Autoboyography
Page 28
Pulling the door closed behind him, Sebastian steps out onto the porch. He’s in dress pants and a crisp white shirt that he’s unbuttoned at the collar. I see smooth throat and collarbone and the suggestion of his chest just out of sight. My mouth waters.
I wonder if he had a tie on. Did he take it off for me? “Thanks for coming,” he says.
Desperation takes over my pulse, and the thought of doing something to lose this pushes a blade of pain between my ribs. I want to immediately reassure him that I plan to rewrite my entire book, but go with “Thanks for inviting me” instead.
“Okay,” he says, taking a step forward and motioning to the door. “So this is probably going to be boring. I just want to warn you up front. And I’m sorry if they start talking about church stuff.” He pushes one hand into his hair, and it makes me think about how it felt to do that on the mountain. “They can’t help it.”
“Are you kidding? Look at me. I love church stuff.”
He laughs. “Sure you do.” With a deep breath, he smooths his hair down, straightens his shirt, and reaches for the doorknob.
I stop him with a hand on his arm. “Is this weird, or is it just me?”
I know I’m fishing for some indication that he remembers what we did, that he liked it.
His answer makes my whole goddamn week: “It’s not just you.” His eyes meet mine, and then his face breaks into the most amazing smile I’ve ever seen. No family portrait inside has been a witness to this one, not for a second.
On impulse, I blurt: “I’m starting over with my book.”
His eyes go wide. “You are?”
“Yeah.” I swallow thickly, choking on my pulse. “I can’t stop thinking about . . . that . . . but I know I can’t turn it in.” Anxiety about the prospect of starting over and the thrill at seeing him bubble together in my stomach. The jittery sensation makes it easier to lie. “I’ve already started something new.”
I can tell this is what he wanted to hear, and he brightens instantly. “That’s good. I can help you.” He gives himself three seconds to look at my mouth before pulling his gaze back up to mine. “Ready?”
When I nod, he opens the door, giving me one last encouraging look before we step inside.
The house smells like fresh bread and roast turkey, and because it’s slightly colder outside than in, the windows are steamy with a layer of condensation fogging up the glass. I follow Sebastian past the small living room in the front—Hello again, picture of hot seventeen-year-old Sebastian. Hello, multiple Jesuses. Hello, oppressive plaque—and down the hall to where the space opens into the family room on one end and the kitchen on the other.
A man I can only assume is Sebastian’s dad is watching TV.
He stands when he sees us. He’s taller than Sebastian by maybe only an inch or two, but with the same light brown hair and easy way about him. I’m not sure what I was expecting—a more intimidating posture, maybe?—but I’m unprepared when he reaches out to shake my hand and hits me with the same knee-buckling smile.
“You must be Tanner.” His blue eyes are bright, and they twinkle with an easy sort of contentment. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
He . . . what now?
I shoot a questioning glance to Sebastian, who is pointedly looking the other way.
“Yes, sir,” I say, quickly correcting with, “I mean, Bishop Brother.”
He laughs and places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m only Bishop Brother in church. Call me Dan.”
My dad wouldn’t approve of me calling a parent by their first name, ever, but I’m not about to argue. “Okay. Thank you, Mr.—Dan.”
An older man descends the stairs. Dark hair curls over the tops of his ears, and despite the austerity of his suit and the beginning of gray at his temples, it makes him look younger, even mischievous. “Aaron needed some Lego assistance. When he asked how I knew what I was doing, I told him it was because I have an engineering degree. Now he’s set on getting an engineering degree to build Legos forever. Whatever works, I guess.”
Sebastian steps up to my side. “Grandpa, this is Tanner. A friend from the Seminar.”
He inspects me with the same bright blue eyes. “Another writer!” he says, and reaches out to shake my hand. “I’m Abe Brother.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” I say. “And Sebastian’s the writer. I’m closer to a monkey given free access to a keyboard.”
Dan and his father laugh, but Sebastian stares at me, brows drawn. “That’s not true.”
I mumble some laughing version of “If you say so,” because—honestly—the fact that I could only write about what was literally happening to me day to day and then let him read a badly bastardized version of my book is still mortifying.
In the kitchen, Sebastian introduces me to his grandmother, Judy, who asks me if I live nearby. I think it’s code for What ward are you in?
“He lives over by the country club,” Sebastian explains, and asks if there’s anything we can do to help. When they say no, he tells them we’re going to work on my manuscript.
Panic dumps ice water over my skin.
“Okay, honey,” his mom says. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Could you ask your sisters to start washing up?”
With a nod, he leads me back down the hall.
“I didn’t bring my new manuscript,” I whisper, climbing the stairs behind him and doing my best to keep my eyes on my feet and not on his back.
At the top, the hallway splits off in two directions.
Bedrooms.
I watch as he stops in front of Faith’s room. Inside, it’s a fluffy pink and purple monstrosity with signs of preteen angst bleeding through at the edges.
He knocks and leans in. “Dinner soon, so wash your hands, okay?”
She says something in reply, and he steps out.
“Did you hear me?” I whisper, a little louder now. “I didn’t bring my new manuscript.”
Have I made a huge mistake by implying that I’m already working on something new? Is he going to want to see it soon?
He glances over his shoulder at me and winks. “I heard you. I didn’t invite you here to work.”
“Oh . . . Okay.”
Sebastian’s grin is wicked. “I guess I should give you the tour?”
I can already tell there’s not much to see—upstairs it’s a dead end with four doorways—but I nod.
“My parents’ room,” he says, pointing to the largest of the rooms. Another photo of the Salt Lake Temple hangs above the bed, along with a framed print that says FAMILIES ARE FOREVER. School photos and vacation snapshots line the walls; smiling faces beam from every direction.
“Bathroom, Faith, and Aaron. My room is downstairs.”
We descend to the main floor, before turning the corner and starting down another set of stairs. Our footsteps are muted by the thick carpet, and the voices from upstairs grow quieter with every step.
For a basement, it’s pretty bright. The stairway opens to another large carpeted family room with a TV, a couch, and beanbag chairs at one end, a small kitchenette at the other. A few doorways sit off to the side, and Sebastian points to the first. “Lizzy,” he tells me, and moves on to the next one. “This is me.”
My heart is in my throat at the possibility of seeing Sebastian’s room.
I wonder if he had a tie on. Did he take it off for me? “Thanks for coming,” he says.
Desperation takes over my pulse, and the thought of doing something to lose this pushes a blade of pain between my ribs. I want to immediately reassure him that I plan to rewrite my entire book, but go with “Thanks for inviting me” instead.
“Okay,” he says, taking a step forward and motioning to the door. “So this is probably going to be boring. I just want to warn you up front. And I’m sorry if they start talking about church stuff.” He pushes one hand into his hair, and it makes me think about how it felt to do that on the mountain. “They can’t help it.”
“Are you kidding? Look at me. I love church stuff.”
He laughs. “Sure you do.” With a deep breath, he smooths his hair down, straightens his shirt, and reaches for the doorknob.
I stop him with a hand on his arm. “Is this weird, or is it just me?”
I know I’m fishing for some indication that he remembers what we did, that he liked it.
His answer makes my whole goddamn week: “It’s not just you.” His eyes meet mine, and then his face breaks into the most amazing smile I’ve ever seen. No family portrait inside has been a witness to this one, not for a second.
On impulse, I blurt: “I’m starting over with my book.”
His eyes go wide. “You are?”
“Yeah.” I swallow thickly, choking on my pulse. “I can’t stop thinking about . . . that . . . but I know I can’t turn it in.” Anxiety about the prospect of starting over and the thrill at seeing him bubble together in my stomach. The jittery sensation makes it easier to lie. “I’ve already started something new.”
I can tell this is what he wanted to hear, and he brightens instantly. “That’s good. I can help you.” He gives himself three seconds to look at my mouth before pulling his gaze back up to mine. “Ready?”
When I nod, he opens the door, giving me one last encouraging look before we step inside.
The house smells like fresh bread and roast turkey, and because it’s slightly colder outside than in, the windows are steamy with a layer of condensation fogging up the glass. I follow Sebastian past the small living room in the front—Hello again, picture of hot seventeen-year-old Sebastian. Hello, multiple Jesuses. Hello, oppressive plaque—and down the hall to where the space opens into the family room on one end and the kitchen on the other.
A man I can only assume is Sebastian’s dad is watching TV.
He stands when he sees us. He’s taller than Sebastian by maybe only an inch or two, but with the same light brown hair and easy way about him. I’m not sure what I was expecting—a more intimidating posture, maybe?—but I’m unprepared when he reaches out to shake my hand and hits me with the same knee-buckling smile.
“You must be Tanner.” His blue eyes are bright, and they twinkle with an easy sort of contentment. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
He . . . what now?
I shoot a questioning glance to Sebastian, who is pointedly looking the other way.
“Yes, sir,” I say, quickly correcting with, “I mean, Bishop Brother.”
He laughs and places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m only Bishop Brother in church. Call me Dan.”
My dad wouldn’t approve of me calling a parent by their first name, ever, but I’m not about to argue. “Okay. Thank you, Mr.—Dan.”
An older man descends the stairs. Dark hair curls over the tops of his ears, and despite the austerity of his suit and the beginning of gray at his temples, it makes him look younger, even mischievous. “Aaron needed some Lego assistance. When he asked how I knew what I was doing, I told him it was because I have an engineering degree. Now he’s set on getting an engineering degree to build Legos forever. Whatever works, I guess.”
Sebastian steps up to my side. “Grandpa, this is Tanner. A friend from the Seminar.”
He inspects me with the same bright blue eyes. “Another writer!” he says, and reaches out to shake my hand. “I’m Abe Brother.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” I say. “And Sebastian’s the writer. I’m closer to a monkey given free access to a keyboard.”
Dan and his father laugh, but Sebastian stares at me, brows drawn. “That’s not true.”
I mumble some laughing version of “If you say so,” because—honestly—the fact that I could only write about what was literally happening to me day to day and then let him read a badly bastardized version of my book is still mortifying.
In the kitchen, Sebastian introduces me to his grandmother, Judy, who asks me if I live nearby. I think it’s code for What ward are you in?
“He lives over by the country club,” Sebastian explains, and asks if there’s anything we can do to help. When they say no, he tells them we’re going to work on my manuscript.
Panic dumps ice water over my skin.
“Okay, honey,” his mom says. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Could you ask your sisters to start washing up?”
With a nod, he leads me back down the hall.
“I didn’t bring my new manuscript,” I whisper, climbing the stairs behind him and doing my best to keep my eyes on my feet and not on his back.
At the top, the hallway splits off in two directions.
Bedrooms.
I watch as he stops in front of Faith’s room. Inside, it’s a fluffy pink and purple monstrosity with signs of preteen angst bleeding through at the edges.
He knocks and leans in. “Dinner soon, so wash your hands, okay?”
She says something in reply, and he steps out.
“Did you hear me?” I whisper, a little louder now. “I didn’t bring my new manuscript.”
Have I made a huge mistake by implying that I’m already working on something new? Is he going to want to see it soon?
He glances over his shoulder at me and winks. “I heard you. I didn’t invite you here to work.”
“Oh . . . Okay.”
Sebastian’s grin is wicked. “I guess I should give you the tour?”
I can already tell there’s not much to see—upstairs it’s a dead end with four doorways—but I nod.
“My parents’ room,” he says, pointing to the largest of the rooms. Another photo of the Salt Lake Temple hangs above the bed, along with a framed print that says FAMILIES ARE FOREVER. School photos and vacation snapshots line the walls; smiling faces beam from every direction.
“Bathroom, Faith, and Aaron. My room is downstairs.”
We descend to the main floor, before turning the corner and starting down another set of stairs. Our footsteps are muted by the thick carpet, and the voices from upstairs grow quieter with every step.
For a basement, it’s pretty bright. The stairway opens to another large carpeted family room with a TV, a couch, and beanbag chairs at one end, a small kitchenette at the other. A few doorways sit off to the side, and Sebastian points to the first. “Lizzy,” he tells me, and moves on to the next one. “This is me.”
My heart is in my throat at the possibility of seeing Sebastian’s room.
