Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Charles
Irefresh the Dirt, but it looks as though the rumors have finally gone quiet. Thank goodness for that. I said I’d help and that my house was on board, but I’d been dreading being pulled into the mess.
Kappa house is known for being do-gooders. We join in the fun, are involved in frat politics, but mostly we’re here for that chance to build connections before we throw ourselves into the rest of our lives.
And for some of us, the rest of our lives is coming up fast.
I’m struggling to remember the conversation I had with Zeke.
All I know is that it was freeing to say the words out loud.
As far as anyone in my family knows—including my dads—and as far as anyone at school knows, I’m Charles Levine, future criminal defense attorney. Slated for some big hotshot law firm.
The idea turns my stomach.
Instead, for the first time … maybe ever …
I let my mind wander. To a big classroom, faces staring down at me, ready to listen to my every word.
I think about planning out my curriculum and picking reference materials.
I don’t even know what I want to teach either.
I know enough about law to talk about it in my sleep, but it doesn’t stoke that fire of passion inside me.
And Zeke thinks I’m passionate.
Still, I cut my thoughts off before they can get any deeper than that.
I’m about to graduate. I’ll have my bachelor’s degree, and then that’s that.
Zeke will be off to who knows where, and I’ll be headed for Cornell.
Not even my first-pick school, but more importantly, not Grampy’s either.
If it were up to him, I would be Harvard-bound.
A real Levine. If it was up to me, I would have accepted Fordham U’s offer.
But I know how to compromise. Cornell is Ivy League and has a good reputation for the level of pro bono work they do.
At least I’ll be helping people, even if it’s not in the way I want.
Grampy won’t be boasting about his Cornell graduate grandson though. Killing Gran would have been preferable to turning down Harvard in his mind.
The familiar pressure in my chest is building as I think about my family.
My cousin Jason graduated top of his class and is well on his path to becoming a senator; some of my other cousins are doctors and engineers.
Liara is an architect, which Grampy scoffs at.
He constantly offers her money for being another starving artist with a useless degree.
Never mind the community project housing she’s been designing.
She could be earning millions, and it wouldn’t matter though.
It’s all about appearance. Liara should be heading community fundraisers and managing the house, not taking a common job in the city.
Me, briefcase in hand, designer suit, high-rise apartment, and wife playing the role a woman is supposed to play …
Sex with a woman is hot, but spending my life with one? Romantically, there’s no attraction there.
“Argh.” I bury my face into my hand, ignoring the metallic taste building on my tongue, and force down a few breaths.
The bitter thoughts won’t stop invading though.
I want to switch off and not concentrate, but Zeke’s busy all afternoon, and then he has practice early, so I can’t even text him.
I have friends, but none of them would understand.
I swear my suit and tie are already strangling me, and then, at the worst moment possible, my father’s name pops up on my phone screen.
“Shit …”
If I don’t answer, he’ll keep calling since it’s been a week or so since we last spoke.
My chest is still tight as I answer. “Father.”
He chuckles. “Son.”
“How are you?”
“Good … What’s with the tone?”
Why do people keep asking me that? “There’s no tone. My voice is completely toneless.”
“That’s the problem.” He pauses. “Everything okay with you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. Dash, our son is depressed!”
“What? I’m not—”
“Charles …” Dad’s warm tone comes on the line next and makes me groan.
“Not depressed.”
“Are the pressures of study getting to you?”
“There’s no pressure. Everything is fine. I’m fine. This … this is …” I try to release a long breath, but it sticks somewhere in my throat.
“Panic attack?” Dad whispers, then raises his voice. “Charles, have you been skipping your meditation?”
I raise my eyes to the ceiling, begging for strength. “I’ve been busy.”
“Starting your day with meditation is a good way to clear your mind and relax your—”
“Just under three months,” my father takes over. “You’ve done so well up until now, and we’re both very proud of how far you’ve come.”
It isn’t anything they haven’t said before, but the prickling behind my eyes makes me frown.
And they’re not happy tears. They’re frustrated ones.
I want to be honest. I want to tell them that this whole law career feels like a one-way ticket to large mortgages and a larger house, 2.
5 kids and a wife covered in diamonds. It’s ridiculously stereotypical, but when I picture my uncle, it’s not far from the truth.
It’s a future I’ve seen a hundred times, but then it adds another layer, and a new realization hits. Me, sitting in some fancy home, wife beside me, watching Zeke win gold on the TV. Seeing that smile. His joy. Never getting to be a part of that again.
“Oh, holy fuck, that hurts.”
“Ah … what?”
I start at my father’s voice. “What?”
“You said it hurts. What hurts?”
Shit. I said it out loud. “Nothing hurts. What are you talking about?”
The silence on the line is heavy.
“Do we need to come up there?” Dad asks softly.
“No. It’s almost graduation. I just haven’t … been sleeping as much. And then the study and the exams … I’ll make time to meditate, I promise.”
They’re not convinced. Even with not saying anything, their thoughts are clear.
“You are making time for friends, aren’t you? Going out and having fun?”
“What’s fun?” I quip, then immediately regret it.
“Charles …”
“It’s fine. I’m joking. I have all my brothers, and we go to parties most weeks”—at least they do—“and it’s fun, and everything is fine.”
“That’s five,” my father’s muffled voice says.
“Not six though,” Dad replies.
“What’s five?” I ask.
“We should visit.”
“No. God, no. Please don’t.”
“Ooh, there was fire in that reply,” Dad says. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing. I just … I’m busy …”
“Flustered,” Father mutters. “Are you seeing someone?”
“Yes, his name is criminal law, and we have many a late night together—”
“You said his.”
“Ah, yes …”
“Normally when you make that joke, law is a she. Isn’t it, Archie?”
“You’re right. Law is usually his mistress—”
“Do I need to remind you both that law is genderless and not an actual perso—”
“Who is he?” Dad asks.
Where’s that strength I asked for? Fuck it. I can’t tell them about how desperately the thought of my future depresses me, so I might as well give them something. “Zeke.”
“Zeke? Zeke Ariston? The Sigma Beta Psi president?” And of course my father knows exactly who he is. He didn’t go to WHU when he was younger, but he was in another Kappa branch, and he still has that deep-seated fraternity need for gossip.
“Yes. But you’re sworn to secrecy. That part is important.”
“Promise,” they both agree. And after everything Zeke told me, there’s no way I would have given his name if I didn’t have one hundred and ten percent confidence that my dads would keep it to themselves.
They’re overinvolved and a little odd, but unlike the rest of my family, they don’t view gossip as currency.
And with Grampy the way he is, they’re not going to out me in a hurry either.
My father knows what it’s like to be outed before he was ready.
“So …” Dad starts. I know they want details or some explanation of how and when it happened, but I’m keeping them in the dark on that one.
“Almost all senior year,” I say. “But it’s not serious. We’re letting off steam and having a bit of fun before school ends.”
“Good for you,” my father says.
“We’re very proud of you,” Dad adds. “And we support you completely. With anything or anyone. Nothing will make us love you less.”
Which is exactly what Dad’s parents should have said when he came out to them, rather than cutting him off. I smile. “Thank you. For never making me doubt that.”
We hang up, and I sit there for a moment, realizing I can breathe again. The spiraling thoughts are gone, and all that’s left is this freeness filling me.
I want to see Zeke.
Maybe I’d downplayed how I felt to my dads, but I didn’t lie. We are having fun and fooling around. The timeline we have left is starting to feel very, very small, and wasting weeks not seeing each other isn’t a luxury we have.
Fuck it.
If everything is going to follow a set plan the minute I walk out of here, I want one last chance to be selfish. A time to look back on and remember whenever things get too hard and claustrophobic.
Zeke can be that for me.
No matter how I feel, there’s no chance of a relationship being on the cards, if for no other reason than us logistically and personally being in very different areas of life. So why hold back? Why play coy and act like I don’t want this?
In a fit of determination, I grab my laptop and look up gay sex. I’ve seen it in porn, and my dads gave a very clumsy version of a safe-sex talk, but I don’t know the nitty-gritty. Which I probably should if I want to be doing it. Soon.
I check out everything I need in order to prep and bottom for someone, then grab my keys, jump in the car, and head for a sex shop ten minutes away.
I had no idea these things even existed in person, but fuck knows I’m glad they do.
Even if I blush like an idiot the whole time I’m in there. I channel some of the confidence I bring to my weekly meetings with Zeke and hold my head high.
Embarrassing but worth it.
For once, I’m getting what I want.