke your rules. I was the most boring and predictable of my classmates, never taking risks, never missing a deadline. Transferring to Freiburg is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever done. I know trust must be earned, but I don’t know what more I could have done to earn yours. Instead of supporting me, you pushed and lectured. You never believe me, you always double-check. Everything. Whenever I choose to do something differently, be a little different, you tolerate me at best. What do I have to do for you to respect me?”

I’d expected something to show on her face. Anything. The only thing that gave her away was the beer. While Chris had been talking, she’d been drinking; the contents of the bottle disappeared fast.

After Christian had finished, she was quiet for a long time. I almost expected her to finish her beer and leave without a word.

She put the almost-empty bottle on the table.

“When you told me you were gay, I wasn’t surprised. I’d suspected since your eleventh birthday. Remember, the Legolas year?” Oh, I had to ask about that one later! “I admit, though, I hoped—”

Christian looked horrified.

“Let me finish!” Lena pointed her finger at him. He inhaled, let the breath out slowly, and nodded for her to continue. His eyes were wary. “I was worried. Afraid. I knew what you’d have to face in your life, and I didn’t want that for you. I wished you could have had it easier. So, I did my best to protect you.”

“Nobody ever became anything by having it easy, Mom.”

“I am aware of that, thank you,” Lena said indignantly. “I don’t wish to sound like a cliché, but one day, this country might make it possible for you to have a child, and then you’ll understand. I knew what you were going to face, how vulnerable you were going to be, how many more hurdles you’d have to overcome—”

“I’m doing fine, Mom. I’m happy.”

“I might have been strict or controlling.” She sneered on the last word. “I might have pushed you too hard sometimes. But believe me, Christian, I am proud of you.” She cleared her throat and reached for the bottle again. “Next time, when you have an emotional crisis, you could try to talk to your mother about it instead of not picking up your phone for a week.” The contained hurt in her voice was powerful enough to make me wince. For the first time, I felt a little sorry for Lena König. Only a little.

“I’ll go…and do the dishes,” I ventured. Chris just nodded.

In the kitchen, I leaned against the counter. I could breathe again. I was in no doubt that I had a pile of suspicion to conquer before Lena accepted our relationship. But it didn’t matter. The most important thing was that she and Christian were going to be okay.