Page 28 of True North
“Nothing,” Misha said, and fixed his attention on the TV.
Thirteen
JT kept waiting for the perfect moment to broach the issue of the shifter meeting, but there wasn’t ever going to be a perfect moment. Misha wasn’t going to want to go, no matter how carefully JT phrased his invitation. Better to get it over with, especially as JT didn’t have infinite time; the date for the meeting was approaching.
He finally bit the bullet three days out, which he hoped would give Misha enough time to get used to the idea. He opened a bottle of wine to go with dinner and kept refilling Misha’s glass until he was pink-cheeked and smiling. The last time he’d brought up the meeting, Misha had been so categorically unwilling to even discuss the matter that JT felt like he needed to use every weapon in his arsenal. If a couple of glasses of wine was what it took, so be it.
“So,” he said as they were clearing the table. “I want to talk to you about something.”
Misha looked up, the salad bowl in his hands. His eyes were sharp and watchful despite the wine. “About what?”
JT focused on stacking silverware on a plate so he wouldn’t have to watch Misha’s expression. “Do you remember that I told you how the local shifters meet twice a month? Their next meeting is soon. I think you should go.”
Misha said nothing, which didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t understand. JT risked a glance. Misha’s mouth was drawn in a tight line as he finished gathering the serving dishes. He looked like he had indeed understood and wasn’t happy about it. He headed over to the kitchen island and started putting leftovers away, banging Tupperware on the counter loudly enough to convey his displeasure. All right: message received.
JT trailed after him. “Will you tell me why you don’t want to go?”
“No,” Misha said shortly, then winced and shot JT a guilty look. He sighed. “Okay, maybe I don’t like them? Or they don’t like me. So it’s stupid.”
“Why do you think they won’t like you?”
Misha scowled at the Tupperware and made the impatient gesture that meant it was too much trouble to put his thoughts into English. “It’s stupid! I can’t talk, I can’t…” He trailed off. He put the lids on the containers, one at a time, snapping the corners into place. Then he looked up, met JT’s eyes, and shrugged.
JT still didn’t know what the problem was, but he was beginning to know Misha a little, and he didn’t think he was going to get any additional information out of Misha right now, or possibly ever. “Okay. Well, I think they would like you, and I think it would be good for you to go.” He hesitated, then decided to go ahead and play his trump card. “Will you go as a favor to me?”
“What’s favor,” Misha said uncertainly.
“Oh, uh.” Instead of trying to explain, JT took the lazy shortcut of pulling out his phone.
When the word was translated, Misha looked aside, his lips compressed.
“Please,” JT said. He knew he was twisting Misha’s arm, but if Misha wasn’t going to give him any actual reason why he didn’t want to attend the meeting, JT didn’t feel too guilty about leaning on him. He was doing this for Misha’s benefit.
Misha sighed heavily. “Okay.”
“Okay.” JT grinned, victorious. “Monday night. I’ll drive you.”
* * *
On Monday, they ate an early dinner and left for town well before the sun slid below the horizon. Misha stared out the passenger side window as they drove, slumped down in his seat, trying not to sulk too obviously but also not particularly caring if JT could tell he was sulking. He still didn’t want to go, and he was still mad about JT guilting him into it, even though he knew JT had good intentions.
“Hey,” JT said, ten minutes into the drive, raising his voice to be heard over the noise from the rolled-down windows. “If you really don’t want to go, we can go home.”
Misha turned to look at him. JT was looking straight ahead, one hand on the steering wheel and the other draped loosely over the window ledge. He was tan and freckled and golden with summer, and Misha could hardly stand to look at him, bursting as he was with longing and shame. What he wanted most in life, at this particular moment in his life, was for JT to be pleased with him.
“No, let’s go,” Misha said, and JT shrugged and said something Misha didn’t understand.
Misha hadn’t been into town even once, and despite his dark mood, he watched curiously as woods and scattered houses gave way to apartment buildings and gas stations, restaurants and road work. It wasn’t much of a city, at least not compared to Toronto, or to Khabarovsk, either. That wasn’t a bad thing; Misha didn’t need or want an exciting life. He could disappear here, into this sleepy corner of the earth.
JT took a few turns once they hit downtown and parked in a lot off a side street. The main drag was lined with two-story buildings with shops on the lower level and apartments above. The occasional spindly tree sprouted from a planter box in the sidewalk. Misha followed JT through the evening’s foot traffic, feeling unexpectedly but painfully self-conscious about his appearance and general demeanor. His unflattering haircut and baggy T-shirt didn’t matter when it was just him and JT at home, but now there were other people to see him, strange people passing by on the sidewalk and glancing at him as they went, and he could see himself through their eyes: a little unkempt, a little wild. He kept his gaze on his feet as he trailed after JT.
JT led him to a squat brick building with a heavy wooden door painted bright blue. A sign was tacked up, and JT paused for a moment to read it, then grinned. “Closed for bear business, it says,” he said to Misha.
Misha managed a weak smile. This was happening, and he’d passed up his chance to bail.
Inside the door was a small antechamber wallpapered with band posters; Misha didn’t recognize any of the logos. From inside the restaurant proper came the sounds of voices and laughter. Misha was so anxious he felt faintly nauseated. What would he say to these people? What would they think of him? He was half-convinced they would take one look at him and see all the horrible, shameful things he had done.
“We can still leave,” JT said gently, his fingertips brushing the small of Misha’s back.