4 #2
“Here we go,” Jonathan said, passing me a hand saw. He held a similar saw in his other hand. “We’re all paid up. Let’s go find some trees.”
And even though this was all pretend, even though it had been years, even though it didn’t fucking matter anymore, I heard myself say, “Wait a minute, Jonathan. I want to pay for our—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tracy said, hooking her arm through mine. She lost her balance and covered it by leaning into me. “We’re happy to pay.”
“She’s always happy to pay,” Jonathan said. “Because she doesn’t have to make any of the money.”
Tracy laughed, but not a good laugh, and pressed me toward the door.
“Really,” I said. “You don’t have to—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Noah said, still smiling, but the words were brittle. “Remember?”
So, I shut my mouth and let Tracy lead me toward the door.
The fresh air carried away some of the smell of peppermint schnapps, and the cold was a relief after the heat of the tree farm’s office.
“I think we go that way,” Jonathan said, pointing with the hand saw.
We started off in that direction. Snow crunched underfoot, and for a few blessed seconds, we were all silent.
“So,” Tracy said. “Tell us everything. It’s been ages since we saw you, Howie.
Ages. You’ve been keeping my baby away from me.
” She held out a hand toward Noah, which Noah ignored.
Unfazed, Tracy continued in a voice that didn’t come close to confidential, “Is he okay? I worry about him. He’s so sensitive—he was always a momma’s boy. ”
Jonathan didn’t actually do anything, but invisible hackles went up.
“I can tell he hasn’t been taking care of himself,” Tracy said. “I took one look at him and I knew.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Noah said. “Howie doesn’t have to take care of me.”
“He’s always struggled with his weight,” Tracy confided in that not-actually-a-whisper. “He eats when he’s stressed.”
Which was so seriously bat-shit that I was opening my mouth to say something before I caught myself. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say—What the fuck are you talking about? seemed like a good start. Or Can’t you see how thin he is? But I managed to say, “Jonathan, how’s work?”
Noah threw me a surprised look, and then, for a moment, gratitude floated to the surface.
“Busy,” Jonathan said. “You wouldn’t believe these new associates we’re hiring. Twenty-five years old, and they think they can go home at five and be done for the day. This little slip of a girl walked right into my office last week—”
Marty groaned. “Here we go again.”
“—and do you know what she said? She said she thought we had a toxic workplace culture. She said we needed to emphasize work-life balance. And then she said if I wouldn’t let her move to Sedona and work out of her aunt’s crystal shop, she was going to quit.
Good Christ, what happened to your generation? It’s all those damn iPads.”
“We went to Sedona in March,” Marty said. “Dad and I went off-roading.”
Nobody seemed inclined to pick that up, so Noah jumped in with “Dad, did you read that article I sent you about roboadvisors? I thought it was so interesting—”
“That’s fine,” Jonathan said over him. “But you can’t convince me that computers are going to do everything.
Some jobs you’ve got to have a man do.” And then—for the love of actual fucks—he clapped me on the shoulder.
“Howie, you did it smart. Learned a skill. A trade. What you do, it matters. You build things. Make things. That’s something we lost in this country.
That’s a man’s work—work a man can be proud of.
I wish more people would do something like that with their lives. ”
He didn’t look at Marty or Noah. But he didn’t have to. The pink in Noah’s cheeks deepened. For a moment, Marty looked almost feral with rage, but then the expression thinned into an attempt at a smile.
“Dad and I have been talking a lot about future-proof jobs,” Marty said. “We’ve got some great ideas for new businesses, investments. That’s the great part about living at home. Dad and I can have these marathon brainstorming sessions whenever we want.”
“We miss Noah,” Tracy said. It was so teary that it was more like a sheep bleating, and she clutched my arm more tightly.
Some of that might have had something to do with the uneven ground and the fact that Tracy was pure schnapps from the ankles down.
“I keep telling Noah there are hospitals in California. There are great jobs near your parents. And it’s not like we’re getting any younger.
Don’t you feel bad, Howie? Don’t you feel even the tiniest bit bad that you’re keeping him away from his parents? ”
“Mom!” Noah tried to laugh. “Howie’s not keeping me here.” He shot me a look and mumbled, “Sorry.”
“It’s not like he’d have to take charity, Noah,” Tracy said. “God forbid. Your father would give him a job.”
“The man’s got a job,” Jonathan said. “A real job. Which is more than I can say for some people.”
That pinched, savage look was back on Marty’s face. “I had a really great connect with the people at Investeri. Noah, you don’t know about them, but they’re a very big deal right now.”
“Dad,” Noah tried again, “you know what Howie and I were talking about the other night? Investing in crypto. Do you think—”
Jonathan actually stopped in his tracks and turned to face his son. “Crypto? Good Lord, Noah.” And then, to me, without missing a beat, “You’re the one who handles the money, right?”
Noah got so small inside his puffer coat that he almost disappeared into the fur-lined hood.
“You know,” I said, “we make all our decisions as a family.”
And I had zero fucking idea why I said it except sometimes, people pissed me the fuck off.
“Here’s some free advice,” Jonathan said as he started forward again. “Don’t let Noah spend it on magic beans.”
It wasn’t that my brain snapped. Not exactly. But there was definitely this sense of reaching a breaking point.
I pulled free of Tracy and gave her a push toward Marty. She tottered, and Marty caught her. And I said, “Shit—excuse my language—I just saw a couple of our gay friends. You don’t mind if we say hi, do you?”
Jonathan’s mouth tightened at gay friends. Tracy looked like the sudden sea change might make the schnapps come back up. Marty was sneering like he was trying to think of a joke—I’d check back with him in about forty minutes.
Before Noah could say anything, I grabbed his hand and towed him into the line of trees.
We went about twenty yards. The sounds of the farm faded behind us—music dwindling, voices thinning, until the only noise was the powder compressing under our shoes, and the hum of the strands of light overhead, and our breaths alternating in small explosions.
I was still holding his hand, so I let go.
“Our gay friends?” Noah asked.
“Well, I don’t fucking know. Half the time they think you and I are living in an episode of Queer as Fuck. Remember when your mom asked if we had an open relationship?”
A startled laugh—a real laugh, the first one I’d heard in a long time from him—bubbled up from Noah. But all he said was, “Queer as Folk.”
I grunted.
“We should go back,” Noah said after a few minutes.
His puffer coat rustled every time he moved, and when I glanced over, he had his hands over his eyes.
He dropped them almost immediately, and it didn’t look like he’d been crying, but his cheeks were still pink, and his eyes were too bright.
“The whole point of tonight is to spend time with my family.”
“Yeah, and that was going great.”
“I know you don’t like them—”
“You don’t like them. I don’t like how they treat you.” And for a moment, it was like I’d stepped two years back in time, and the disorientation was so strong that I almost lost my footing. Noah still hadn’t said anything, so I cleared my throat. “I thought you could use a minute, that’s all.”
We walked on.
And then, softly, Noah said, “Thank you.”
Now what in the seven fucks was I supposed to say to that?
Eventually, because I was such a fucking genius, I came up with “Does your dad seriously want to cut down his own tree?”
“Have you met my dad? He’s been talking about it for weeks. Keep in mind that my entire life, he’s used a delivery service—we never even went to a tree lot. My mom hires a tree designer. Did you know that’s a job? A professional Christmas tree decorator.”
“Fuck me.”
“If flipping houses doesn’t work out, that could be your backup.”
The grin slanted so suddenly across my face that it almost hurt.
“My dad has asked me twice,” Noah said. “Twice, if your family always cuts down their own tree. I swear to God, he got a boner when they handed him the saw.”
And my laugh surprised me too.
“If he weren’t a middle-aged workaholic with womanizing issues,” Noah said dryly, “I’d think he has a crush on you.”
Which made me laugh again, but it was shorter this time.
Because Noah was right; Jonathan had always liked me.
From the first time we’d met. Which might have had something to do with the fact that his default expectations for homosexuals was that we all ran around painting our nails and wearing women’s underwear.
At first, it had been nice, because I’d wanted Noah’s family to like me.
And because they’d been so different from my family.
Because they’d been a real family, if that made any sense. But that hadn’t lasted long.
“Well,” I said. “It’d kinda be a shame if we didn’t let him have the full experience. You know, picking out a tree. Cutting it down.” A little grin crooked the corner of my mouth. “All by himself.”
“Oh my God,” Noah said, breathy with excitement. “Please tell me it’s harder than it looks.”
“I mean, it’s not like it’s difficult. But it’s not like cutting through butter, either.”
“If he gets a blister, he’s going to be impossible to be around,” Noah said. “I guess we’d better find our own tree. And take our time cutting it down.”
“Huh,” I said. “Sounds like a plan.”