Hanging by a Thread (24 page)

“Everytime I try to talk money, she threatens to quit. Says I'm doing her a favor by giving her back something she used to love.”

Jason comes into the kitchen for a glass of water; Monica pretends to come on to him just to get a rise out of him. He blushes furiously and once again glances at me.

And this time,
everyone
notices.

Including Frances.

I shrug as if to say, “Sorry, haven't a clue.”

He leaves; conversation resumes. But I keep feeling these speculative glances pinging off the side of my face. I'm not sure if nobody's saying anything because they don't believe it, don't want to believe it, or are afraid of being the one to look like an idiot, accusing Jason and/or me of something so totally outside the realm of logic. Finally everybody moves en masse back out to the dining room with cake and coffee; Julie bellows, “Dessert!” as the older kids come trooping in from outside. In the ensuing chaos, I slip down the hall to the john. Only when I come out, Jason ambushes me and drags me into Frances's office.

And shuts the door.

“Jason, what the hell—?”

“Dude, I've been trying to get your attention all night! Didn't you see me looking at you?”

“Honey,
everybody
saw you looking at me! Jase, you've got to get over this. I told you, nothing's going to happen between us.”

“What?” He actually looks confused. Then the light dawns. “Oh. Dude, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. It's just I've got something I need to tell my folks, and I've got to get it out, like,
now,
before I chicken out. And I thought maybe you could help me figure out what to say an' stuff, because I'm afraid Pops is going to be real disappointed when I tell him. And I mean, hey, you must have some experience in that, huh?”

I frown, trying to digest all these scraps of information. “Experience in what?”

“Giving bad news to grown-ups, dude.”

Why do I not feel flattered?

However. If this isn't about him and me (big sigh of relief, here), then I'm going with my other hunch, that he doesn't want to go into business with his dad. Especially when he says, “See, I finally realized it wasn't fair to anybody, my
keeping this to myself, you know? Trying to act like I don't feel certain things, just because I'm afraid I might hurt somebody? Pops, especially, he really needs to know this so he doesn't start expecting something that's not going to happen.”

He pauses. I take that as my cue to encourage him. “Then you just have to come right out and tell him. Because you're right, it's not fair otherwise.”

Relief washes over his features. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Dude.” His hand goes to his chest as I idly contemplate how many teenagers would become mute if “dude” were stricken from the English language. “I'm so glad to hear you say that. Because I thought, y'know, I didn't want to do what you've been doing, y'know, like lying to yourself about how you really feel about stuff? I mean, the last thing I want to do is get to be as old as you and think, whoa—I just spent my whole life living a lie—”

His next words—and my
What the hell are you
talking
about?
—are lost in the deafening shrieks from down the short hall. We both race out of the room to find out that, after five years of trying, Vinnie and Monica are expecting Bambino Number Four. Much hugging, much crying and kissing.

Jen sidles up to me and says, “Why couldn't our family be like this?” as Luke gives me a weird look from across the room and Jason gets up on the coffee table and says,
“I have an announcement to make, too!”

Um, methinks the kid's sense of timing could use a little work?

His father looks up at him, his round face creased in a frown as Luke wends his way over to me and mutters, “You got any idea what this is about?”

“I was right,” I whisper. “About his not wanting to be a plumber.”

“You sure?”

“He said he had to say this, even though your father would be disappointed—”

“Jason,” Jimmy says, “for godssake, whatever it is, it couldn't wait for a few minutes?”

“No. No, it can't.” The kid's shifting from foot to foot on the coffee table like he's gotta pee. “I gotta say this now, in front of everybody so there's no confusion—”

“Jason,” Frances says, her mouth steely. “Get off my coffee table. And you're being rude to your brother. Someday, it's gonna be you making an announcement like this and I'm sure you wouldn't want anyone else stealing your thunder—”

Jason's high, hysterical laugh cuts Frances off in midbreath. “No, no grandbabies here,” he says, and Luke mutters “shit” and grabs my hand.

My eyes zing to the side of his face. But his attention is riveted to the little drama unfolding in front of us. Which means I guess he has no idea he's rearranging the cellular structure of my hand. Let alone my brain.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jimmy says, as all eyes play Ping-Pong between the two of them.

“It means,” Jason says, looking for sure like he's about to crap his pants, “that I'm gay.”

U
nderstandably enough, a long moment of stunned silence follows. A silence broken by yours truly when I blurt out, “So what the hell was that kiss all about?”

“That's what made me realize I was gay,” Jason says.

Well, there's a first.

Luke is now cussing up a storm under his breath, although he's mercifully let go of my hand. Presumably to use it to keep his head from falling off. The rest of his family is still doing the stunned silence thing—astonishing when you consider the number of Italians per square foot in here—which apparently awakens some deep urge inside my sister to raise her hand and ask, “Anybody want coffee and cake?”

“I think I need to sit down,” Frances says.

Taking advantage of what we all know is the calm before the inevitable storm, Jason climbs down from the coffee table and makes his way over to me as Luke wanders away. “Dude,
I'm like really, really sorry I used you. But I thought, y'know, if I, like, kissed you, I'd stop feeling so confused. Except—” he shrugs “—I didn't feel anything.”

Somehow, I swallow the laugh. “Uh, honey? I hate to break this to you, but I didn't feel anything, either. And trust me, I'm not gay.”

Grinning like I have
never
seen this guy grin before, Jason leans over and whispers in my ear, “That's because we weren't kissing the right people.” Then he giggles and holds up his right hand, showing off a thin gold ring. “His name's Connor.”

And my first thought? That this may be the first time in history the straight girl advises the queen on
his
wardrobe. Because God knows the poor kid'll be eaten alive if he comes out of the closet dressed like that.

I glance around, realizing that all the Scardinare wives have ushered the children elsewhere—to where the cake is, judging from the sound of forks pinging off plates in the next room—leaving a mass of glowering, über-macho Italian jocks behind. And me, the only nonfamily member in here. But nobody seems to notice as Jason's brothers all light into him at once.

“Whaddayou, nuts?”

“No brother of mine is gonna be queer, goddammit—”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“How the hell can you do this to Pops, huh—?”

“Leave the kid alone,” Luke says quietly from where he now leans against the wall beside the fireplace, his arms crossed. When his brothers wheel on him, accusing him of everything from being a wuss to being gay himself, Luke calmly holds up one hand. Amazingly, they all shut up.

“It took balls, him telling us like this,” Luke says, giving his baby brother a considering look. “He could've taken the easy way out and kept it a secret. But he didn't.” He walks over to Jason and extends his hand. “I'm proud of you, bro.”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” Frances says from a few feet
away. “This is just one of those adolescent phases, the kid's no more gay than I am.” She goes up to Jason and smacks him in his arm. “So you had a crush on Ellie and she didn't return your feelings. So what? That doesn't make you
gay,
for God's sake, it just makes you young and stupid. Besides, nobody on either side of this family has ever been gay, and they say it's hereditary—”

“Your uncle Carmine,” Jimmy says softly from the sofa. Where he'd sunk like a stone earlier.

Frances whirls around. “What did you say?”

Jimmy lifts bag-cradled eyes to her. “I never told you this, but Carmine once made a pass at me. Before we were married. In your mother's kitchen.”

“
What?
Don't talk crazy, Jimmy, Carmine wouldn't've done any such thing.”

“You weren't there, babe,” Jimmy says with a half smile. “Trust me, his hand didn't land where it did on accident.”

“Ohmigod—”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Franny, he was just foolin' around. Flirting, y'know? He didn't mean nothin' by it. Actually—” he grins “—I was kinda flattered, if you wanna know the truth. Those guys tend to be real picky.”

“Jimmy, for God's sake! What a horrible thing to accuse somebody of!”

Jimmy shoots to his feet, his stomach jumping as he bellows, “It's the
truth,
for chrissake! So what's so terrible about your uncle being a homosexual?”

“He baby-sat for our boys when they were little! If what you're saying is true…” Her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes huge behind it. “Ohmigod!”

Okay, this is really freaking me out. Frances is one of the most open-minded people I know. Well, except when it comes to her daughters-in-law. But still, I've never heard her once utter a homophobic remark. I glance over at Luke, still stand
ing beside Jason, and I can tell by the looks on their faces that they're feeling the same way.

“So ask 'em,” Jimmy says, turning to his sons. “Tell us the truth, now—did Carmine ever pull any funny stuff with you?”

“No, Pops—”

“Uh-uh, never.”

“Don't you think I'd've said something if he had? Jesus.”

“He was the best baby-sitter we ever had,” Luke says with a smile. “Unlike Nonna 'ducci.”

“Oh, Christ!” Vinnie says with a laugh. “I'd totally forgotten about her!”

“Probably one of those, whaddyacallits?” says Peter. “Suppressed memories or something. Swear to God, my left ear-lobe is longer than my right because of her.”

Frances is looking from one to the other, flummoxed. “You saying my mother
hurt
you guys? For God's sake, the woman barely weighed ninety pounds!”

“Ma,” J.J. says, chuckling, “the nuns at school were girly-girls in comparison.”

“Yeah,” says Vinnie. “And the thing was, she always knew how to inflict the kind of pain that didn't leave any scars.”

“Except emotional ones!” adds Pete, and they all crack up.

The laughter dies down, though, as one by one, Jason's big brothers force their gazes to his. Then, even though they're obviously still uncomfortable with this news, they approach him one by one, again, giving him a hug, shaking his hand, acknowledging his courage. Finally, Jimmy Sr. embraces his youngest son in a bear hug that makes Jason grunt, then says, “I just gotta say one thing—” he points in Jason's face “—anybody gives you any trouble, you come to us and we'll beat the crap out of 'em for you, you got that?”

Jason pushes his hair out of his eyes, then laces his fingers and cracks his knuckles, posturing like some gangster in a
two-bit Mafia movie. “Hey. I can beat the crap out of 'em myself, you know.”

On this note, I finally realize I've been hanging around long enough in this private family scene. So I slip out to the dining room, signaling to Starr that it's time to leave. I catch Jen's eye, gesturing for her to stay, if she wants, but she opts to come with me.

“Time to get ready for bed,” I say to Starr when we get back home.

“It's still light out!”

“It won't be by the time you get your jammies on and teeth brushed and I read to you. So go on.” She tromps up the stairs, muttering under her breath. Beside me, Jen actually laughs.

“She's going to be something when she hits puberty.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, going to the kitchen for something to drink, more than a little surprised when Jen follows. So does the cat. But since Jen's been getting her allergy shots, cat and sister can now share breathing space with impunity.

Whether Jen and I can, however, for any length of time, remains to be seen.

“You've really got it good, you know that?” she says softly behind me, and I nearly crack the glass on the spigot when I turn around.

“Me? Why?”

She shrugs. “I don't know. Lots of reasons. Because you've got a kid.” Huh. I'd always assumed Jen had remained childless by choice. But maybe not. “Because you appreciate what you have. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No special reason. Other than wondering what the hell Jimmy put in that cake tonight.” I take a gulp of my water, then lift the glass in her direction. “After what you just witnessed, you still wish our family was more like the Scardinares?”

“I could think of worse things.”

“Why?”

“Because…because no matter what, they're still there for each other, aren't they?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” I pause, then say, “Are we actually having a normal conversation?”

Her mouth tilted in a half smile, she pushes her hair back over her shoulder, then crosses her arms. “Does it feel as strange to you as it does to me?”

“Stranger.” I take another sip of water. “Pardon me for being skeptical, but why are you being nice to me?”

“I think the question is, why are you being nice to
me?
You could've thrown me out, when I showed up a few weeks ago.”

“Don't think the thought didn't cross my mind.”

“So why didn't you?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”

Frito jumps up on the counter. Next to Jennifer. Who scratches him behind the ears.

And he lets her.

“Did Jason really kiss you?” Jen asks.

“Yep.” Damn cat—who's purring like crazy, by the way—is smirking at me, do you believe it?

“Was it awful?”

I break my I'll-deal-with-you-later eyelock with the cat, returning my gaze to my sister. “When was the last time you kissed a seventeen-year-old boy?”

“That bad, huh?”

“In spades.”

Her smile is sad. So I say, thinking to perk her up, “So. What do you hear from Stuart?”

“Oh.” Is it my imagination, or are her cheeks red? “Not much, actually. That is to say, not much on the job front. It takes time to find a good position these days, you know? Anyway— I'm pretty pooped, so I think I'll head up to bed, if that's okay?”

And she's gone before her words finish echoing inside my skull.

If that's okay?
Since when does my sister care whether or not what she does is okay?

A minute later, Starr calls from the top of the stairs that she's ready. Cat and I troop upstairs, where I check her teeth (I'm not wholly convinced she doesn't just smear toothpaste on her teeth rather than brushing, since that was one of my tricks at her age), and settle in to read the next chapter of whichever the heck Harry Potter book we're on. When we're finished, she finally asks the question I know has been simmering in her overactive little brain ever since Jason's announcement.

“What was Jason talking about? When he said he was gay?”

And for once, I'm ready. More or less.

“It means he likes boys instead of girls.”

Starr frowns. “Does that mean he won't like
me
anymore?”

“No, sweetie. It just means instead of having girlfriends or wives, like his brothers do, he'll have boyfriends.”

“Oh.” Her whole face puckers. “Is that bad?”

“No. It's just the way he is.”

She crosses her arms. “Brandon said it was disgusting.”

Brandon's J.J.'s oldest. Brandon is a pain in the butt. “Brandon,” I say, “will get over it.” I hope. Then I add, “Sometimes people feel threatened by things, or people, they don't understand.”

“You mean somebody might be
scared
of Jason?” She giggles. “That's nuts.”

“Yes, it is. And now you need to go to sleep.”

We do lots of hugs and kisses, I check for that damn monster (who's decided to come back, the turd), turn out the lamp by her bed, then start out of the room. It's almost dark, the charcoal light eking through the sheers cottony and soft.

“Mama?” Starr says in a stage whisper when I get to the door.

“What, baby?”

“When I get bigger, will I like girls or boys?”

Why does my heart clench at this question? “I don't know,
sweetie. Probably boys.” Or maybe both, but no way am I going there. For both of our sakes. “You'll just have to wait and see.”

“Okay,” she says, flopping over and yawning. “Night. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Twinkle.”

When I get downstairs, I nearly jump out of my skin at the sight of a shadow in my living room window, followed by Luke's soft, “It's me,” through the screen. I've got bars on the downstairs windows, but still. Skulking shadows do bad things to the heart.

“What do you want?” I say through the screen.

“Is the kid down?”

“Yeah, I just turned off her light.”

“Then come outside, sit with me a minute.”

His words echo through my memory, words spoken hundreds of times during our lives. I grab a sweater off the coat tree and join Luke outside on the stoop, thinking how many spring and summer evenings—even a few winter ones—we spent out here, shooting the breeze about nothing. Everything.

“How's Frances?” I say.

He blows out a breath. “Hard to tell. Still in shock, I think.”

“Here Jason was so worried about your father's reaction. I guess he never even considered how much it might upset Frances.”

“Yeah, her reaction kinda surprised me, too. But…I don't know, El. Mom's not a homophobe.” He pauses. “But other people are. My guess is, she's scared.”

I can hear the undertones of anxiety in his voice, too. And for good reason. This may be New York, and the twenty-first century, but still. What I told Starr is, unfortunately, still very true.

I prop my elbows on the step behind me, listening to the constant buzz of traffic and other people's radios and babies cry
ing, inhaling the scents of a dozen different suppers, exhaust, Mrs. Waxman's little lilac bush across the street.

“That took a lot of guts,” I say, “you standing up for him against your brothers. I'm sure he appreciates that.”

He grins down at his hands, folded between his knees. “My brothers don't scare me. Besides, the one with the guts is Jase. And he needed to know at least somebody in that room understood that.”