Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
GREG
Sunday afternoon, I call my parents at my grandmother’s house. They like to pass around the cordless phone, so I get to talk to everyone, and they always have dinner at my Nana’s on Sunday. I miss that, but this is a suitable substitute, and since my uncle is a computer genius, he insisted I get a good machine and a voice over IP number to save on long-distance calls before I left.
“You sound happy,” my mother observes, and across the room, Cathie snorts. I give her the “knock it off or else” sign, but reply, “Yeah, I had a great week. I made a new friend.”
“Ohhh, how wonderful,” she coos, “and what’s this man’s name?” Then she sobers. “You’re not getting diseases, are you?”
Cathie’s covering her mouth with both hands now, trying not to let the laughter out.
“Not from holding hands, no,” I respond drily.
“You guys held hands?” Cathie’s done pretending not to be part of the conversation now and comes over to sit next to me. I’d put the computer in the living room so we could both have access to it, but I’m coming to regret that decision.
“His name is Nico, and yes, we’ve held hands.” It felt so big just walking in the sunshine on a beautiful morning, holding hands with a man I really like out where everyone could see me. I kept looking around, expecting something bad to happen, and that’s not to say that it won’t someday, but it didn’t then. Nothing happened. We were just … people. Living. Enjoying being together.
“Nico … is that short for something? Nicolas?”
“Uh, I’m not sure. He’s from Italy.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome, am I right, Mrs. Rhodes?” Cathie says, and holds up her hand to me for a high five, which I ignore until it makes me too uncomfortable, and I slap her palm even as I roll my eyes.
“We’d love to see a picture of your guy,” Mom says, her voice warm. “Maybe of the two of you together? Oop, your father wants to say something.”
“Looked like your account was a little low this week, so I topped it off. Let me know if you need more; I didn’t account for dates.” That’s as close to “I love you” as Dad usually gets, but he cares, and the comment stuns me for a minute.
“Thanks, Dad. He paid, actually,” and this garners more ooh’s and ahh’s from Cathie and Mom—she must have jumped on the extension. I’ve had enough of that, so I end things soon afterward and hang up. But I can’t hang up on my nosy roommate.
“Whatcha reading?” Cathie asks when I settle on the couch with my Italian book, and I hold it up so she can see. She laughs. “Really? His English is that bad?”
“No,” I say, scowling. “But why should he be the one putting in all the work?” Also, I want to see his face when I start speaking some Italian. I bet he’ll glow like a firefly.
“Aw, you got a children’s dictionary?” Cathie’s eyes are big and her voice is all sappy again; I suppress an eye roll.
“Yes, people who are learning a language often begin like a child. There’s nothing weird about it.”
“Nothing weird. It’s just freaking adorable,” she says, paging through it. “The library had this?”
I shift uncomfortably. “I’ll donate it when I’m done.”
“You bought this?” Now I think she might melt. Good Lord.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say, snatching it back from her and snapping it shut. “I just want to talk to him better.”
“You should get one of those tape programs. Listen to it on the bus,” she says, popping more trumpet-shaped corn chips in her mouth.
“Don’t chew in my ear,” I say, giving her a gentle shove.
She tsks. “You’re such a picky gay.”
“What does being gay have to do with manners?”
It’s not a bad idea, though, the tapes. I bet I could get them at the library. God, I love libraries. And it’s weird how much I enjoy hearing those words about me being gay come out of her mouth; she’s not really being critical, just playful. And speaking of playful …
“Do you think ‘caro’ begins with a C or a K?” I ask, thumbing through the thick paperback dictionary with thin, yellowing paper.
Cath crunches thoughtfully, her mouth still open. “It’s a romance language, so I’m going to guess C.”
I squint at the small text. “Let’s see … oh, here! Caro. He called me that yesterday.”
She leans closer to see, reading aloud. “Dear or expensive.” Her lips form a little pout, like she might cry. “This is the cutest thing ever. I love this for you.”
“Don’t get excited,” I say. “It probably just means ‘friend.’” But I’m tamping down my own reaction, not wanting to read too much into it, but so wanting to read too much into it.
“Look up ‘friend,’” she commands, and as usual, I go along with it. I skim down the F’s until I find it. “Amico,” I read flatly. “But there could be more than one! Languages are tricky.”
Cathie’s just grinning at me now, and she punches my shoulder a little too hard. “Told you!” I’m not sorry when she wanders away to refill her bowl because it gives me time to think.
I still think it could be a coincidence … but I also look up “boyfriend” (“ragazzo”), and making sure she’s safely across the room, I also look up “lover” (“amante” if sexual; “innamorato” if romantic). I’ve never thought to separate my romantic and sexual feelings, and I still don’t think I can.
I don’t know why it makes me feel a little disappointed that “caro” is so benign, and it’s not that I think I’ll need to use the other two any time soon. That’s silly, I chide myself. It’s two dates.
But I commit those words to memory as I dig into the children’s picture dictionary, flipping directly to the section about transportation … that would be the most help to him if we’re trying to study, right? It also might not hurt if we’re taking a drive somewhere, maybe to a romantic overlook, a place where he’d put his arm around me while we watch the city twinkle … San Francisco has a lot of hills, right?
Chiding myself again, I root around in my bag for the driver’s manual I picked up for him. On my notepad, I make two columns: one for English, one for Italian, noting any words I think he might not know.
This would be easier in a spreadsheet … I’m already moving toward my computer when I’m hit with the thought that I could take this even further with HyperCard … In fact, with a little work, I think I could even make him a basic practice test, linking my spreadsheet as a database using hyperlinks so he could click on the words he doesn’t know. I can see myself grinning in the dark screen’s reflection as I boot up my computer. I check my watch: it’s only two o’clock. I’ll practice my horn later. Plenty of time.