Page 35 of True North
“It’s two guys,” Misha said.
“Yeah, uh. I’m gay, so.” JT puffed out his cheeks and blew out a long stream of air. Without lifting his head, he darted his eyes up to take a peek at Misha’s face.
“Gay, like—kiss guys?” Misha asked, just to be certain.
JT snorted. “Yeah. Kiss. You got it.” He straightened up and rubbed his eyes before giving Misha a rueful look. “I guess I should have told you before, with the whole—” He waved a vague hand at the bed. “Now you’re going to want to move out for sure.”
“No,” Misha said. He bit at a hangnail. He had daydreamed, sure. Wishful thinking. He hadn’t thought there was any chance JTactuallyliked men, that he truly in real life might have the same desires Misha did.
The words sat on his tongue, so heavy they nearly fell out. Only a lifetime’s practice at secrecy held them in.
JT was watching him with his eyebrows up. Misha clearly needed to say something else. Okay. “It’s fine. It’s not bother.”
“Okay,” JT said, dragging out the word. His eyebrows drew together with skepticism. “If you’re sure.”
Misha pushed away from the jamb, then collapsed against it again, bouncing himself in place. Tell him, you coward, he scolded himself, but still he couldn’t make himself speak. There was no real reason JT needed to know. Misha wasn’t going to hit on him and risk the humiliation of rejection and, worse, the loneliness of the woods. Because he wouldn’t be able to stay if JT rejected him; he would be too ashamed.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said at last, knowing the words were inadequate but wholly unable to force anything else out of himself.
“So. We’re cool?” JT asked.
Misha nodded. Sure. They were cool.
“Okay,” JT said. He went back to his phone. After a few more awkward moments, Misha took the hint and went back downstairs.
* * *
Misha stewed in the den all afternoon, lying on the couch watching TV while the rain slowed and stopped and the sun came out as the clouds thinned. His own dark clouds lingered in a thick fog around his head. He wasn’t even sure why he was upset, only that he was; upset in the sense of a bowl being tipped over or a glass of wine spilled across a tablecloth. He had been upended.
JT was gay—JT with his freckled shoulders and rumpled mop of hair. And he had labeled himself so easily, with no prevaricating or uncertainty. He wasn’t, Misha thought, only experimenting or trying to figure out what he liked. He knew what he liked.
Misha wondered how many people JT had told. His friends, his family, maybe his teammates. How many people in the pictures on top of the dresser knew the truth? Maybe none. Maybe all of them.
He could have asked JT himself if he were braver or less innately deceitful. Instead, he could only speculate.
The light changed in the room as the afternoon passed and evening approached. He heard footsteps moving around the house in JT’s usual patterns: down the stairs to the kitchen, into the living room, back into the kitchen after a while. Then he heard JT come down the hall toward the den, which he primarily did when he was looking for Misha. Misha stared fixedly at the TV as JT stopped outside the room, hidden from Misha’s view by the open door. An agonizing span of time went by as Misha waited for JT to decide what he wanted to do. Finally, JT stepped forward and appeared in the doorway, his hands tucked into his pockets in a mimicry of casual ease.
“Hey,” JT said. “Anything good on?”
Misha couldn’t even have said what he was watching, but he was grateful for the overture. “No, it’s boring. Maybe watch movie.” There: an overture of his own. They needed to find some way back to their normal routine.
“Yeah.” JT rocked on his heels. “Look, are you sure we’re okay? I’ve got to admit, I’m still feeling kind of embarrassed. And you seem a little…”
“Seem what,” Misha prompted when JT didn’t finish his sentence.
“Well, I mean, you’ve been hiding in here all afternoon, so. Makes a guy feel a little self-conscious.” JT shrugged one shoulder. “I thought maybe we could go have some beers on the dock and forget this ever happened.”
Misha wouldn’t ever forget, but he knew what JT meant. “Only good beer.”
JT’s grin was bright and so welcome. “You got it. Only the good beer.”
They went out onto the dock in the golden afternoon light, JT carrying the cooler and Misha carrying a couple of bags of potato chips, which JT had handed to him and said, “Don’t tell my trainer.” The boards creaked beneath their feet and the waves lapped at the shore. A hawk soared on a thermal high above. Misha felt his tension and confusion dissipate as he sat and dangled his feet in the water. Nothing bad had happened. He knew something about JT that he hadn’t known before; that was all.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, side by side, staring out at the water. The silence felt a little awkward, but not horribly so, and then a boat went by carrying a group of drunk guys who shouted incomprehensibly at them, bellows of “Woooo! Wooooooo!”that made JT laugh and salute them with his beer. “Tourists,” he said wryly to Misha, who didn’t really understand what was funny, but was happy to have an excuse to exchange a smile with JT.
That broke the ice, and then they were back to normal, at least mostly. They finished their beers and went in to make dinner, moving around each other in the kitchen the same easy way they did most nights, and watchedJeopardy!as they ate. Misha was picking up a lot of words from TV, which made him feel like there was hope for him after all: he could learn English and start over in a new life.
“Early night for me tonight,” JT said as he used his fork to push the last dregs of his salad around his plate. “We couldn’t get any ice time tomorrow except for first thing in the morning, so, uh. I need to get to sleep pretty early.”