She raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. “I know I don’t always understand the complexities of gay male friendships, and how sex sometimes plays a part in that, but Iwillsay that it would be hard for me to be in the situation you’re in, without developing feelings for the guy. All that to say, I’m here to support you, whatever you need. You decide you like him and want to date him, I’ll cheer you on and be your first supporter. You decide you never want anything to do with him again? He’s dead to me. You decide you want to sleep with him and a dozen frat bros as well? I’ll buy the condoms. I want you safe and happy.”
She hesitated and then added, “You know, youareallowed to choose your own happiness, Adonis. You’re so good at making sure that everyone else is okay, that everyone else is happy, that you’re doing exactly the right things to meet everyoneelse’sneeds, but that sometimes I worry you’re not actually thinking about what would makeyouhappy.”
Adonis grimaced at his coffee. “You know, Bash has said a similar thing to that.”
“We’re not going to unpack the implications of him knowing you that well.”
Adonis offered her a small smile. “Thanks for saying all of that, Clarisse. I think it’s a good reminder for me to hear that I can choose to be happy. I don’t think about that enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Really, though, Iamhappy with this situation. And I’m holding it very loosely. If it doesn’t make me happy anymore, then…” He trailed off. Whatwouldhe do?
Clarisse raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Would you end things with him?”
“I…I guess I would,” Adonis said, though the answer was so weak, he didn’t even convince himself.
Clarisse, however, was gracious enough not to call him out on the weak lie. She took his coffee cup. “I’m gonna get us some refills. Then we should probably actually do some homework. Sound good?”
Adonis nodded, but when Clarisse walked to the barista counter to refill their coffees, and he looked at his textbooks to try and think about studying, all he could think about was the fact that no, no part of him even wanted toconsiderbreaking off this situation with Bash.
Chapter 17
Bash
October passed, as it always did, in a blur. Bash’s trip to the Netherlands was a nice diversion from school and from hockey, but it wasn’t pleasant. No, it was just a reminder of what waited for him back home: Lotte, yes, and their friendship, but also the high pressure of his father’s company. Bash had no choice but to join meetings, pressed into an expensive suit. He had no opinion to offer on matters. None that he wanted to share, at least. He certainly had thoughts about how Koning Kapitaalgroep was run. Those thoughts would not be welcome.
The worst part of being home was seeing the state of his father’s health.
Gerard Koning had had his first heart attack at the age of thirty-nine, when he was a stockbroker on the Amsterdam Stock Exchange. That was before he had even started Koning Kapitaalgroep. The next heart attack came seven years later, when Koning Kapitaalgroep was five years old and juggernauting through the world of European finance. Now, Gerard was sixty-eight, and the doctors feared another heart attack was on the way.
If Bash had gotten one thing from his father, it was his near-self-destructive sense of self-discipline. Just as Bash had wanted to push through the pain in his shoulder to play hockey, Gerard fiercely insisted on working.
No matter what.
Bash’s mother, Sophie Koning, told Bash that Gerard slept maybe four hours a night now. And that was on a good day. On the days he didn’t sleep in the apartment, he stayed in the company’s Zuidas high-rise; he was up before dawn to get back to work. He rarely came home before midnight.
And when he came home, he had two glasses of cognac before bed. Sometimes more. Sophie knew he drank more, keeping his desk well stocked with expensive jenever, a type of Dutch gin.
Sophie kept multiple of Koning Kapitaalgroep’s assistants, interns, and secretaries on her private payroll to spy on Gerard. Though most of them suspected she did this because she thought he was cheating, the thought of her husband being unfaithful was unthinkable to Sophie.
Gerard loved her. He just loved his work more.
Through her spies on Gerard’s staff, Sophie knew that when Gerard was at work, he never touched another woman, but he certainly touched the bottle, and was known to put his nose to the white powder.
All of this she told Bash when he was home, over a late lunch at the Amstel Hotel. As she picked at her food and he tried to maintain his manners instead of wolfing the food down, she explained to him her suspicions that Gerard was slowly killing himself.
“Je moet hem tegenhouden,” Sophie said. You must stop him.
Bash didn’t look up from the Mediterranean chicken he was cutting. “Nee, mam. Dat is niet mijn taak.” No, mom. That’s not my job.
Sophie had ordered a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc that cost more than three months’ rent in Bash’s college apartment and had only had half of one glass so far.
“Hij is je vader. Geef je dan niets om hem?” she said sternly. He’s your father. Don’t you care about him?
“Ja, ik geef om hem. Maar het is niet mijn taak om zijn problemen op te lossen.” Yes, I care about him. But solving his problems isn't my job.
Sophie sighed. “I love you,” she said in English. “And I love your father. Het breekt mijn hart om te zien dat hij dit zichzelf aandoet.” And it breaks my heart to see him doing this to himself.
