“Mr. Avery, are you or are you not on this school’s track team?”
“It’s different, sir. My therapist says that being a member of the team is a choice that I have freely made. I did not choose to take gym, it is a requirement for graduation.”
And like that, Ilan was allowed to skip the assignment.
Unlike my friends, I was extremely uncomfortable even admitting that I saw a therapist, let alone openly discussing our private sessions and using them to my advantage. I actually needed therapy, my parents hadn’t hired a professional to pick apart my brain solely because it was fashionable.
Opening my eyes, I focused on Adam’s message.
Hey, it’s Adam. Any chance you want to have lunch with me before I head back to Normalville?
Absolutely.
I sent the reply before I could convince myself that it wasn’t a good idea.
****
Ninety minutes later I walked up the steps to Chez Ripert, a quiet French restaurant on Central Park West. As the maître d’ slid the coat from my shoulders, I swept my gaze over the small space and saw that Adam had yet to arrive. Passing the coat off to a young guy standing inconspicuously off to the side, the host stepped back over to the mahogany podium.
“Kingsley?” the man asked, raising one overly-groomed eyebrow when he looked up from the reservation book.
I nodded and smiled pleasantly.
“Deborah,” he called to a girl standing behind him, pronouncing her name as if it rhymed with menorah. “Please see Miss Kingsley to table seven.”
“Of course,” she said politely. “This way, please.”
The blonde hostess led me across the small dining room, the slight sway in her step causing her black dress to swish back and forth. When she stopped and gestured to a table right next to the fireplace, I felt her appraising gaze as I took a seat. This was one of my mother’s usual haunts, which was probably why the maître d’ placed me at their most coveted table. The blonde was peering curiously at me, as if trying to decide whether she recognized me, and if so, from where.
“Thank you,” I said kindly, reaching for the menu in Deborah’s hands.
“Of course,” she replied, snapping out of her musing and handing it over. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Not right now, thank you. I’m waiting for someone,” I told her. “He should be here soon.”
With a nod and a promise to send Adam over when he arrived, the hostess left me alone with the menu and my thoughts. The heat from the fire drew my attention, and I became caught up in watching the flames dance. I zoned out, thoughts wandering down memory lane, to Adam and the real reason my family had left Connecticut.
“God, it’s good to see you.”
Adam’s voice broke through my reverie and brought me back to the crowded dining room.
“It’s only been twelve hours,” I said with a laugh, standing to greet him with a hug.
“You know what I mean,” he replied, rolling his eyes. We both sat. “I thought last night was a dream, that maybe I’d wake up and find you gone ag—”
“Again?” I guessed, interrupting.
Adam’s cheeks flamed brighter than the fire. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know,” I said. “And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”
Lie number one. How many more are you going to tell him before lunch is over?
“Good. Me neither. Now, give me the Cliff’s Notes of your high school years. I want to hear everything, but let’s start with an overview.”
The waiter arrived just then, rattling off the specials in a bored tone. Adam and I both chose one of the chef’s special offerings instead of perusing the menu, and soon we were alone once again. I busied myself with arranging my napkin in my lap, buying me time to come up with an answer.
“So?” Adam prompted.
“Great friends, especially Annie—you met her last night. Lot of frivolous scandals and over-the-top parties, many in the name of charity. School is hard and a ton of work,” I rattled off. “Oh, and Blake, my secret boyfriend who has remained a secret because my parents will not approve of our relationship. We met almost a year ago, and have been hiding and making out in dark hallways ever since. That about sums it up.”
“Um, I definitely approve of the boyfriend. What’s not to love? Are you sure you’re not making a mountain out of a molehill? You’ve always been a worrier….”
Adam raised his eyebrows as he trailed off.
“Ugh, I wish. Seriously. The mentality is really different in Manhattan. Everyone is judged and categorized, and some factions are simply considered off-limits. If your wealth isn’t at least three generations old, if you live below 59th, if you don’t attend Gracen or Trinity or Dalton, if you’re not bound for the Ivies…basically if you’re not part of the top tenth of the one percent—you’re not acceptable.”
“Wow,” Adam replied with a low whistle. “It’s a wonder your friends even spoke to me.”
“You’re from Connecticut,” I said with a wave. “That’s different. Plus, you come from a long line of esteemed politicians. You’ll probably be president one day, so you’ll do.”
While we both laughed.
“And your parents?” Adam asked, turning serious. “What do they think of the caste system they now live within?”
“You know them,” I answered. “As long as my mother is being included, she loves excluding others. In her own way, she’s actually sort of flourished here. Being a Connecticut housewife wasn’t really her style—the scandals aren’t quite juicy enough on the other side of the river. And my father…I think that he’s sort of above it all. Work is his life, same as always. And as for his thoughts on who I should date, it’s the same as when I was thirteen: no one is good enough for me, and I should be focusing on my future anyway. To him, it doesn’t matter where a guy lives, who his family is, or where he’s going to school—no one is acceptable. Except maybe you.”
Giving Adam a wink at that last part, I realized that it actually might be true. My father had always loved Adam.
The thought of my father’s paternal protectiveness brought a smile to my face. When I was in the second grade, I’d run through the house one day after school, searching him out to proudly announce that I had a boyfriend. When Adam finally caught up and burst into the study, my dad demanded to know why the seven-year-old boy had let this happen. That was the first time that my father sat me down to teach me the golden rule of life: All boys lie. It had been a recurring theme my whole life.
As I recounted the story to Adam, he broke in several times to recount the shame he’d felt at letting another little boy claim me as his own. We were still cracking up over shared memories when our entrees arrived. After a brief silence while we ate, I turned the tables on him, metaphorically speaking.
“Your turn,” I proclaimed. “What has your life been like without me? Devoid of all happiness? Full of misery?”
“Terrible,” he replied, playing along. “Every day has been a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.”
“Ahh! You loved that book! Do you still carry it everywhere you go?” I teased.
“Maybe,” he said with a wink. “No, my life sounds a lot like yours, particularly the last part.”
“The secret boyfriend?”
“His name is Gabriel,” Adam said devilishly, waggling his eyebrows up and down.
“Shutup!” I cried in glee. Much to my chagrin, my excitement had drawn the stares of the diners seated around us.
Adam’s laughter at my reaction didn’t help matters. Making a conscious effort to elicit less attention, I leaned in and lowered my voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me last night?”
“I don’t know, there was a lot going on. Besides, I’m telling you now. His name is Gabriel and he’s gorgeous.”
“So why the secret?”
My question provoked an eye roll from Adam.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe becaus
e my father is a Republican Senator.”
“Right, right,” I said blithely. “That makes sense. But I thought you said you came out to your parents?”
“Oh, I did. But, to them, there is a big difference between me saying I’m gay and me playing tonsil hockey with another guy. Dad has been cool about Gabriel hanging out at our house and all, but he won’t let me bring him along to functions as my date. I think he tells himself that Gabe and I are just super close friends. Mom, well, she just sort of pretends that being gay is a ‘phase’ and that, eventually, I’ll grow out of it. She actually said that. She calls this my ‘Gabriel Phase’.” Adam laughed derisively. “She keeps reminding me that there will be a ton of young, female internes working on the Hill, and I should ‘keep my options open’ when I move down to D.C. next year.”
I laughed. “Wow, so, what? She thinks you just haven’t met the ‘right’ girl yet?”
“Exactly.”
Even though I was careful to keep my tone light, my heart ached for Adam. The self-pity I sometimes felt when thinking about my relationship with Blake now seemed ridiculous and self-indulgent. Dating someone your parents didn’t approve of was nothing compared with being someone your parents didn’t approve of.
Adam’s thoughts must have been wandering the same path, because his gaze turned to the fire and lingered within the flames.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly after a minute of silence. “That must be really hard.”
In Adam’s signature fashion, he bounced back easily. That was something I’d always envied about him—Adam didn’t allow himself to stay shrouded in misery’s dark cloak, instead consciously focusing on all of the good.
“Sometimes.” Adam shrugged. “The worst part is, I’m not allowed to tell my friends. I get it, I guess. Dad is afraid they’ll tell their parents, who will tell their friends, and then it will be the lead story on the Colbert Report. So everyone at school just thinks Gabriel and I are a tad more bromantic than most. It gets super weird when our friends start talking about girls and I just nod and am like, ‘Totally, Charlene has a face like a dog, but it’s cool because she has big tits’.” Adam shook his head as if his genders fascination with breasts baffled him. “Besides, Gabriel is a dude, so when I tell him that his butt really fills out his pants nicely, he doesn’t ask if I’m calling him fat. And when my friend Jack complains about how his girlfriend makes him paint her toenails before she’ll give him a bl—um, do him a favor, all I can think is, being gay does have its perks. I mean, we’re both teenage guys, so our libidos are evenly matched.” Adam paused, embarrassed. “Was that an overshare?”
“No,” I laughed. “Not at all. I like hearing about your boyfriend, even the naughty details. He obviously makes you really happy.”
A goofy grin crossed Adam’s lips and he got this far off, wistful expression in his caramel eyes. “He does, he really does,” Adam said. “It’s awesome to tell someone about him, about us, all about us. It’s not like I can tell my parents about the amazing three hours Gabriel and I spent in his parents’ hot tub on Tuesday. Like I said, Mom and Dad are cool with the situation in theory, but not so much in practice. So, as long as you really aren’t going to pull another disappearing act, I think I’ve found my go-to girl for relationship talk.”
Guilt made my insides squirm. Though he was striving for a teasing tone with his last remark, I knew Adam well enough to know that he was serious. He’d brought up my sudden disappearance from his life twice now, in one conversation. Clearly, he was worried that our rekindled friendship was only temporary.
“Absolutely not. You’ll never get rid of me now. Besides, everyone thinks you’re my boyfriend, so you’re stuck with me.”
The last trace of sadness disappeared from Adam’s eyes and they lit up.
“I’ve actually been thinking about that since last night.”
“Yeah? You’ve been dwelling on my clandestine love life?”
“Not just yours,” Adam started, hesitating. “But it does seem like we could help each other out….”
As the pieces of the puzzle slid into place, I laughed nervously.
“You can’t be serious,” I answered.
Adam rushed on, outlining the countless reasons why we should tell everyone we were together. It did sort of make sense…
“I have to talk to Blake,” I finally said after he’d talked his throat dry and had to reach for his coffee mug.
“Of course, of course!” Adam said excitedly. “But I seriously think this could work.”
His enthusiasm was contagious and I couldn’t help but giggle.
“Of course you do. All of your schemes always work out,” I replied. “But what if your parents tell my parents the truth?”
“They won’t. Dad isn’t a gossip, and doesn’t want the truth getting out. And my mom will just be super excited that I am giving girls a try.”
The waiter came to clear our plates. Checking my watch first, I ordered another cup of coffee. Adam did the same.
“Got somewhere to be?” Adam asked me as a young busboy began expertly sweeping the crumbs from our table. Holding up one finger as a signal, I waited until he’d finished and the waiter returned with our coffee before answering.
“Actually, yes,” I said, suddenly nervous. “I’m, um…I have a meeting with my therapist at four.”
“Wow, your parents really have bought into the whole Manhattan child-rearing program,” Adam joked.
“Well, yeah. I mean, yes, almost all of my friends go to therapy as well. They’re considered professional parents here. But I’ve actually been seeing her since I first moved here, even before Mother became a lemming.
The only response Adam gave was to raise an eyebrow in question. I was forced to continue.
“I mean, um, I’ve actually been seeing someone since what happened at the end of eighth grade.”
“Oh…,” Adam replied, clearly at a loss for words. “You mean…that day in class?”
Nodding, I focused on the swirls of cream slowly dissipating on the surface of my coffee.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Adam said quickly, pausing before he continued to see if I’d object. When I didn’t say a word, he went on. “But…what did happen that day?”
“Honestly…,” I said softly. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
A frown immediately clouded his features.
“I mean, just tell me what happened from your point of view. What you saw. I genuinely don’t remember. The last thing I recall is sitting in class, and then I was at home, curled up on the couch, with both of my parents screaming at me. They…they kept asking what I was on. Like, drugs, you know? And I—”
“Wait, when did you start doing drugs?”
The alarm and hint of accusation in Adam’s voice stung.
“Never!” I said indignantly, before clarifying. “I mean, I’d smoked weed twice, but you were there both times—when Jon Cannon had that party in seventh grade, and then on Frank’s boat that day we skipped our afternoon classes. You knew me, we spent almost every moment together. I didn’t have a drug problem.”
“I didn’t think so,” Adam answer, clearly relieved. “But then…what happened?”
“Tell me what you remember.”
“I’ve gone over that day so many times. Nothing was out of the ordinary. It was just another boring day in school.”
“That’s what I remember, too,” I encouraged. “And then?”
“It was the week before summer vacation, and we were more focused on the end of school parties than our finals…”
“I was so excited about Jon’s, I thought he might like me,” I remembered with a smile. “What else?”
“I don’t know, Lark. I mean, it was the class after lunch, we were all sort of antsy and restless….and then you started crying.”
“Crying?” I asked. “I don’t remember that at all.”
“Yeah,” Adam continued. “You just started crying. It
was quiet at first. I mean, almost silent, no one noticed. Mrs. Edelmen kept teaching, so she didn’t hear you either. But I saw you, and…you never cried…I mean, not since like first grade. It scared the crap out of me. You didn’t cry over boys, you didn’t cry out of stress, you didn’t cry when your mom was being an asshole…so of course I was really worried. I tried to ask you what was wrong….I had to say your name several times before you even looked over at me. It was like you didn’t hear me at all.”
“And?” I asked breathlessly, not recalling even a moment of what Adam was describing.
“You didn’t say anything. It was like…you looked at Mrs. Edelmen, and then just began sobbing. And babbling. I couldn’t understand a word you were saying. You sounded, you sounded….”
Adam trailed off, evidently searching for the right word and coming up empty.
“I sounded like what?” I demanded.
Still he hesitated, locking eyes with me before shrugging.
“You sounded like a baby. But not. Maybe like a little girl? But not like you when you were little. I mean, you were always well-spoken. You never talked like that. But I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“That’s insane,” I blurted, quickly regretting my choice of words. “I mean, you know…that’s ridiculous.”
“I know,” Adam said quietly.
Shaking my head, to clear the picture, I pressed on, needing to know the truth. This was something that had haunted me for almost four years, and now the answers sat in front of me. There was no way that I was going to let my fear stop me from retrieving them.
“What happened after that?”
“At first, Mrs. Edelmen called to you from the front of the room. She asked you what was wrong. When you didn’t answer, she offered to let you leave. But you weren’t responding to what she was saying. It was like you were trying to tell her something, but couldn’t find the words…you seemed almost adamant. Anyway, she walked over to your desk to talk to you, to console you. You still weren’t engaged in the conversation with her, but you kept tugging on her sleeve. Eventually, she just told the rest of us to go to the library. I tried to stay with you, insisted on staying with you. But then…