DAY ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT

 

 

I WOKE up early as usual. The sun was bright outside; stripes of light painted the hotel room through the slivers in the drapes.

I was reluctant to get up. I hadn’t seen much of the city on the taxi ride from the airport late last night. Today, I would have to go out; I would notice what changed, remember, and feel weird.

The hotel room was safe, impersonal, no memories there. But outside, Bratislava waited, with her mean, petty ghosts and dirty history; there was a lifetime of regrets waiting to be exhumed and analyzed. I wanted to hide under the covers and sulk.

Jamie was fast asleep next to me. He was not a morning person. I started stroking his back, trying to wake him ever so slowly. He squirmed and sniffled, roping an arm around my chest.

“Baby,” I husked, “we’ll miss the breakfast. C’mon.”

He hid his face against my shoulder and groaned.

“Whazzd time?” he mumbled.

“Eight.”

“’Ss early….”

I hugged him to me, smiling like a fool. He cuddled closer, nuzzled my skin, and then I felt his lips on my chest.

“Don’t try to distract me,” I grumbled.

“Would it work?”

“Probably. But we’re supposed to meet Kristi in the Old Town at ten.”

“Five more minutes?” he said before he opened his mouth over my collarbone. I was helpless.

Chuckling, I grabbed his asscheeks with both hands and rolled him on top of me.

Five more minutes became ten, and then we had to shower.

I was washing Jamie’s hair when he asked, “You’re sure you want me to go with you?”

Was he backing out on me? The whole trip was his idea from the beginning! “Of course!”

“I mean in the afternoon. When you meet with your mom,” he explained.

The dreaded family reunion. I’d spent quite a few nights tossing and turning, thinking. In the end, I’d called my mom, told her that I was coming to Slovakia and wanted to see her. Jamie made me brave.

“Yes,” I said because I wanted him with me all the time. Especially then. “She might freak out,” I warned.

“I know. I don’t care. I just want you to be okay.”

I moved his head gently under the stream and massaged his scalp. He closed his eyes, and his mouth curved in the corners ever so slightly. He loved it when I washed his hair, and I loved doing it for him. It was longer; when wet, the dark strands reached past his shoulders.

“I’m fine. I just want to get it over with. She’ll be shocked. She might storm off. I don’t know. Maybe she’ll surprise us.”

My mother knew that I lived in Scotland, worked as a receptionist in a hotel in Edinburgh, and that I wanted to start studying for my master’s in the fall. We’d emailed more frequently in the past few months. For some reason, she never asked about my love life. I suspected maybe she already knew on some level and didn’t want to have it confirmed. In any case, I would get my answers today after lunch.

We dressed in a hurry. I didn’t have time to shave, which made me self-conscious. I rubbed my fingers against my jaw nervously. Jamie looked at me from his spot on the floor where he was lacing his sneakers.

“Leave it. I like the stubble,” he said and rose fluidly.

Standing by the door to our room, I caught Jamie’s hand just before he reached for the handle.

“Wha…?” he started.

I kissed him. I held him close, pushed my tongue inside his mouth, and felt him melt against me. He tasted like toothpaste and home. My home. He made a sound in the back of his throat and returned the kiss, his short nails scratching my buzzed head.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he said, breathless, “but what’s going on?”

“I’m just… charging my batteries.”

“What?” He giggled when I kissed along his jaw. It was true. It felt exactly like that. Maybe we were clingy with each other, maybe we seemed codependent, moving too fast…. Ginny thought so. I didn’t care because we were happy. I managed to make Jamie happy, and that was everything.

Jamie tilted his head and hummed in contentment. My hands sneaked under his shirt on their own.

“We’re never going to leave if you keep doing that,” Jamie whispered.

I buried my nose into his hair and inhaled.

“Sorry. You know, I won’t be able to touch you today,” I confessed, my voice low with shame. I’d been apprehensive about our trip to Slovakia. Now I felt it acutely, the fear squeezing my ribs. What will Jamie think? Will he see the same misery I used to see? The same smallness, worthlessness, those narrow-minded people…? Will he judge me for it?

Jamie leaned back, studying my face. He frowned, confused, and then he understood, frowning even deeper. Here, in this city, we would have to hide again. No brushing shoulders, no possessive arm around his waist, nor a single chaste kiss on his temple, definitely no hand-holding. I bent my head, feeling like a coward.

“We’ve never been into the whole PDA thing,” he said calmly. I felt his palm on my cheek and lifted my eyes to meet his again. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it now.”

He kissed me one last time, just a peck on my lips, and dragged me out of the door by my arm.

“C’mon, Ondro. We’re already late.”

 

 

WE’D PASSED the crumbling, desolate houses on the edge of the Old Town on our way. Jamie looked around himself in wonder, walking backward at times, almost dancing over the large uneven cobblestones. I only looked at him. The streets where I used to walk daily, where I knew every crack in the facade, every shadow, and every alcove, today they felt like a dream from another life. An almost forgotten childhood nightmare. To see Jamie in the middle of Bratislava made my stomach ache and palms sweat. He turned and squinted in the sharp April sunlight, his eyebrows pulled together.

“You’re okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

His lips thin with worry, he nodded.

The Main Square was full of bodies: tourists, businesspeople, shoppers. We should have met elsewhere, but Kristi wanted to show Jamie the Old Town at its best. Whatever that meant. I had my doubts.

At least the spring weather was nice. Jamie had a dark blue button-down, with a light jacket over it, and the gray-blue scarf he wore had a subtle pattern of birds and flowers on it. With his shiny hair in a little, messy bun high on his head, he was gorgeous. His eyes were bright and huge as he took in the newly renovated picturesque square. I fisted my hands in my pockets.

“It’s beautiful,” he said cheerfully. “What’s that tower?”

“That’s the Old Town Hall. The original structure is Gothic, thirteenth century. But it’s been rebuilt many times. There is a little medieval yard, through that stone arch over there. We can go and have a look later.”

“Ondro!”

I felt her more than I saw her. She jumped into my arms, and I was surrounded by a mass of soft black hair. She smelled like spring.

“Kristi,” I said, returning her fierce hug.

She released me and looked me up and down, then turned to Jamie, who stood there watching us with a bright smile on his elfin face.

“Hi, I’m Jamie,” he said and stuck out his hand toward her.

“Oh, shut up,” Kristina answered philosophically and crushed Jamie in her arms. She was taller than him in her high-heeled boots. When she stepped back, they were both laughing, and she wiped at her eyes quickly.

“Okay, boys. Where are we going?”

 

 

WALKING THE streets of old Bratislava with my boyfriend and a Roma best friend felt like a secret mission deep inside enemy territory. But Kristina was relaxed and happy. I had to remind myself that she knew the town better than I did at this point. Before yesterday night, I hadn’t been in Slovakia for eight years.

We ended up in Tepláreň, of course. Kristina wanted to show Jamie the fuchsia-and-white-decorated coffee bar, a well-known hangout for queer people in Bratislava. I was so paranoid I almost suggested a common tourist pub. Jamie and Kristi chatted on our way to the coffee bar. Lost in my Invasion-of-the-Body-Snatchers flashbacks, I barely heard what they talked about, looking around myself, nervous and twitchy like a rabbit.

Once we sat down inside, I calmed down somewhat. I had to give it to Kristi. It felt cozy and… safe. The café still had some decor left from the referendum in February; there was one huge red “I’m Not Going” poster, and right above our table hung what seemed to be an old, well-used protest sign. It said that “Wrong Questions Deserve No Answers.” The right-wingers had lost, by the way, because the turnout was too low to make the vote valid. But we didn’t talk about any of the heavy stuff. There was no need. Instead, Jamie told Kristi all the embarrassing stories from our first Christmas as a couple.

We had been together for barely a few weeks when his parents came to visit from the US, two days before Christmas. Jamie had told them about me, of course, and they were very excited to meet me. It freaked me out. Jamie’s father had prepared. He’d deliberately read about Slovak history, the political and social situation, and he wanted to talk. He started about the Slovak National Uprising and its impact on the postwar map of Europe, and I wanted to spit the turkey out and bolt out of the door, screaming. He knew more than I did. That conversation was an abysmal failure.

But they were kind and understanding on a level I never knew from any parents. They’d bought us a matching set of plates and soup bowls for Christmas. A gift for the both of us together. It almost brought tears to my eyes when I realized what it meant. They welcomed me into the family and into Jamie’s home.

Kristi told Jamie about our years at the university, the parties, the trips to the Tatra Mountains…. She didn’t mention Peter.

We made plans to come again in the fall, and Kristina was supposed to spend a week in Edinburgh during the summer. We hugged, and she went to have lunch with her family, promising to see us later.

Jamie and I ate palacinky for lunch. When he saw the crêpes-like rolls, he complained that it was breakfast food. Then he read the menu and ordered five different sorts with cheese, bacon, dried fruit, and even goose liver pâté. I tried to explain the difference between crêpes and Slovak palacinky, but Jamie said he didn’t care as long as I would make those for him when we came home.

After lunch, I could feel Jamie watching me more carefully. I tried to hide how unsettled I was. But he knew me too well. On Michalská Street, in a tiny café that smelled of stale cigarette smoke, Jamie brushed my hand with his fingers. I sucked in a breath.

“It’s fine. We’re okay,” he said, searching my gaze. He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully. I caught his hand on the table and squeezed. I did not look around to find out if someone saw us.

 

 

MY MOTHER met us at two o’clock in the afternoon. She’d dressed up. I recognized the blouse and sweater she wore. It was the same she had on at my cousin’s wedding nine years ago. Her fanciest outfit. She clutched a tattered faux-leather handbag. Her hair was freshly colored, and she’d put on mascara and eye shadow. She used to wear makeup only to church on Sundays.

Despite the effort that she’d put in, she looked old. It was like Time herself bitch-slapped me in the face. The bags under my mother’s eyes, the lines crisscrossing her thin lips, the sagging papery skin under her chin… did she look like this when I left? Had I forgotten?

I approached slowly, watching her face as she took me in. She didn’t notice Jamie at first. He kept his distance from me, standing a few steps behind me, giving us space.

She stood frozen, her eyes locked on my face.

“Hi, Mom,” I managed.

She squeezed her eyes shut and bent her head. I waited for an agonizing second. Perversely, I hoped she’d cry; I wanted her to sob in my embrace. She would never do that.

Instead, when my mother lifted her gaze again, her jaw was set with restraint, her mouth pinched in determination, and eyes apprehensive. She used to have the same face when she’d argued with my father. At that moment, I knew that whatever I’d say, it wouldn’t make any difference. The decision had been made a long time ago.

My mom had had a hard life. She’d had callouses on her palms before she started middle school. Even as a child, to get some semblance of love, she had to make herself useful. Me, I had never been useful. Knowing that a good mother was supposed to love her children, my mom had tried. Did she regret that she’d failed?

“I’m glad to see you, Ondro.”

“It’s good to see you too, Mom,” I said.

Taking a deep breath, I turned and nodded at Jamie. He stepped closer.

“Mom, I want you to meet Jamie.” I spoke in Slovak, so Jamie didn’t understand. At the sound of his name, he offered his hand.

My mom took it automatically, her mouth slightly open.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Veľmi ma teší,” he said politely, doing his best to pronounce correctly. He knew maybe three Slovak phrases at best, but he was trying.

My mom let him shake her hand and turned toward me.

“Who’s that, Ondro?” she asked in Slovak. She didn’t intentionally exclude him from the conversation. She just didn’t know a word in English. She never learned a foreign language in her life. She never left Slovakia except for the markets in Poland and one vacation in Croatia fifteen years ago.

“He’s my boyfriend, mom. We live together in Edinburgh.”

There was a pause. The expression on my mom’s face remained neutral. In fact, she looked like a wax figurine.

“Let’s have coffee somewhere,” she said, looking anywhere but at us.

 

 

I TRANSLATED her questions to Jamie. Was he Scottish? What did he do for a living? What was the weather like in Edinburgh? What church did he belong to? Is that Protestant?

“But I’m not practicing. I think I’m more agnostic than anything else,” Jamie clarified.

“Oh, I see,” she said then and looked away. The silence that fell was thick with meaning.

Jamie’s worried little smile stayed in place. He patted my knee under the table.

“I saw an interesting store on the other side of the street. I could go and buy a present for Ginny. If you want to talk alone for a while?”

I didn’t want to. My mom watched our exchange with calm curiosity.

“Okay. Come back in twenty minutes,” I said. Jamie nodded and stood.

“It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Smrek. I’ll be back in a little while.”

My mom followed Jamie with her apprehensive eyes until he disappeared around a corner.

“He’s attractive,” she said with only a hint of a sneer.

I hid my face behind my palms and scrubbed. Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself.

“You don’t have to pretend, Mom. It’s fine. I don’t expect anything. I just wanted you to know.”

She nodded once, a hint of acknowledgment, and watched the bustling crowds through the window.

“That was why you left? Your… orientation?” she asked, still looking away. Her voice was low, hesitant, always so carefully emotionless.

“It was a part of it. Not the only reason.”

She was quiet and then… “I know about Peter.”

I felt warmth flood my neck and cheeks. Irritation, anger, embarrassment. I gritted my teeth and waited for her to continue. It took her maybe two minutes before she started talking again.

“I suspected when you were in college. But I never knew for sure. Then you started working as a steward, and I thought…. Well, you know what they say….”

“That’s prejudice, Mom. Not every steward is gay,” I interrupted.

“I know that.” She sighed and folded her arms on her chest, her gaze fixed on the nondescript white coffee cup. “I read an article in the newspapers about Peter. About how he died.”

I clenched my fists and released, blinked, and waited.

“I wanted to call you then,” she said. “But I didn’t know what to say to you.”

She sounded so calm saying those terrible things. So detached. It made me crazy. Did she feel sorry for him? Did she know it was her fault too? That it was people like her, like my sister with her twisted morals and coldhearted judgment, who made our lives miserable? Who made Peter feel so alone and guilty that he took his life in a bathtub? And how did she feel about me? Did she miss me at all? Or did she just feel embarrassed?

“There are still rumors in the village. About you.” I don’t want you to come back there.

“I don’t care,” I said.

“Well, you don’t have to face the people at church every week, holding your head high listening to the gossip.” She sounded proud of herself for some reason.

I didn’t say anything.

“Father says hello,” Mom added after a minute. I wanted to start laughing hysterically at the absurdity of our whole conversation. Instead, I only nodded. I would get nothing from her. No reaction, no understanding, definitely no feeling. Being away for so long made me almost forget how cold she was.

“How is Jana?” I asked, thinking about my proper, devout, pain-in-the-ass sister.

My mother’s eyes lit up suddenly, and I knew we were done talking about me. Thank fuck for that. “She’s good, very happy. Anna started walking two weeks ago. She’s adorable,” Mom enthused and started telling stories about her three grandchildren. She didn’t seem to care if I listened. Now she was animated, her eyes smiling in a way they had never done when she talked about me. It was fine. They were thriving without me. I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about not being there.

Later, when Jamie came back, she politely admired the present he’d bought for Ginny, a pair of handcrafted earrings. She said they looked expensive and excused herself in the very next sentence, explaining she wanted to catch the earlier train because it wouldn’t be that crowded. We accompanied her all the way to the train station. Mom hugged me briefly, and all the time her eyes remained dry, her expression resigned.

“When you’re in Bratislava again, I’ll be glad to see you.” But you’re not welcome in our home. “You too, Jamie.” She nodded at him and turned away, her skinny legs moving up the steep stairs with the strength of a young athlete.

I expected some relief, something inside me to change, to fall into place. Nothing happened. If anything, I felt empty and exhausted. Apparently, closure is overrated.

Jamie stood next to me, watching the train leave. I didn’t look into the windows of the passing carriages to see if my mom was there, waving. Instead, I looked at Jamie’s lovely, worried face.

He lifted his eyes to mine and smiled sadly at me.

“How are you?”

I took a shuddered breath. “I so need to hold you right now,” I said, my voice breaking.

Jamie looked around perfunctorily. “It’s a train station. I think it’s acceptable for people to hug each other on a train station platform.”

I pulled him to me, breathing him in, feeling his warmth against my body.

“Jamie,” I sighed into his hair, “I love you so much.”

His arms tightened around me.

“Love you too.”

 

 

“YOU FEEL up to the next part?” Jamie asked when we were leaving the old, busy, dirty station, weaving through the throng of reckless taxis.

I didn’t feel ready. Not even a little bit. “I don’t want to put it off.”

Kristina was waiting for us at the bus stop. The trip seemed to last forever. Crawling through every little village, stopping at every corner and dragging behind tractors, we moved at snail speed. In the end, the barely thirty kilometers took an hour. I chewed on a tiny hangnail until my left pointer finger bled. Hidden between the seats on the bus, Jamie took my hand and kissed my palm. I didn’t have to say anything. He always knew when I needed him.

It was early evening when we arrived at the cemetery.

The grave was well kept with a tall, dark stone and fresh flowers in heavy ceramic pots. There was a row of candles in rainbow colors but most of those had tiny puddles of rainwater inside the cups.

I heard Kristina and Jamie breathe behind me. Otherwise, it was eerily quiet. The air was still and the sun was low, casting long shadows around us. I’d seen pictures of the grave online, with much more outrageous decorations. Standing here, it seemed so… ordinary. I looked around at the other gravestones, and they were all much the same. Most of them had fresh or plastic flowers. Some had little lanterns, some candles in cups or small cases. Most of the candles weren’t burning, though. It had rained. The ground was still wet.

I bent down and started pouring the water out of the rainbow cups on Peter’s grave. We should light them again. But I didn’t have any matches. Jamie had stopped smoking entirely. I should have thought of that. I should have taken a lighter with me. So stupid. I plucked the old leaves from the cold, damp surface and smoothed my palm over it. It felt rough and unpleasant. Harsh, unforgiving, unpolished stone.

The cemetery was deserted. There were no people around, except for us. How often did someone visit him? Did strangers drop by sometimes even now when the referendum was over and Peter’s story wasn’t important anymore? Did his family come on weekends? His little sisters?

My chest constricted, and I choked on my breath. My vision blurred, and my shoulders started shaking. Selfishly, I only thought of myself. I must never be alone like that. Please, let me never be alone like that.

 

 

WHEN I resurfaced, I found myself sitting on a bench curled around Jamie, hugging his torso. His scarf was wet under my cheek. His fingers stroked my scalp and neck, and he murmured softly into my ear.

Words of love.

Kristina sat on my other side, still and silent, but her palm painted circles on my back.

I wasn’t alone.

An old man in green coveralls watched us from the path between the tombstones.

“It’s seven o’clock. You need to leave,” he called in Slovak, hints of Hungarian accent warping his words.

We stood and walked to the iron gate. Jamie held my hand in his, and Kristina had hers on my shoulder. For a moment, I forgot all about my fears of being seen. It felt so petty.

Once on the street, I looked back over my shoulder. The maintenance man in green coveralls stood by the gate to the cemetery, watching us leave. He had a faint smile on his rugged face, and nodded at me as if giving us his blessing.

 

 

IN THE evening, back at our hotel, I showered long and thoroughly. I scrubbed off the grime of the city streets and buses and past failures. Feeling moderately human again, I braved coming out of the bathroom only in a towel. I hoped we wouldn’t have to talk it all out, that Jamie would understand.

Jamie led me to the bed, pushed me down gently, and took off his clothes. He pressed his lean, pale body close to me and dragged the covers over us, up to our ears.

His nose was almost touching mine, and he traced my hairline with his fingers.

“I want to make love,” he said. “But first I want to know how you feel.”

I closed my eyes, overwhelmed. When I opened them again, I let go. I was safe. Here in our little hiding place, I could be vulnerable.

“Scared. Hopeful.” Inhale, exhale. “Grateful and alive….”

His smile was blinding.

That evening, Jamie took care of me.

“Jamie, Jamie, please, slow down…. Jamie! I want to….” He did slow down, but I still clearly felt the pressure of his tongue on the underside of my cock. Then I heard the little snick of a bottle cap, and my body melted deeper into the mattress.

We’d only done it without a condom a couple of times. I still wasn’t used to the intensity of making love to Jamie without any barrier between us. Every time Jamie and I had sex in the past several months, some part of me felt undeserving. I’d tried to be worthy of him. I’d found a solid job in Edinburgh in record time, paid half of all our bills and for most of the groceries, I’d done the chores at home, cooked, prepared for my studies, taken care of him any way I could. I’d systematically worked to become a better person. Until Jamie told me to fucking stop punishing myself already.

This time, though, I only felt loved. Grateful, hopeful, and alive and loved. All the layers of bullshit stripped away, and there was only the raw core left. I didn’t have to keep it together, didn’t have to try to prove stuff, didn’t have to pretend. I could just drift away knowing Jamie was there, holding me tethered to the real world, keeping the monsters away.

Just like my body softened and opened up, so did my thoughts. All the tension and hard edges were gone. Even the arousal, though strong, felt warm and slow, not insistent at all. I could have lain there the whole night, spread out and helpless, my ass in the air, my face hidden in a pillow, and Jamie inside me, blanketing my body, circling his hips lazily, massaging my arms and shoulders, his warm breath tickling my neck. I’ve never been so happy just to be.

But then Jamie tugged at my hips, changed the angle infinitesimally, and suddenly I couldn’t wait another minute. I needed, demanded, begged, and babbled nonsense. I must have said the right thing, or maybe Jamie knew, because his hand found my cock, and he slammed into me forcefully. The bed, the nightstand, with the generic mushroom-shaped lamp, the four walls surrounding us, it all fell away like a stage setting made of cheap cardboard.

I reached behind me blindly, grabbing at Jamie’s thigh. I felt sounds vibrate in my chest but couldn’t hear myself, much less control it. When it finally came, my orgasm barreled through me, disassembling and rearranging every cell in my body.

Jamie was chasing his own pleasure a minute longer, his hard thrusts almost too much. In my state of total surrender, still shivering with aftershocks, I barely registered the faint discomfort. I felt his teeth on my shoulder blade, a stutter in his movements. His hands pulled at my side and shoulder, his cock pulsed inside me, and I was whole again, stitched together, serene and content.

We were a mess of sweat and spit and drying come, but I felt cleansed and innocent. Because Jamie loved me back just as much as I loved him. I could feel it in the way his mouth was still open over the skin on my back, the way his fingers caressed my hipbone. I heard it in the sigh he made when his other hand reached higher and petted my hair.

He stayed inside me until he softened. I felt my limbs come to life one by one. We rolled lazily and kissed, but then the exhaustion crept over us like mist. We showered fast and half-heartedly, not saying anything.

“Better?” Jamie asked much later, lying on his side snuggled in my lap, naked, soft, and warm.

“Mmm.” I nuzzled his nape. “Perfect.”

“I told you it was going to be great,” he said. “I was right. It’s perfect.”