Chapter Twenty-Eight
For once, I’m glad that both my parents are working overnight at the hospital.
I’m still working my way up to introducing Hannah to my parents, but I figure getting their permission to have her over on a night when both of them are working at least puts the idea of her being around in their minds.
And it means Hannah and I can have the house to ourselves.
We can craft in peace instead of in paranoid panic.
It also means that we get to hang out alone. Just the two of us.
We end up going out of our way to Evergreen in Kent to pick up Chinese food.
Hannah laughs at me when I pile tong full after tong full of vegetable lo mein into my Styrofoam dish, but I don’t care.
Something about the greasy, savory noodles always seeps into the empty parts of my soul and makes me feel whole.
Plus, why else would they make one out of three of the sections in the container half the size of the container if not to pile in your favorite selection from the buffet in bulk?
At my house, we spread out on the floor in the living room with a couple beach towels underneath us to protect the precious carpet, our crafting supplies for the festival posters unpacked but pushed to the side while we handle the most pressing matter first—eating the food before it gets cold.
“They really should deliver,” Hannah says through a mouthful of crab rangoon. “They are missing a big opportunity there.”
“Is it weird that a small part of me wanted to apply to Kent State just so I’d be close to Evergreen?” I ask, laughing a little.
“I think that’s the most rational way to choose a college that I’ve ever heard.”
We eat, the soft sound as I chew my noodles mixing with the crunch of Hannah biting into shrimp chips, accentuating the emptiness of the house.
The hallway lights are off, and with the sun down, only darkness spills in from the open bedroom doors.
The kitchen sits behind us, moonlight turning the countertops and finish on the cabinets glassy.
“Do you ever get scared being here by yourself?” Hannah asks.
“No, not scared, just lonely sometimes,” I say. “I usually keep the TV on. And I’m not home alone every Friday, but on ones like this, it’s easier to focus and do my homework.”
“I thought you did your homework every Friday anyway.” I catch amusement sparking in her eyes.
“I do,” I say, knowing she’s only teasing. “It’s just that when one or both of my parents are home, we usually have dinner together and watch a movie or something, and then I do my homework.”
“What are your parents like?” she asks, wiping her mouth with a napkin. When she puts her napkin down and doesn’t reach for another rangoon or an egg roll, I realize she’s giving me her undivided attention.
It makes me nervous, worried that I might say the wrong thing or not describe them accurately enough.
And then I’m washed with a sudden defensiveness.
Hannah probably thinks my parents are these bigoted Christians from how I’ve described them.
All she knows about them is that they’re doctors and they’re religious enough that I feel like I need to hide myself.
“They are passionate,” I say. “My dad is a psychiatrist at Cleveland Clinic and my mom is a cardiac surgeon there.
They love helping people, both of them in their respective ways.
My mom reads when she has time. She loves fantasy and mysteries.
And she likes gardening. In the spring she always grows an elaborate vegetable garden in our backyard.
“And my dad is really funny. He’s always smiling about something. He loves to cook, and he is very, very invested in his faith.”
“And your mom isn’t?”
“She is, but she doesn’t wear it on her sleeve like he does.
Like, within the first five minutes of being around him, he will somehow give it away—intentionally or unintentionally.
He can’t help it.” I smile to myself, thinking about how his faith, and the strength and happiness he finds in his belief, bubble out, touching everyone around him all the time.
“One time when he was at the hospital, he found out about a man who was dying. It was in a completely different area of the hospital; it wasn’t even one of his patients.
The man had requested a rabbi to say a prayer with him before he died, but he was going to go so soon that they couldn’t find one in time.
They found my dad, and he came down and told the man that he’s not Jewish, and he’s not even a minister in his own faith, but that he’s a man of God and would pray with him if he’d allow it.
And he did… I always thought that was so cool. ”
“That sounds really awesome, and he sounds like a really great guy,” she says, leaning to the side and resting against the couch.
“My mom is more serious,” I say, not that she asked.
“But she has her moments where she cracks a smile or laughs, and she usually gets real excited about the strangest things. Like she was very into Twilight. I don’t know why, but she loved it.
Read all the books in less than a week and was more than excited when the movies came out—”
“I was wondering why you were convinced Kristen Stewart was the way to go for your talk with them,” Hannah admits, laughing a little.
“Yeah. Twilight became our thing. Every year, a new movie would come out and she’d take me to see it.
She made a huge deal out of it. We’d get dinner at this little French restaurant downtown, and then we’d go to the fancy Silverspot theater, and she’d let me taste her wine.
And after, we’d always go to Mitchell’s and she would buy me a milkshake… All because of Twilight.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t just Twilight,” Hannah reasons.
“We haven’t done anything like that since then, though,” I say, something catching in my chest, like I was holding a string that got pulled out of my hand and now all I feel is the loss, the absence.
My weakness at letting it go in the first place.
“On one day every year for five years in a row, she carved out time for us to do something together. We still hang out, we still do things, but nothing has been ours, not the way Twilight was.” Even though I’m describing this to Hannah, it also feels like I’m explaining it to myself for the first time.
The distance I feel from my parents, the way their passion for others sometimes doesn’t extend all the way to me, that even though they’re my parents and I’ve known them my whole life, I don’t know them well enough to gauge whether or not they’d accept me for being gay.
“I’m sure there’s more to it than you think, Clarity,” Hannah says, touching my shoulder.
“Maybe,” I say, taking a deep breath and washing out all the sadness on the exhale.
“Do you remember at camp when we would plot our secret relationship?” Hannah asks, surprising me at the change of topic.
“Is that really a question?” I ask, though it comes out half-hearted.
“We used to talk about hanging out here when your parents weren’t home,” she continues, scooting a little closer to me.
“Sometimes, I can’t believe we’re actually here.”
Her lips melt into a smile. “I’m here, in your house, your parents aren’t home, and neither of us has burst into flames,” Hannah goes on, leaning closer.
I want her to touch me. The desire radiates through my body like an electric current, strong enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if she can sense it.
She used to whisper, Not here, not like this, on those breathless nights in the back of her Subaru. And we always stopped, despite the want pressing in.
Like she said, my parents aren’t home. We have all night to be alone. All night, and my bed is just down the hall.
“Not like this,” I whisper. “We can’t do this,” I say, gesturing between us, “like this.”
“Like what?” she asks, not giving an inch.
“Like, if you were a boy, there’s no way you’d be allowed over right now. And I feel like I’d be taking advantage by doing this because my parents wouldn’t think anything of me having you over when I’m home alone at night—”
“Doing what exactly?” Hannah asks, staring into my eyes. “We’re just sitting here, eating some Chinese food, procrastinating on making posters.”
“Right,” I gush, covering my face with my hands.
“I do want to kiss you, though,” she whispers, her lips grazing my cheek and making me shiver.
I pull my hands away, my face turned to her, her nose nearly touching mine.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” she asks, looking down at my lips—her eyes drawn together. But then they float back up to mine, sucking all the breath out of my lungs.
I open my mouth, but stop. I wonder if my lips are dry, or if they’re oily from the noodles. Does my breath smell like garlic? Do I have anything on my face? What if there’s something in my teeth? What if—
“Clarity,” Hannah whispers, her breath passing through my lips. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
I want all of you.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Her lips are warm and perfect, not oily, not wet, but not chapped.
They’re soft the way her hands are soft, and gentle like I remember them to be.
Her lips explore mine tentatively, like she’s extending an invitation.
So, I lean into her, deepening the kiss in a way that makes my head begin to spin.
I press myself against her, the contours of her chest against mine, our hearts racing in unison.
I wrap my hand around her neck, letting my fingertips tangle in her hair, using the leverage to coax her closer to me.
Her tongue sweeps against my lips, soft and surprising enough that I gasp. I need more of those sparks.
But she pulls back, cupping my face in her hand, and hovers just an inch away again, waiting.
Leaving it up to me.
“Not like this,” I say, though it comes out breathy. “Not when I’m such a mess, and so all over the place. I want… it to be when I’m ready to fully throw myself into it, because that’s what you deserve, not some half-assed, held-back—”
“So, there will be a next time?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and smile. I don’t even have to think about it.
It might not be tomorrow. It might not be before the festival, even. But I know, without any doubt in my mind, that I want Hannah to be my first. I know that when the time is right, she’s the only person I’ll want.