Autoboyography
Page 35
“Just thinking.” I pick up her red pen, doodle on the sole of my sneaker. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“This sounds serious.”
“It’s not.” I narrow my eyes, thinking. “No, it is, I guess. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I look up at her, trying to read her expression. I know Autumn better than I know almost anyone, but right now I can’t decipher what she’s thinking.
“For what?” she says finally.
“For being so distracted.”
“It’s a busy term,” she says. She leans back and tugs at a loose thread at the hem of my jeans. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the best friend lately either.”
This surprises me, and I look up at her. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’ve become friends with Sebastian, and I guess I was jealous.”
Oh. Alarm bells go off in my head.
She swallows, and it’s awkward and audible, and her voice wavers when she says, “I mean, he’s getting some of your time that I usually get. And there’s something so intense about it when you guys are talking, so I feel like he might be taking something that’s mine.” She looks up at me. “Does this make sense?”
My heart jackhammers up and down in my chest. “I think so.”
Her face goes red, telling me that this conversation is more than just about friendship. If she were just staking her bestie territory, she wouldn’t blush; she would be brass. But here it’s something else. And even if she doesn’t know the extent of things between me and Sebastian, she feels the intensity of it. There’s some awareness she can’t name yet.
“I’m jealous,” she says, and tries to look brave with her chin in the air. “For a lot of reasons, but I’m working on some of them.”
It feels like I’ve been knocked in the chest with a hammer. “You know I love you, right?”
Her cheeks flush bright pink. “Yeah.”
“Like, you’re one of the most important people in the world to me, okay?”
She looks up, eyes glassy. “Yeah, I know.”
In truth, Autumn has always known who she is and what she wants. She’s always wanted to be a writer. She’s white; she’s straight; she’s beautiful. She has a path she can follow that will lead her to these things, and no one will ever tell her she can’t or shouldn’t want them. I’m good at the physical sciences but am ambivalent about following my dad down the doctor trail, and have no idea what else I could be. I’m just a bisexual half-Jewish kid who’s falling in love with an LDS guy. The path for me isn’t as clear.
“Come here,” I say.
She crawls onto my lap, and I wrap her up in my arms, holding her as long as she’ll let me. She smells like her favorite Aveda shampoo, and her hair is soft on my neck, and I wish for the hundredth time to feel something like desire for her, but instead it’s just a deep, desperate fondness. I see now what Dad meant. It’s easy to say that I’ll keep my friendships, but I need to do more than that. I need to protect them too. More than likely we aren’t going to be going to the same college next year, and now is the time to make sure we’re solid. If I ever lost her, I’d be devastated.
• • •
The Warriors are playing the Cavs in a rematch, and Dad is planted on the couch. Every line of his body is tense. The degree to which he despises LeBron James eludes me, but I can’t fault him for his loyalty.
“I saw Autumn today,” I tell him.
He grunts, nodding. He’s clearly not listening.
“We eloped.”
“Yeah?”
“You need a beer, and a beer gut, if you’re going to be this zoned out at the television.”
He grunts again, nodding.
“I’m in trouble. Can I have five hundred dollars?”
Finally, Dad looks at me, horrified. “What?”
“Just checking.”
Blinking a few times, he exhales in relief as the game goes to commercial break. “What were you saying?”
“That I saw Auddy today.”
“She’s well?”
I nod. “I think she’s dating Eric.”
“Eric Cushing?”
Again I nod.
He processes this the way I expected him to. “I thought she was into you?”
There’s no way to answer this without sounding like a dick. “I think she is, a little.”
“Did you tell her about Sebastian?”
“Seriously? No.”
The game comes back on, and I feel bad for doing this now, but it’s like termites eating at a wooden beam. If I don’t get it out of me, I will be riddled with anxiety. “Dad, what happened when you told Bubbe that you were dating Mom?”
He gives the television a last, reluctant glance before he reaches for the remote, muting it. And then he turns, pulling one leg up on the couch to face me. “This was a long time ago, Tann.”
“I just want to hear about it again.” I’ve heard the story before, but sometimes we hear things as kids and the details sort of wash over us—what sticks isn’t always what is meant to. The story of my parents’ courtship is one of those things; it was romantic when they first told us about it, and the reality of how hard it was on Dad and his family—and Mom, too—was lost in the greater narrative that they got their happily ever after.
I was thirteen, Hailey was ten, and the story they gave us was abbreviated: Bubbe wanted Dad to marry her best friend’s daughter, a woman who was raised in Hungary and moved here for college. It was normal, they told us, for the parents to be hands-on with the matchmaking. They didn’t explain the other bits that I learned over time, talking to aunties and cousins, like how having the family involved makes sense in a lot of ways: Marriage is forever, and infatuation wears off. Finding someone that comes from the same community and has the same values, in the end, is more important than being with the person you want to have sex with for a few months.
But Dad met Mom at Stanford, and, as Mom says, she knew. He fought it, but in the end, he knew too.
“I met your mom my first day in med school,” he recounts. “She was working at this funky sandwich shop near campus, and I came in, frazzled and starving. I’d moved only the day before classes started, and the reality of being away from home was so different from my expectations. It was expensive, and busy, and my workload was unbelievable already. She made the most perfect chicken sandwich, handed it to me, and asked if she could take me to dinner.”
I’ve heard this part. I love this part, because usually Dad slips in a joke about the bait and switch with Mom’s cooking. This time, he doesn’t.
“I thought she meant it to be friendly because I looked so overwhelmed. It never occurred to me that she would think we could date.” He laughs. “But when she showed up, it was clear what her intentions were.” And now his voice lowers. I’m no longer given the surface version of the story. I’m given the version a grown man gives to his grown son.
Mom is beautiful. She’s always been beautiful. Her confidence makes her nearly irresistible, but combined with her brilliance, Dad never stood a chance. He was only twenty-one, after all—young for a med student—and that first night, at dinner, he told himself it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time with her. He’d had a couple of girlfriends before, but nothing serious. He always knew he would eventually return home and marry someone from the community.
“This sounds serious.”
“It’s not.” I narrow my eyes, thinking. “No, it is, I guess. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I look up at her, trying to read her expression. I know Autumn better than I know almost anyone, but right now I can’t decipher what she’s thinking.
“For what?” she says finally.
“For being so distracted.”
“It’s a busy term,” she says. She leans back and tugs at a loose thread at the hem of my jeans. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the best friend lately either.”
This surprises me, and I look up at her. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’ve become friends with Sebastian, and I guess I was jealous.”
Oh. Alarm bells go off in my head.
She swallows, and it’s awkward and audible, and her voice wavers when she says, “I mean, he’s getting some of your time that I usually get. And there’s something so intense about it when you guys are talking, so I feel like he might be taking something that’s mine.” She looks up at me. “Does this make sense?”
My heart jackhammers up and down in my chest. “I think so.”
Her face goes red, telling me that this conversation is more than just about friendship. If she were just staking her bestie territory, she wouldn’t blush; she would be brass. But here it’s something else. And even if she doesn’t know the extent of things between me and Sebastian, she feels the intensity of it. There’s some awareness she can’t name yet.
“I’m jealous,” she says, and tries to look brave with her chin in the air. “For a lot of reasons, but I’m working on some of them.”
It feels like I’ve been knocked in the chest with a hammer. “You know I love you, right?”
Her cheeks flush bright pink. “Yeah.”
“Like, you’re one of the most important people in the world to me, okay?”
She looks up, eyes glassy. “Yeah, I know.”
In truth, Autumn has always known who she is and what she wants. She’s always wanted to be a writer. She’s white; she’s straight; she’s beautiful. She has a path she can follow that will lead her to these things, and no one will ever tell her she can’t or shouldn’t want them. I’m good at the physical sciences but am ambivalent about following my dad down the doctor trail, and have no idea what else I could be. I’m just a bisexual half-Jewish kid who’s falling in love with an LDS guy. The path for me isn’t as clear.
“Come here,” I say.
She crawls onto my lap, and I wrap her up in my arms, holding her as long as she’ll let me. She smells like her favorite Aveda shampoo, and her hair is soft on my neck, and I wish for the hundredth time to feel something like desire for her, but instead it’s just a deep, desperate fondness. I see now what Dad meant. It’s easy to say that I’ll keep my friendships, but I need to do more than that. I need to protect them too. More than likely we aren’t going to be going to the same college next year, and now is the time to make sure we’re solid. If I ever lost her, I’d be devastated.
• • •
The Warriors are playing the Cavs in a rematch, and Dad is planted on the couch. Every line of his body is tense. The degree to which he despises LeBron James eludes me, but I can’t fault him for his loyalty.
“I saw Autumn today,” I tell him.
He grunts, nodding. He’s clearly not listening.
“We eloped.”
“Yeah?”
“You need a beer, and a beer gut, if you’re going to be this zoned out at the television.”
He grunts again, nodding.
“I’m in trouble. Can I have five hundred dollars?”
Finally, Dad looks at me, horrified. “What?”
“Just checking.”
Blinking a few times, he exhales in relief as the game goes to commercial break. “What were you saying?”
“That I saw Auddy today.”
“She’s well?”
I nod. “I think she’s dating Eric.”
“Eric Cushing?”
Again I nod.
He processes this the way I expected him to. “I thought she was into you?”
There’s no way to answer this without sounding like a dick. “I think she is, a little.”
“Did you tell her about Sebastian?”
“Seriously? No.”
The game comes back on, and I feel bad for doing this now, but it’s like termites eating at a wooden beam. If I don’t get it out of me, I will be riddled with anxiety. “Dad, what happened when you told Bubbe that you were dating Mom?”
He gives the television a last, reluctant glance before he reaches for the remote, muting it. And then he turns, pulling one leg up on the couch to face me. “This was a long time ago, Tann.”
“I just want to hear about it again.” I’ve heard the story before, but sometimes we hear things as kids and the details sort of wash over us—what sticks isn’t always what is meant to. The story of my parents’ courtship is one of those things; it was romantic when they first told us about it, and the reality of how hard it was on Dad and his family—and Mom, too—was lost in the greater narrative that they got their happily ever after.
I was thirteen, Hailey was ten, and the story they gave us was abbreviated: Bubbe wanted Dad to marry her best friend’s daughter, a woman who was raised in Hungary and moved here for college. It was normal, they told us, for the parents to be hands-on with the matchmaking. They didn’t explain the other bits that I learned over time, talking to aunties and cousins, like how having the family involved makes sense in a lot of ways: Marriage is forever, and infatuation wears off. Finding someone that comes from the same community and has the same values, in the end, is more important than being with the person you want to have sex with for a few months.
But Dad met Mom at Stanford, and, as Mom says, she knew. He fought it, but in the end, he knew too.
“I met your mom my first day in med school,” he recounts. “She was working at this funky sandwich shop near campus, and I came in, frazzled and starving. I’d moved only the day before classes started, and the reality of being away from home was so different from my expectations. It was expensive, and busy, and my workload was unbelievable already. She made the most perfect chicken sandwich, handed it to me, and asked if she could take me to dinner.”
I’ve heard this part. I love this part, because usually Dad slips in a joke about the bait and switch with Mom’s cooking. This time, he doesn’t.
“I thought she meant it to be friendly because I looked so overwhelmed. It never occurred to me that she would think we could date.” He laughs. “But when she showed up, it was clear what her intentions were.” And now his voice lowers. I’m no longer given the surface version of the story. I’m given the version a grown man gives to his grown son.
Mom is beautiful. She’s always been beautiful. Her confidence makes her nearly irresistible, but combined with her brilliance, Dad never stood a chance. He was only twenty-one, after all—young for a med student—and that first night, at dinner, he told himself it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time with her. He’d had a couple of girlfriends before, but nothing serious. He always knew he would eventually return home and marry someone from the community.
