The Summer We Fell Apart Read online

  George heard the toilet flush and then the twist of the tap as water hit full-force into the sink.

  “Just so you know,” his mother said, “I‘ve made a set of keys available to Finn. For while I’m gone. I mean, I don’t know if he’ll even use the place, but maybe you could come by and check?”

  “He’s in New York?” George asked, amazed and embarrassed by how little he knew of the lives of his siblings besides Amy.

  Asa walked back into the room as she shook her head. “No. Boston still. I just wanted to give him an option, that’s all.” She smiled at Asa’s return. “I have so enjoyed meeting you, Asa. Maybe we can do this again when I come back? I’d love to meet your father as well.” When Asa bent down to shove his Dead, Again paraphernalia into his backpack, she shot a look in George’s direction, which he lamely tried to deflect.

  As he looked at Asa, he was surprised to see the boy upright and nodding vigorously in agreement. At that moment, when things could have gone either way, plans made that would only later have to be broken, the doorman called up to let his mother know her car for the airport had arrived. George and Asa helped her into the elevator with the suitcases while Asa and his mother chatted about London. She wanted to know where Asa and Sam had lived, and if he knew of a good restaurant, because she always seemed to pick the worst food and ended up losing weight and getting sick when she was overseas. She made sure to let him know she paid a high price for her B-list fame; she hated these publicity junkets where all she saw was the inside of the hotel and a lot of foreign press who were always surprised she looked younger than she did on film.

  They parted at the curb when the driver took her suitcases from them and plopped them inside the open trunk without effort. She gave George a kiss and then leaned over and brushed her lips against Asa’s cheek as well.

  With one final wave through the window, she was gone and Asa and George were left standing in her absence, wondering what the hell had just occurred. It was a few moments before either of them spoke and then it was George.

  “You hungry?” he asked Asa.

  “Starved,” Asa said.

  “Let’s go,” George said as he pushed him lightly between the shoulder blades down 91st Street toward Amsterdam Avenue. He knew there was a falafel place on the corner of the next block because he had stopped there the last time he had been up to his mother’s apartment. When they got there, the falafel place had turned into a pizza joint. It had obviously been more time than he’d thought since he’d visited his mother.

  “This okay?” George asked as he opened the door to the heavenly smell of dough and sauce and sharp cheese.

  Asa nodded, looking as dazed by the scents as George was. They ordered a pie and took a seat at the counter. George snuck a look at Asa’s profile. He couldn’t help but be reminded of that first time with Sam at the restaurant counter. He cleared his throat and Asa looked his way.

  “Did you tell your dad about today?” he asked.

  Asa regarded him wide-eyed and unflinching. “Did you?” he countered.

  “No.”

  “No,” Asa parroted.

  “Why?” George asked.

  Asa shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  George sighed. “Fair enough. I don’t know why I didn’t tell him either.”

  The waitress slid their Cokes across the counter with a wordless smile. Asa reached for his and drank. George watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed, before he took a sip of his own.

  “That’s a lie, actually,” George said as he put his drink back down on the counter.

  Asa looked surprised. “What is?”

  “Me. I know why I didn’t tell him. Because he asked me to give you space and it was bugging me that you really seemed to dislike me all of a sudden. Or maybe you just disliked that I was seeing your father? Either way I wanted to talk to you about it and he wanted me to let you do your own thing.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” George asked. He was at least hoping that Asa would say he didn’t hate him.

  Asa shrugged. “There’s a lot to say but I guess I can’t think of the words.”

  George doubted that, so he took a deep breath and persisted, “Well, what’s the first thing off the top of your head?”

  “That it’s always been me and my dad and I like it that way.”

  “But your dad had…” George knew Sam had been in a long relationship with his last partner before he and Asa came to New York.

  “So?” Asa said.

  “It’s not just me. You don’t want it to be anyone,” George said, more a statement than a question.

  “Do you know about my mom?” Asa asked, evading the question.

  George nodded.

  “And you know that she wants to see me?”

  He nodded again, afraid to speak. Was Asa really thinking that Sam and his ex-wife would be a family again?

  “Well, I don’t want to see her,” he stated simply, as if he’d given it plenty of thought. “I don’t want any part of her. I want to leave New York so she can’t find us but my dad won’t hear of it.”

  “Why?” George asked, barely able to think of New York without Sam.

  “Because of you,” Asa said as the pie arrived between them. It was a hot, steamy, bubbly mass of sauce and cheese, and despite the weight of the conversation, George found himself salivating. He watched as Asa pulled a triangle from the pie, plopped it onto the paper plate, and proceeded to sprinkle hot pepper and Parmesan all over the pizza. He folded the piece in half as he opened his mouth to take a bite.

  “Careful,” George warned. “It’s hot.”

  Asa nodded and waited, the piece of pizza hovering near his chin. He nibbled the triangle off the end and closed his eyes. “Good,” he said as he chewed. “Good pizza.”

  George reached for a piece, put it on his plate but didn’t make a move to eat it. “I love your father,” he said quietly as he stared down at his plate.

  Asa continued taking bites of his pizza as if he hadn’t heard what George had said.

  So he said it again. Louder. “I love your father, Asa.”

  Asa’s cheeks were so full of pizza that George didn’t think he was capable of swallowing, let alone answering George. He mumbled something that sounded like “I know.”

  “And I think if your mother wants to find you, she will.” He paused and lifted his slice to his mouth. “Wherever you are,” he said before he took a bite.

  Asa reached for another slice of pizza and repeated the hot pepper and cheese steps.

  After he swallowed, George said, “So if you don’t want me to be with your father just come out and say it. Don’t make it about something else, okay? I mean, if you are uncomfortable because I’m your teacher or you’re afraid your friends will find out and your life will be hell, well, tell me. Okay?”

  Asa’s head shot up and he jerked back on the stool. “I’m not ashamed of my dad.”

  “I never said you were. I thought maybe because I was your teacher the situation would be fodder for, well, you know.” George paused, wondering how to broach the subject of the homophobia of a certain segment of teenagers. “Guys your age can be a little protective of their heterosexuality.”

  “People know you’re queer. If you think you’re hiding it, you’re not.” Even though it sounded like the intention of the sentence was mean, George didn’t hear that in Asa’s voice.

  He supposed his sexuality really wasn’t a revelation. George was far from flamboyant, but people knew, of course they must. And those people naturally had to include his students. It wasn’t like when he was outed in ninth grade by crushing on the oldest Clancy boy who’d worked as a lifeguard at the pool where George practiced. That hadn’t ended well, George having been the recipient of his first black eye because he’d been caught staring at Clancy in the locker room and was forever branded queer boy. It had been used as a taunt so frequently by Clancy and his group of friends (and once or twice by Geo
rge’s father) that George was convinced it would say that in the yearbook under his picture. It had taken him until freshman year in college before he intentionally and openly looked at another guy in that way. Another six months before he was brave enough to make a move. Until then, he had reserved his longing for the privacy of his room and his poster of Greg Louganis. He looked around the pizza parlor. What an unlikely place to be having this memory, let alone this conversation.

  Finally, he said, “I’m not trying to hide from anyone, Asa. Especially you. That’s why I’m talking to you now. I want to be with your father…and you. I want this to work.”

  Asa dug into his second slice of pizza as if he hadn’t heard George.

  “Asa?” George nudged.

  When Asa eventually acknowledged George, he had a slick of grease on his chin from the oily pizza. “Huh?”

  “I want to be with you and your father,” he repeated.

  Asa wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before answering. “The permission is not mine to give.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  He shrugged. “You guys have been sneaking around for a while.”

  George winced. He was about to refute Asa’s claim but he couldn’t. They had been sneaking around. “I guess we thought we were giving you your space.”

  He narrowed his eyes at George. “You didn’t even acknowledge my existence that morning in the apartment. I heard you and my dad come in. I knew you were there. Why couldn’t you have just said something?”

  “I panicked,” George admitted. “It was stupid and I panicked.” He hesitated. “When you yelled at me later that day I told your father and he said I should give you space. I didn’t want to come to your apartment without your wanting me to.”

  Asa said nothing. Just continued to eat his pizza. So George followed suit until there was only two pieces left on the tray. The waitress wrapped the leftovers in foil and handed them to Asa as George paid the bill.

  They rode the train back downtown in silence, Asa clutching the foil-wrapped pizza to his chest. His stop was first and he hesitated a moment before the door. Silently, he offered the pizza to George. George shook his head no as the doors slid open.

  “Thanks for today,” Asa said politely as he stepped onto the platform.

  Before George could answer him, a crowd of people got on, the doors closed, and he lost sight of Asa at the 23rd Street station. There was a huge lump in his throat, but strangely enough he didn’t feel so upset. He was glad they’d talked in the pizza joint. To finally say what he felt out loud, even though he figured it was too late for Asa to hear him, was a relief.

  George went home, then turned around and went right back out. There were two things he could do: stay there and wait for Sam to come over or leave the house and go to Sam and tell him everything. The way he saw it now, he really had no choice.

  He was out of breath from the combination of fear and jogging by the time he got to Sam’s and greeted him at the door. George could see Asa hovering behind him. Sam’s body language was welcoming but George knew he was surprised to see him. He smiled warmly and ushered him into the room before closing the door. George looked at Asa but Asa did nothing to indicate that George was even in the room. Instead, he picked up his backpack and headed to the back of the apartment.

  “Can you wait?” George called to Asa.

  Asa stopped and slowly turned around with a look on his face that said, I can’t believe you’re going to do this now.

  Behind him, George heard Sam call, “George? What’s happened?”

  He turned around to face Sam. “I took Asa to meet my mother this afternoon.”

  “You did what?”

  “I took Asa to meet my mother,” George repeated.

  “I see,” Sam said as he sank down onto the arm of a chair. He looked at Asa and said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Asa shrugged in an attempt to appear casual, but George could see tension in his shoulders, the way he was holding himself erect. Asa was more man than boy now, but he still looked awkward with his new body.

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand. Was this planned, unplanned? Can someone explain what’s going on?”

  George watched Sam’s expression change from tired to confused. There was a smudge of vermillion paint on his chin and his hair was pulled back severely from his face, accenting his cheekbones and slightly large ears that stood away from his head. He was still in paint-covered clothes, obviously just having come in the door from the studio. George could detect the underlying odor of paint thinner mixed with sweat. All George wanted to do was take him in his arms and hold him.

  “I asked Asa a few days ago if he wanted to meet her and he agreed.”

  “Just like that?” Sam asked. “Out of the blue? I thought things had been difficult between you.” He glanced at Asa for confirmation and Asa bobbed his chin in agreement.

  “We were discussing a paper that Asa needed to rewrite and it sort of just came out.” He looked imploringly at Sam. “You know how much I want things to work out with Asa.”

  “Yes,” Sam said softly. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was scared you’d be angry I went behind your back.” He paused, unable to read what was going on in Sam’s head. “Once I invited him I couldn’t take it back.”

  Sam made a grunting sound as he shifted on the arm of the chair. “And Asa,” he asked, “what was your reason for hiding this visit from me?” Sam’s accent sometimes made his manner of speech sound formal, like now. Such a juxtaposition, considering his usual state of dishevelment.

  George and Sam turned together to Asa for his answer. Asa’s gaze flickered briefly at George as he said evenly, “I didn’t want you to think I liked him.”

  “And do you?” Sam asked his son.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Asa said, shifting his backpack to his other shoulder. “Listen, I have a lot of work to do.” He started to back out of the room.

  Sam said sharply, “Stop.”

  Asa did as he was told.

  “I’ve waited, I think patiently, for you to remember how to behave.” Sam got up and walked across the room so that he was standing eye to eye with his son. “George means a great deal to me.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Asa said.

  “Hey,” Sam said as he put his hand forcefully on Asa’s forearm. “Hey,” he said again.

  “Sorry,” Asa said as he shrugged off Sam’s hand and took a step backward. “But you two can do whatever you want. You don’t need my permission. Right?” This time he spun around on the balls of his feet, yanked aside the curtain that separated his room from the main space, and pulled it shut behind him.

  In that moment, George felt sorry that Asa didn’t have a door to slam. Wasn’t that the right of every teenager? Now that he and Sam were alone in the room, he was even more nervous. It wasn’t like they could speak privately unless they went into Sam’s bedroom and closed the door. George wanted to suggest it, but he was afraid to. He just hoped that Sam would.

  Except Sam, when he finally spoke, said to George, “You should probably leave.”

  George took a step toward Sam, bewildered. “What?’

  “Leave. Please, George.” Sam stared hard at him with narrowed eyes. “I need…” he started to say, then stopped.

  “What?” George asked, barely able to breathe. “What do you need?” Panicked at the thought of Sam’s answer, George rushed on, “I need you, Sam. I need you and I don’t want any of this to go away. Please.” How was it that George was able to tell Asa he loved Sam, but when he was faced with Sam he couldn’t get the words out? If he could, would it help? Or just make him sound desperate?

  Sam came over and stood in front of George. He leaned toward him so their foreheads were touching. “You just need to go home and give me some time to sort it all out, okay?”

  “Can we go in your room so we can talk?” George was embarrassed by the pleading tone in his voice but he coul
dn’t stop. “Let me explain.”

  “Not now,” Sam said as he stepped back so they were no longer touching.

  Every impulse in George’s body was to beg, but he didn’t. Instead, he walked slowly to the door, hoping Sam would reconsider and call out to him. When he got to the door and turned the handle, the silence between them was deafening. And no matter what he tried to do for the rest of the evening, the silence hung there, in his ears, mocking him and refusing to go away.

  Asa didn’t come to school the following day. George had left seven voicemail messages in ascending levels of panic for Sam, but so far none had been returned. By Friday, Asa was back in school. George was surprised that he was talkative in class and met his gaze unflinchingly when he caught George staring at him as he left his classroom. But as far as offering anything on the subject of his father, he was mute.

  That evening George dragged his ass to Brooklyn, determined to drown his sorrows with Amy and Owen. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d called Sam’s cell phone and hung up without leaving a message. He found it hard to believe that Sam would break up with him this way. He thought at least he would have the decency to tell him face to face.

  But perhaps he already had and George had just refused to hear him.

  Amy was trying to make pizza from scratch, and for the last few minutes George had been watching her wrestle a lump of gray dough on the flour-covered counter.

  George sucked on his second beer and moaned, “Why do you still try and cook?” He was starved.

  She looked up at him with a death stare. “I’d give you the finger but my hands are covered in flour and goop.”

  He considered the dough. She had been stretching and rolling for what seemed like hours and it still looked hard and round. Nowhere near the size of the pan. “When are you going to surrender and order a pizza instead?”

  “Asshole,” Amy muttered under her breath.

  “Yeah.” George sighed. “I am. That’s why Sam dumped me.”

  Amy had been listening to him theorize for days, so she was hardly sympathetic. “Cut it out already.”

  “She made great broccoli and pasta the other night, George. You should have been here,” Owen called as he descended the stairs from the loft. He was carrying a handful of CDs he’d burned for George and passed them off to him as he went around the counter for a beer and to slip his arms around Amy’s waist from behind. George flinched at this display of affection and put the pile of CDs in front of him and one by one studied the song lists. Owen was tutoring George in a music scene he never knew existed. For the most part, George enjoyed it, but he never felt like he had anything intelligent to say in response when Owen asked him what he’d thought.