Astrid Amara (8 page)

I closed my eyes. His tongue slipped between my lips and I opened to him. He surged

inside. His kiss flooded through me.

“Jonah!” My mother called from just outside the door. “Dinner’s ready!”

We broke apart instantly. My heart raced with the thrill and fear of discovery. “Okay,

Ma, I’ll be down in a minute,” I said breathlessly. Ethan held me close, panting against my

neck.

My mother retreated, but Ethan made no move to let me loose.

“We should go,” I said.

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Ethan still clasped me. “Are you in a relationship?” he asked, his voice thick.

“No,” I said finally. I moved past him but Ethan jerked me back, my hand trapped in

his.

“Jonah,” he said, and his voice broke. He kissed me once more and then stepped out

into the fading light of the hallway. He looked flushed, flustered, and for once, uncertain.

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The living room was decked out in candles and flickered with the glow from the

fireplace. It was beautiful, and the table, despite the circumstances, was elaborately decked

with my mother’s finest settings.

My mother and Rachel had put together a feast despite the cooking limitations. Using

the fire and the backpacking stove, they had cobbled together beef-stuffed cabbage, and

prune and potato tsimis. For dessert we consumed the last of the fresh fruit and some stale

cookies that also probably left the grocer’s shelf around the time the cordless phone was

invented.

After dinner we gathered in front of the fire instinctively seeking the warmth and

comfort it provided.

“That was a good dinner,” my uncle begrudgingly admitted.

“Thank you,” my mother begrudgingly answered.

“When the power went out last year in Boston, I subsisted on matzo and canned beans

for three days straight,” Matthew told us.

I shuddered. “Once I spent Passover with the orthodox family of my roommate, and we

had nothing but matzo for a week. I haven’t been able to eat it since.”

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“I make a great egg matzo mash,” Aunt Goldie chimed in.

“Remember when Mom used to add cinnamon to her eggs?” my mother asked her.

Aunt Goldie rasped in what I assumed was laughter. “Our mother was a terrible cook.”

“Can’t be as bad as Aunt Sara’s cabbage rolls,” Daniel said. “She thought that putting

wheat germ with beef was tasty.”

As we shared our worst meal stories, the atmosphere altered slightly, grew warmer.

Nothing seemed to bring people together more than bad food, and spirits lifted as if, despite

our differences, we could find common ground among shared gastronomical terrors.

As it started to snow once more, my mother asked Aunt Goldie to do the honors and

light the menorah candles, celebrating the second night of Hanukkah. After prayers we once

again exchanged gifts.

Tucked in the cushions, behind my back, I had a copy of my first bestseller, Situation

Critical. I had found wrapping paper in the guest room closet, and thought that this would be

a good way to break it to the family. Ethan’s tale about his mother’s acceptance made me

brave, and as I wrapped the book, I had filled with hope and expectation.

But then my parents gave me my gift, a his-and-hers fondue set, which baffled me

completely.

“We thought it would be romantic,” my mother reasoned, pointing out the pink

spoons. “You know, for you and your future wife.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly, stuffing the book deeper into the cushions. I refused to make eye

contact with Ethan, but I could feel his judgment. I was being a coward, and I knew it, but

the look on my mother’s face as she spoke about my beautiful hypothetical wife knotted my

stomach.

At the last minute, I ran upstairs and wrapped the pocket electronic Sudoku game I

carried with me on long plane rides. My mother shared my addiction and seemed pleased

with the present.

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My parents gave Ethan a set of silver-plated cheese knives.

“This will go well with Jonah’s fondue set,” Ethan said. He looked at me and actually

winked.

The night managed to be a relatively merry affair, minus the glares emanating from my

uncle. It was pleasant, but as bedtime loomed, my stomach somersaulted in delirious

anticipation and nerves. Would Ethan kiss me again? I wanted him to. But the prospect of

doing so here, now, with so many people around, left me sweating in fear. Being caught in

flagrante delicto with Ethan would be the absolute worst way to reveal the truth.

Why did Ethan have to make his move now? After all these years -- and with all of us

trapped inside, tense and worried -- it seemed doomed from the outset.

After everyone retired, I went out for a secret cigarette. When I returned to my room,

Ethan already huddled under the covers of the bed, a single candle flickering for me on the

bedside table.

I said nothing as I undressed and crawled into my own sleeping bag. I felt illogically

disappointed. So when he spoke, relief coursed through me.

“Did you find out anything more about motives?" he whispered.

I told him about Daniel. He told me about his conversations with my father, but

nothing pointed to a clear clue.

“I think it’s got to be Daniel,” Ethan whispered. I could see his breath in the air.

I nestled deeper into my sleeping bag. “Why?”

“It sounds like he’s hard up for cash,” Ethan responded. “Gambling debts have a way of

making a person lose their morality.”

“Yeah, but why steal it now?” I whispered back. I propped my head on one hand and

stared at Ethan. “He could have taken it any time back at home. It resided on the counter.

Why steal it after his father gave it to my family?”

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Ethan shrugged. “To have someone to blame? At his house, it would be either him or

Rachel.”

“And it’s not like the pushke is big enough to hold a vast sum of coins,” I said. “All this

trouble for what -- ten dollars at the most? -- I’m not so sure.”

“True,” Ethan said.

“Unless he thinks he can sell it on eBay or something. Even then, hardly worth the

trouble.”

“Maybe he thinks it’s worth more than it is,” Ethan reasoned. “People often think their

cherished family heirlooms are priceless treasures.”

“And then they go on Antiques Roadshow and realize their ancestors were fools,” I

said. Ethan laughed.

“It could just as easily be my mother, though.” I sighed. “I don’t think you appreciate

how intensely she loves little boxes.”

“That’s Daniel’s theory,” Ethan said.

“My mother has had her eyes on that pushke since before I was born, and she doesn’t

trust Uncle Al as far as she could throw him.”

“Has your uncle ever done anything like that before? Given something and taken it

back?” Ethan asked. He propped his head up on his hand as well. I felt like a little kid at

camp, whispering in the dark, our breaths mingling in the frigid air, gossiping about those

asleep around us.

“Not as far as I know, but he’s crafty like that,” I told him.

Ethan sighed. “I have to say, you’re not showing a lot of loyalty toward your mother

with such an accusation.”

I stiffened. “Just because she’s my mother doesn’t mean she’s incapable of crime.”

Ethan frowned. “You don’t trust her?”

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I leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “Yes. I trust her. But she doesn’t trust me.

And so she might lie to me for what she would consider a higher cause.”

Ethan was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was rougher, as he got

sleepier. “You have a very different relationship with your mother than I had with mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because your mother loved you.”

“Your mother loves you too, Jonah. She just worries. I doubt there’s anything you can

do that will stop her from loving you, or from worrying about you.”

I sighed. “Coming out might put an end to both those things.”

“I doubt it. Like I said, she knows that I’m gay, and has not changed the way she treats

me at all.”

“Yes, but that’s different,” I said. “You aren’t her son. I am. What might be acceptable

for other people’s children is not acceptable for her own.” I didn’t want to discuss it any

longer. “You can’t understand.”

“Explain it to me then,” Ethan said.

I huffed a cloud of cold air. “You have no idea what it’s like to spend your whole life

being a disappointment. To know you will never give your parents the joy they deserve, and

know that, no matter how hard you try, you will fail their expectations.” I swallowed, feeling

more emotional than I had in years. “I made a decision long ago to live my life for myself.

They can take it or leave it. And I’m happy with the choices I’ve made. But I’ve let them

down, just being myself. And that doesn’t make coming home any easier, or their constant

criticism of my life any more bearable. So, yes, maybe I’m overly critical of my mother. But

it’s only after thirty years of having her critique me.”

Ethan said nothing. The silence hung over us. And then I heard the bed squeak. The

candle was so low I couldn’t see anything but shadow. But then I felt heat, and weight, and

let out a small yelp of surprise as he forced his way into my sleeping bag.

“Let me in. It’s freezing,” he said, teeth chattering.

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“The bed is bigger,” I said.

“Yeah, but I want to hold you, and you’ve already refused the bed.”

We tried to maneuver ourselves into the bag, but it wasn’t working. Soon we were

laughing, trying to do up the zipper, and then realized he was too long.

“Fuck this,” I said, feeling like a kid at camp once more. “Move.” I pushed him out and

then hopped the sleeping bag onto the bed. “We’ll use every cover we have.”

Ethan joined me in the bed, and we unzipped the sleeping bag completely and threw it

over the comforter, adding another layer of heat.

I drew close to his body, against my will. I couldn’t help it. He was big enough to dent

the bed and force me to roll to the lowest point. And his warmth was too inviting to ignore.

We both lay there in silence and stillness for a moment. My heart raced, but my body

grew languid, drunk on his explosive body heat, on the smell of him. My brain still tried to

process the fact that the esteemed Dr. Ethan Rosenberg had his arm around my shoulder, his

cock beginning to poke at my thigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence.

“For what?” I whispered back.

“For shoving you into lockers. And calling you a fag. And basically acting like I was

better than you, all those years.”

“It was a long time ago,” I said, but the power of his words stretched across time,

seemed to heal the me of twelve years ago like a balm.

“Yeah, and I should have said it then instead of now.” Ethan tilted his head toward

mine. We stared at each other in the darkness, foreheads only a few inches from each other.

“Thank you,” I said at last. “And I’m sorry too.”

“For what?”

“For calling you an asshole doctor.”

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“That’s okay.”

“Even though, technically, that is what you are.”

Ethan chuckled. His breath was hot on my cheek. For a second, a warning flashed

through my mind. This will only lead to your humiliation.

Instead of listening to the warning, I closed the distance between us and kissed him.

Ethan’s entire body surged around me, enveloping me, his arms tightening around my

back as he pulled me closer and thrust his tongue inside. He tasted like toothpaste. His rough

jaw and hungry lips ground against mine, and at once it was too much and too perfect. I

succumbed to his strength and will.

Our bare legs rubbed against each other, the hot friction of hair and skin. He rolled on

top of me and drove his hips to meet mine. Our cocks found each other despite the layers of

underwear and I moaned into his mouth.

His hands found their way under my T-shirt. They roughly slid down my chest,

stopping to flick my nipples as they descended lower. He lifted his palm and skimmed the

hair around my navel, and then stroked my flank.

I lifted the hem of his shirt and he obliged me by pulling back just enough to remove it

entirely. I undressed as well, the cold air shocking as we briefly emerged from under the

blankets.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” he whispered, laughing. His legs bumbled against mine as he peeled

off his underwear. As soon as we were both naked I yanked the cover back over us,

enveloping us once more in darkness and heat.

I threw my leg over his hip and pressed myself into him. Our hands met around our

cocks and built a rhythm. I found his mouth once more and kissed him until I was breathless,

until the pressure built, our bodies straining, pushing against each other, writhing to increase

the friction. Precum lubricated our cocks as we stroked each other, and then Ethan went

rigid, his entire body tensing against me, and wet, sticky heat spurted into my palm, coated