3. When I had to share him
Senior Prom
Vinny
The last few minutes before we leave for school—when Tommy’s tying his shoes and I’m leaning against the door waiting for him—we are Aunt Sheila’s captive audience. She knows this and uses it to conduct business with her son. And it always involves me, somehow.
Lately she’s been dropping before-school hints about how “bitterly disappointed” she’d been that Tommy didn’t attend the junior prom. And how she doesn’t want to go through that unbelievable pain again over him missing his senior prom.
“I had an interesting conversation with Sarah Moore at coffee hour last Sunday after church.” Aunt Sheila positions herself beside the tall metal shelf of shoes. She leans but doesn’t manage to pull off looking casual. “Son, you will be taking her sweet daughter Jenna to the senior prom.”
We both gawk at her. My jaw drops open.
“High school prom is a rite of passage, Tom. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let you miss out again.” She folds her arms. “And I don’t want to hear any sass from you—it’s settled.”
Tommy doesn’t argue the point; he doesn’t say anything at all. Our frantic gazes collide for a split second before he bends to pick up his backpack. He’s probably hoping that ignoring her directive will make it disappear.
But Aunt Sheila is persistent. She glances at me, wrinkles her nose, and adds, “And Tom, you certainly can’t go to the prom with your cousin.” She laughs—high-pitched and giddy—as if the idea of us hanging out together at the prom, even as friends, is a total joke. “I’m sure Jenna has a nice friend for you to take to the prom, Vince.” I wince. And by that, I mean I step backward and literally grab my belly. It feels like I got stabbed low in my gut. Not by Aunt Sheila, but by Tommy….
Aunt Sheila babbles on about the romantic prom evening she and Jenna’s mom set up. They made plans for the location of photographs and a fancy dinner and even arranged a well-supervised after-prom party for two.
Other than me grabbing my belly and Tommy slinging his back pack over his shoulder with extra vigor, neither of us reacts in a way Aunt Sheila could pick up on. But we leave without saying goodbye.
As soon as we step out of the house and onto the walkway, I feel like I’m going to lose my breakfast. Maybe I’m having some kind of a panic attack, or maybe I fell into deep depression when Tommy agreed by his silence to go to the prom with Jenna. “Tommy, I think I’m coming down with a stomach flu.”
“You feel sick?” he asks. He reaches for me but then thinks better of it and pulls his arm back.
I nod. “Uh-huh. You gotta drive me home, like right now. You can use my car for school.”
Tommy studies my face. “You do look kind of pale.”
“Like I said… I’m sick as a dog. I need to go home.”
He drives me home and I jump out of the car, run up the walkway, and into the house. And I head straight for my bed. The only thing I can think of to do to make the pain and nausea go away is to sleep. I sleep all day.
◆◆◆
Tommy’s standing in the doorway to my bedroom ten minutes after school lets out. “Hey, Vin. Can I come in?”
I roll over to face the window. I can’t look at him; I have no right to be devastated over a stupid plan his mother made for the senior prom. “Sure.”
His footsteps are loud as he strides to my bed, and without any hesitation he sits beside my pillow, likely to not say things I desperately need to hear. But Tommy surprises me and leads with a fulfillment of my secret wish. “I’ll tell Mom no.” Tommy doesn’t ask how my stomach is or check my forehead with the back of his hand to see if I’m burning up with fever. He knows my sudden illness came from complete emotional ruin.
I can’t stifle a chuckle. “Good luck with that.”
“But maybe I have a better idea.” His hand trembles as it finds my shoulder, but it steadies when he touches me through my thin, cotton T-shirt. “Flip over and look at me.”
I turn toward him, but instead of making eye contact, I study the poster of Andrew Farrell doing a header that hangs on the wall by my bedroom door. It’s much safer.
“If you ask Ellen to the prom, we can all go together.”
“That’d only compound the problem, don’t ya think?” I’m careful not to verbalize what the problem is. We’ve been dancing around it all year—putting words to our sinful desire won’t make things better.
“Look at me, cuz.”
He hasn’t called me cuz since Christmastime. I don’t like it, but I look at him anyway.
“We’ll be there… together. Jenna and Ellen don’t matter.” Tommy tugs on the bracelet he put on me on Christmas Eve. “It won’t be that bad.”
I shrug and then nod, because it’s better than nothing. And just like that he’s revised Aunt Sheila’s plan for senior prom into something we can stomach: I’m going to the prom with Tommy Stecker, and he’s going with me. It’s just that there will be two girls standing between us.
◆◆◆
I rise from the shiny green bench in front of The Man in a Tuxedo store and give in to my desperate need to pace. But there’s no use lying to myself about how Tommy and I ended up as Jenna and Ellen’s senior prom dates.
I pace faster as I admit our solution to the senior prom problem is way less than ideal. I just want to get it over with. “Where are they? Ellen and Jenna were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.” After we pick out our tuxedos, Tommy and I are going to the gym. I’m kind of living for that.
“They’ll be here soon.” Tommy speaks with confidence. “Jenna wants my bow tie to match her dress. Nothing will get in the way of that. Believe me.”
◆◆◆
Running indoor laps at the Wynne Rec Center with Tommy is so much better than doing just about anything with anybody else.
“If you asked me two hours ago, I’d have told you I wouldn’t be caught dead in a peach bowtie.” Tommy is the one who sets the pace. I run about a foot behind him on the outer lane. He doesn’t have to glance back to check that I’m still with him. He knows I’m there.
“Don’t forget the cummerbund—it’s peach too.” It feels good to point this out. Not sure why. And it’s even more satisfying when Tommy cringes.
He says, “At church this morning Jenna told me that the color of her dress is melon ball.” He makes a gagging sound. “I will never eat cantaloupe again.”
“It’s not that bad, T.”
“Yeah, right. Spoken from the guy whose prom date is wearing classic dark blue.” Tommy races ahead of me. “One more lap and it’ll be three miles.”
“How far do you wanna go?” I’ll run as long and as far as he wants. I’m pretty sure he knows it.
“How about we run until the day after the senior prom?” Tommy doesn’t laugh, and he speeds up more.
We run for another twenty minutes. “How far did we go?” I ask when we slow down to a trot.
“Don’t know. I lost count.” He finally glances my way but avoids looking into my eyes.
Tommy never loses track of anything, but I don’t ask questions. Just like I haven’t questioned him about which college he plans to attend. I don’t have any choice in schools; my only significant soccer scholarship is at Stephenson College in Northern Massachusetts. But money is no object for the Steckers, and Tommy got accepted to three colleges where he can also play soccer. The closest to Stephenson is Meredith College in southern NH. We’d be only forty-five minutes apart—if Mom and Dad let me take the Volvo to school, seeing each other would be doable. There’s also a college in Connecticut that wants him, a liberal arts school called Verdes University. That one is three hours from Stephenson. And there’s a Christian school, Our Guardian College, which is the one his parents want him to attend. Jenna plans to go there too. It’s in the outskirts of Chicago, which is way too far from where I’ll be. Needless to say, Our Guardian is at the bottom of my list. But it’s Tommy and his family’s list that counts.
“Are you up for lifting?”
I shake my head. I’m up for something else entirely.
“Okay. Come on.” I follow Tommy along the track and into the men’s locker room. He goes straight to a shower stall, stands in front of it, and presents me with his back. Then he strips off his sweaty shorts, boxers, and tank top, letting them fall to the floor. Since we’re alone in the locker room, I don’t turn away. I take in his body, noting how his calves are chiseled and his ass is tight and his back ripples with toned muscles. I grit my teeth before I swallow. I have to, or I’ll drool.
This ritual is nothing new for us; Tommy knows I’m watching. He stands still for a moment and lets me study him as the water heats. And he doesn’t have to turn around and stare at me as I undress; he knows I’ll return this pleasure-viewing favor after I shower. I’ll dry myself off slowly—completely naked and facing him—and as long as nobody else comes along, I’ll allow him enough time to see everything he wants so much but can never have because of our religion. And our families.
“Get in the shower, Vinny.”
Surprised by his voice, I stumble backward a few steps. “Uh, yeah. Right.”
As soon as Tommy steps into the shower, I strip off my clothes, flick the lever, and step under a still-cold spray of water.
◆◆◆
Even with the peach tie and cummerbund, he looks so good in his tux that I want to scream. Or carry him off where Jenna will never find him. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me, he likes what he sees too.
“You clean up good, child.”
He speaks with a hillbilly accent, but I can’t force a smile; I’m still fighting a burning need to yell curses into the air at the top of my lungs. “Your melon ball tie is crooked.”
Tommy bends his neck to the left. “Is it straight now?”
I point to the mirror. “T, fix it, or Jenna will have kittens.” She likes things perfect, just like Aunt Sheila does. Do boys seek out girls like their mothers? The answer to my silent question is irrelevant. And my voice, which sounds a lot like the croaking of a frog, has already given away the depth of my pain.
Instead of stepping to the mirror, he comes right up to me. He straightens my navy-blue bowtie, which wasn’t crooked to begin with, and then he rests his palms on my jacket’s lapels. When he finally stares me in the eye, I’m stunned to see wetness pooling up by the rims. “We’re gonna have fun tonight, dude,” he says softly. Hopefully.
I can hardly believe his words. They’re a lie, and they ruin the tenderness I just saw in his expression. “What?” I shove him just hard enough to get my point across.
Even though Tommy stumbles, he isn’t fazed by my outburst. He peers at me with a smirk, like we share some kind of a sweet secret.
Of course, I’m the one to say it. “Tonight’s all wrong, Tommy—and we both know it.” I’ve spoken the unspeakable, but it’s also the truth. Neither of us should be dancing with other people.
“We’ll be together.”
“With two girls between us.” The girls are not the only thing blocking our path to each other. A raw yearning has lingered between us for what seems like forever. Like an exposed nerve, it tortures us—or at least, it tortures me. Tommy seems pretty much fine tonight. “It all started when we were twelve… when we got back from summer camp.” He tilts his head, like my words make no sense. Even though they do.
“What are you talking about?” he asks, his tone too calm. He should look more confused than he does—Tommy knows exactly what I mean.
“Before the first dance… Homecoming in seventh grade.” I’m still talking about middle school.
Tommy nods. “It was the last time we got dressed up together, here in your room.”
“But not in tuxedos.” Now I smile, as the memory is sweet. “You had on a new white shirt… and a tie.”
“It was a red-and-blue-striped banker’s tie, not melon ball.” He stops to think before he adds, “And your tie was so tacky, dude. Neon purple, wasn’t it?” Tommy laughs.
He’s right about the tie, though. On the night of our first school dance, I wore the exact same white shirt as Tommy, seeing as Aunt Sheila had picked them up for us at the Sporting World Outlet. Mom had taken me to the Mountain Valley Mall a few days earlier, where I’d picked out a neon purple tie.
“I thought the purple tie would make me stand out, and maybe the girls would line up to dance with me.” But on that night almost six years ago, in this room, beside this very bed, it had hit me: I only wanted to dance with one person. Someone I could never dance with because he was my cousin. And we were both boys. We already knew from passages in the Old Testament: homosexuality is sinful.
Claiming Tommy had a headache, we ended up ditching the dance that night and watching soccer trick shots on YouTube until midnight. It was awesome. But tonight, we can’t change our minds and stay home. Eight adults are waiting to take pictures, we have dinner reservations at Donato’s Italian Kitchen, and most importantly, there are two girls in expensive gowns hoping to dance all night. With us.
There’s no escape.
“Trust me, Vin. We’ll get through this shit.”
“Why should we have to get through anything?” A stupid question because I already know the answer. Our religion dictates that we can’t be gay. And we definitely can’t be gay cousins. Before he offers a feeble reply that will piss me off, I change my tune. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
I turn away from him and walk into the hallway.
◆◆◆
Aunt Sheila is nothing short of ecstatic during prom pictures, which we take downtown at the park in front of the pond. And since it’s a mid-April prom, it’s too cold outside for the ten million poses I’m sure she has in mind. I’m grateful the frigid temperatures move the pace of the photo session along. But it’s enough time for everybody to linger over how stunning Jenna looks in her melon-ball strapless gown. And how Tommy, with matching platinum hair and his peach bowtie, is apparently “made for her.” Ellen doesn’t get as many lavish compliments, but she looks nice tonight too. Her simple dark blue dress isn’t an exact match to my tie, but it’s good enough for both of us, and Mom and Dad say we look great too.
At dinner, Tommy and I sit next to each other so we can gaze across the table at our dates. I keep glancing at him to see if he gets into his lasagna the way he would if we were alone—closing his eyes and making “this tastes like heaven” sounds with each bite, but he doesn’t. It makes me happy that he can’t let himself go with Jenna like he can when he’s alone with me. Which is not the reaction of a good Christian, not that I care.
At the Papillon Center of Ludlow, couples cling to each other on the dancefloor of the Monarch Ballroom. The senior class officers decorated the stately room with blue and white balloons on long strings, held to the floor by silver heart-shaped weights and strewn along the edges of the huge room. High tables draped in silky white tablecloths are staggered here and there. Along the far wall of the ballroom a local DJ—who’s known for his work at weddings and parties and is as famous as a guy can get in a small town—cranks slow songs. And on the wall just behind us is a long table covered in plates of cookies and brownies and bowls of punch, all supplied by families of seniors. Cases of bottled sparkling water with Wynne Academy Senior Prom stickers have been placed on each end of the table. The organizers thought of everything to make the senior prom memorable.
But mostly, I’m thankful for the lighting. Or, better yet, the lack of it. It’s so dark I can’t see much beyond the side of Ellen’s head on my shoulder. The details of the couples surrounding us are blurred by darkness, as well. Unfortunately, Tommy and Jenna’s light hair serves as a homing beacon for my eyes. It seems to glow in the dark room. I can’t look away. Their expressions are mercifully lost to the night, but their heads and bodies are pressed together, and my imagination fills in the blanks.
Since neither of us have ever been to a dance before, we never learned the ins and outs of moving to fast music. When more upbeat music starts, the four of us meet beside a high table near the back of the room.
“Get me a bottle of water, Tommy. I’m thirsty enough to drink the fountain out in front of the building.” Jenna is demanding. And Tommy is obedient to the ladies in his life. He nods dutifully.
“Want some water or punch, Ellen?”
“Sure, thanks, Vinny. I’d love a bottle of water.”
Tommy and I leave the girls by the table and head for the cases of water.
“Having fun?” I ask. I don’t actually care if he’s enjoying the prom. I want to hear how he answers.
“It’s okay, I guess. Never slow-danced before, but it isn’t too hard.” He hands me two water bottles before grabbing a couple more. “Uh… Ellen looks damned good, huh?”
I don’t return the compliment about his date. Everybody knows that Jenna is the prettiest girl at Wynne Academy and will probably be voted prom queen tonight. Four football players asked her to the prom, but she held out until her mother set it up with Aunt Sheila so she could go with Christian Tommy and his platinum blond hair. The girl has had her eye on him all year, not that I can blame her. My eyes have been on him since before I was a teenager. Tommy’s like that: addictive eye candy. But tonight, he’s more Jenna’s candy than mine.
We stare at each other for close to a minute, either not knowing what to say or not being willing to say it. Finally, he leans close to me and murmurs, “Next dance, stand close to me and Jenna… and look at me.”
Does he think locking eyes will make it feel like we’re dancing together? For some reason, the thought hurts. “We should get back to them…”
“Just look at me, Vinny.”
I don’t nod or even shrug. I pretend I didn’t hear his request. But after we finish our water bottles and return to the dancefloor, Ellen and I dance so close to Jenna and Tommy that we could reach out and touch them. And when I see Tommy’s strong back straining against the fabric of his tux, I have to grit my teeth to hold back. Every time we circle around, my gaze connects with his. The expression in his eyes is hard to read but if I had to interpret it, I’d use a phrase Dee says about her favorite romance novels: super angsty. I wonder what my eyes tell him. Pretty sure they let him in on my suffering too.
I really don’t have to think about it very hard, though. It tortures me to be so close and at the same time so far, and I’ve never been particularly stoic when it comes to my not-cousin, Tommy. Still, every time we circle around, I stare into his eyes because I need to somehow hold onto him. Even when we’re each holding on to someone else.
◆◆◆
For the past couple of hours, we’ve been eating potato chips and onion dip and drinking orange soda in Jenna’s living room. Now it’s almost one in the morning and I’ve had enough. Our small talk tank ran empty forty-five minutes ago, and the only reason Jenna and Ellen aren’t firmly planted in our laps, our lips melded together, is because Jenna’s extremely pious parents are in the kitchen, monitoring our interaction. At the moment, I’m strangely thankful for the Life in Christ Worship Center’s strict code of boy-girl conduct.
I yawn widely and stand. “I’m exhausted. Guess it’s time we head home.”
Jenna’s lips twist. “Already? You guys just got here.”
“Vinny’s not supposed to drive after one,” Tommy replies. “You get that, right?” I have no idea if this is true since I’m eighteen years old, but I’m not about to argue. Tommy rises from his spot on the couch beside Jenna. “It was a great night.”
Ellen appears less disappointed than Jenna; I’d chosen a chair across the room from her, so she knew there was going to be no cuddling or kissing in our evening agenda. “Thanks for dinner… and the dancing,” she says.
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” I quip, looking from Ellen to Jenna. But we could have done it without them had we been born in a different time and place and religion.
“I’ll walk you to the door, Tommy.” Jenna stands and hooks her arm into his. I grit my teeth. I’ve been doing this a lot lately.
The girls walk us down the hall to where our tuxedo jackets are hanging in the closet. Jenna pulls them out and stuffs them both into my hands. “Take them to the car, Vince. Tommy will be there in a minute.”
“Oh, sure. Okay.” I fold the jackets over my arm. “Well, bye, Ellen. Thanks for tonight.”
“See ya in school on Monday, Vinny.” She turns and goes up the stairs to Jenna’s bedroom.
I don’t want to leave without Tommy, but I’ve clearly been dismissed. I fumble with the doorknob for a few seconds, but Jenna firmly hangs onto Tommy’s arm, so I finally manage to yank the door open and leave.
It’s cold outside. I feel colder than ever before, which is crazy because it’s springtime, not the dead of winter. When I get to the car, I toss the jackets in the back and lean against the passenger door. And I watch the two figures embracing in the glow of the front door light, even though it makes me feel like throwing up.
Hugging, and then separating to exchange a few words. Hugging again… coming apart… and then moving together in a different way. In a way that makes my guts clench and my throat close. I can’t breathe…
I stand alone in the dark, gasping for air and fighting the worst nausea I’ve ever had, as Jenna kisses Tommy. Because Tommy can’t be kissing Jenna.
It’s too much to handle, so before I pass out, I race around the car and throw myself into the driver’s seat. And I stare straight ahead. For a second I wonder if he tastes onion dip from our lame post-prom party on her lips; I hope like hell he does.
There’s a knock on the passenger window. “Hey bud, open up.”
When did I lock the door?
I unlock it and start the engine as he climbs in.
“I’m so fucking glad that’s a done deal,” he sighs.
“The prom… or the…” I stop and swallow. “Or the kiss?”
“Both.” He laughs. Tommy laughs as my heart splits in two.
A strangled sound emits from deep inside my throat.
“You okay, Vinny?”
I pull onto the street without a word. No, T. I’m not even close to okay. I’m a million miles from okay.
“It didn’t mean anything.”
I stomp down hard on the gas pedal and we screech forward. It meant something to me. We drive across town to Tommy’s house in silence. I’m dazed. I’m also still fighting the urge to hurl. When I turn into his driveway, Tommy gets out and goes to the back of the wagon to grab his jacket.
I run around the back of the car to meet him. “Leave it, Tommy. I’ll return them tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to. You picked them up this afternoon, so let me return them.”
I shake my head too wildly. “No… it’s okay. I’ve got it.” I’m crying. I’m freaking crying. “I’ve got it,” I insist and bow my head to stare at the ground. To hide the tears.
Tommy does the only thing that could make me cry harder; he places his hands on the sides of my face and dries my tears with his thumbs. “It didn’t mean anything, man.”
Then he reaches around my shoulders and pulls me against him. And he’s forceful. He drags me right up against him. His chest is heaving just like mine. I wind my arms around his waist, and we hold each other. It’s a different kind of hug than ever before.
“I had to kiss her… and once it started, I didn’t know how to stop it, and I…” His voice is raspy in my ear. “I had to.”
“It’s okay.” I whisper, even though it’s not. But the horror in his voice soothes me a little. The outside light flashes on and our heads snap toward the front door. Our tender embrace has been exposed to Aunt Sheila, who stands in the doorway wearing a strange expression and slowly shaking her head.
I’m lying—it’s not okay at all.
Tommy’s arms fall to his sides about a second before mine do. “I… uh… night, Vinny.” He races up the walkway like he’s been spooked. Aunt Sheila opens the door to let him into the house. Her lips are set in a straight line. She’s still shaking her head.