As my dad and I walk into the Dunkin’, I’m trying to focus on him, but it’s nearly impossible. I keep seeing Henry’s face, so close to mine. Remembering the smell of the mint chip ice cream on his breath. The way he was looking at me, which I keep replaying in my mind. Why did I stop him? He must hate me.
Linda is near the end of the counter pouring coffee for a woman in a gray business suit and a perfect black bob. Linda looks up and glances our way. My gift of seeing everything, hearing everything, is especially heightened today. The whole place and everyone in it is so clear and it all sounds too loud.
“If it isn’t my two handsomes. Elias, Evan, how are you boys?”
“We’re good, honey.” We take our seats near the door. It’s weird to hear my dad, even my mom, speak English. It’s even weirder to hear my dad refer to Linda as “honey.”
“You boys going to get your usual?” Linda asks.
My dad looks at me and I nod.
“Wait,” I say. “I’ll have coffee this time.”
“How was last night?”
“Good.” God, this is awkward as hell. “Dad?”
“What?”
“Did you follow me?”
Looking at his hands, he takes a shallow breath. “Yep.”
“Why?”
“Just want to make sure you’re . . .” He stops himself. “I don’t know.”
“Dad . . .”
“We won’t do it again. I promise.” Then, changing the subject and his tone of voice: “Your uncle says that you made a new friend at camp. A Christian friend.”
“Gaige. He’s in town to check out Bible college.”
“Here you go, boys. The usual.” Linda places the coffees and doughnuts in front of us. “Enjoy and let me know if you want anything else.” She winks and walks away.
“Can I go to Henry’s house for dinner tonight? After I do Mom’s hair thing.”
“No homework?”
“I can do it this weekend.”
“Don’t forget Sunday. It’s all-day-church day. Everyone’s coming over to the house after.”
I don’t ask about the pool party. One thing at a time.
He looks uncomfortable. “We have to talk about Greek school. Registration is on Saturday. And we have to talk about the house.”
I start on my doughnut and take a gulp, two, of my coffee. “What about the house?”
“You may be getting too old for Greek school and . . .” He stops himself and takes a swig of coffee. He doesn’t look at me as he says this. “We may have to sell the house.”
“Oh.” The thing about me getting too old for Greek school is a lie. We probably can’t afford any of this anymore. The house. My extra schooling. But admitting to that is too demoralizing for my dad. I can’t say I’m disappointed about the school thing, but the house? “Are we moving?” Wait, would we be moving away from Henry? My school? Plus my room—the only place in the whole house I feel safe.
He shakes his head while downing his coffee.
“I can work on the weekends at the deli. Maybe that could—”
“We’ll talk it over with your mother about working weekends. A real estate agent from the church is coming by later today. I’ll be home at three. I’m no longer working the second job at the restaurant . . . they let me go. Not busy enough, they said. I’m just at the bakery now.” He takes another sip of his coffee. The thing about my dad, even when bad things happen, he never reacts. But I can see the seething. The discomfort. He wears it all over his body. “The agent understands both Greek and English, so you won’t have to deal with the paperwork.”
“You know I’m not a real estate lawyer, right?” I’m being a smart-ass, but really.
He takes his first bite of his cruller and says, with a full mouth, “You know the language. I don’t understand why you can’t explain this stuff to us and fill out the papers. I can only understand so much and your mother . . . your mother is right about some things. You can be lazy.”
Don’t be this person right now, Dad. I need you to be more than this.
“I’m not lazy.”
“Don’t talk back to me.” He lowers his voice to an angry whisper and looks around to make sure that no one is watching or listening. “I lost my job. We’ll probably lose the house, and all you care about is yourself.”
I fall silent, and guilt instantly takes over for not recognizing how this must make him feel. I want him to save me, but he can barely save himself.
His voice gets soft again with a little bitterness. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to translate the real estate documents. The agent will do it.” We both stare straight ahead in silence for a few minutes. “Sorry about following you last night.” He sounds like he genuinely means it.
I nod.
“She worries.”
“Do you?”
“No. What time is dinner at Henry’s? I can drive you if he brings you back.”
“I’ll check with him.”
“More coffee?” Linda always shows up at the exact time you need her.
“For both of us.” My dad signals to our almost empty mugs. “Is Henry still dating—”
“No, but this girl from Bugle’s last night invited him to a pool party on Saturday. He’s going to go.”
“You?”
“Gaige was at Bugle’s too. Mom asked me to invite him. She thinks he’s a good influence.”
My dad’s voice is low. “It’s okay to have a—you know. To have someone you like. You should go to the pool party. If Gaige is going, your mom won’t mind. He comes from a good Christian family.”
“He does. He’s a good guy and we don’t really know each other very well. Plus I’m not . . .”
“Maybe if he moves here because of college you could get to know each other.”
I’m trying so hard not to go full-on red-faced right now. Is he actually cool with this? The mixed messages are coming a little too fast and furious. We finish our coffees and doughnuts in silence and get in the car.
“It’ll be good to have a group.”
“Dad?”
“If Gaige is someone you can talk to. And you have Henry and Jeremy. It’s good.”
I don’t know where’s he’s going with this, but I agree. “Yep.”
“The people at the church are that for your mother. You know?”
“What about you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Never really felt that way for me. Do you want me to take you home first, or straight to school?”
I want to say something. Something that will somehow comfort my father, but all I can say is, “School. I can do some work in the library.”
He pulls out of the Dunkin’ parking lot and starts to drive away. Fast.
“Are you mad?” he asks.
“I’m . . . frustrated. Yes, mad. I mean, c’mon, Dad. You think I’m lazy? You agree with Mom and out of nowhere you tell me we have to sell the house. You’re apologizing for following me, but . . .” I stop talking and look at him. His face is the usual blank stare when confronted with an uncomfortable moment, but his eyes are anything but empty. “You’re right about one thing. I’m making this about me. You must also be so mad—worried.”
“I can’t give you a good reason why we follow you. I do what I think is right every day. Every day. I work hard. I try to pay all the bills. Send you to school and try to make it all work, and no matter how much . . . how hard . . . everything still feels like it’s out of reach. We’re on the outside. You’re even more on the outside.”
Any anger I had dissolves into sadness. Sadness for him and for how difficult it must be to balance so much while trying so hard to make it all work. We drive quietly for the next few blocks. It seems like miles.
“Uncle Tasos said Gaige was a very polite, handsome young man. Does he play sports?”
This is how we move on. We just do. No transitions. “No. He’s more of a book/tech guy. I think he wants to study something with science.”
“You like him?”
Oh. My. God. So much awkward.
“He’s nice. We get along and . . . he’s nice.”
“Henry and everyone else meet him?”
“Bugle’s was packed. He met a lot of people.”
“Mm-hm.”
I feel hot and cold all at once. I employ the signature Panos family deflection technique. “Are you going to look for another job? You know, if I wind up working weekends—”
“I am. Your work money should be for college. You’re going to need it. I don’t know how much we can help.”
“I didn’t expect any help.”
More silence.
I reach into my pocket for my phone.
“Have a good day. I’ll tell your mother about dinner tonight and the pool thing on Saturday. Come right home after school so you can help with her hair.”
“I will. Thanks.”
As soon as I walk into school, I race to the atrium. The door is propped open with a large, round, plastic trash can. I need to make my cloudy head feel less foggy. This is the best part of coming to school early—no one is in here.
I find the farthest bench from the door and text Henry:
Hey, I think I left my notebook in ur car. Under my seat. Can u bring it? In atrium.
Please. Please don’t read it. Please, Henry. Please.
Part of me also wants to text: Hey, so . . . how are you feeling about last night? Because over here, I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.
Today feels like one of those days when it’s hard being here at school. The kind of day when faking it is harder than usual. I can do a pretty decent job pretending to be normal. I think if you were to ask kids here what they thought of me, they would fall into one of two groups. One group would wonder if they even knew who I was. Like literally have to wonder if I was even a real live kid who went to their school or just some guy who the person asking the question made up as part of a social experiment. The other group would say that I was a shy, awkward kid who keeps to himself.
I take a breath and write out another text.
Hey, Gaige, it’s Evan. I should have info on pool party later today. Will send. Hope ur enjoying Chicago. Sorry about last night.
I sit back.
Let me worst-case-scenario this:
Henry reads the journal.
Finds out about my kiss with Gaige.
Discovers the abuse.
Finds out the extent of crazy religion stuff.
Decides it’s too much.
Exposes me (is that possible?).
No more Henry.
Worlds colliding.
My phone buzzes.
Gaige.
Cool. Let me know when u do. Want to talk.
I lie down on the bench and think about Henry.
About the monastery.
Breathe, Evan. Think back to the monastery.
Back to Henry.
Back to what almost happened. What did happen.
If we kissed, would it be different than with Gaige?
I hate to think this, but . . . Gaige was almost a test. Why didn’t I see this before? Because you hadn’t kissed Henry yet! A test for me to see. Do I? Am I?
My phone buzzes.
I have ur notebook. B there soon. ☺
Oh God. An emoji. He never sends those. Never. What do I say when I see him?
Hey there, buddy, did you happen to read my journal? Then what? What’s he going to say if he did? What’s he going to say about everything? I wonder if he’s thinking as much about last night as I am. Maybe I scared him away from ever attempting to kiss me again. I am freaking out.
“Ev!”
Henry walks in with his big, dimpled smile. Not today. Not now. Stop it, Henry.
I smile at him. “Hey.” He stands in front of me, slightly out of breath. “Did you run here?”
“Yep. I was clear on the other side of campus. Here.” He holds my notebook out in front of him. We’re standing so close that his long reach almost hits me in the chest.
I grab the notebook and shove it into my backpack. “Thanks. I was so tired last night I didn’t even think . . .”
“So . . .”
Before he can say anything else, I blurt out, “I can come to dinner tonight.” I scan his face for any kind of recognition. Any kind of tell that he may know more now in this moment than he did last night.
“Cool. I’ll let my mom know.”
Nothing.
I think. I can’t tell. All my signals are crossed. He couldn’t have read it. He’s not that good a liar.
“Do you want me to pick you up?”
“My dad’s going to drop me off. Can you take me home after?”
“Sure. And we should, maybe, talk about what happened. . . .”
There it is.
“Totally. Oh yeah. So important.” I don’t mean to, but it comes out incredibly insincere. “I agree. We should. Talk.”
He looks dejected. Did I do that? “I gotta get to class. Later.” With that, Henry exits, and I feel like one of those Illinois State Fair balloons that no matter how full and bright it is while you’re at the fair, when you get it home it’s completely wilted.