FOUR
THE SONG OF POTATO SALAD
SEBASTIAN
My sister was a bitch.I mean, I still loved her, but that was pretty much the only word I could think of to describe her.Why did she have to bring up my stupid past to Alex?All I wanted was a casual chat about the instruments he played, not to tell him what a fucking failure I was. But, of course, Mila had to barge in and ruin our conversation. She probably thought she was doing us a favor, as if it must be horrible for Alex to be stuck with me, or as ifIneeded the push.
“Well, that was quick,” Mila said, staring at the spot where Alex had been sitting moments before. “I guess that’s a new record for you.”
“How can you say that whenyou?—”
“Why are you always so angry?” She cracked her knuckles. “I mean, it must be exhausting for you, too, right?”
I wanted to yell at her, but I bit my lip and kept quiet. Screaming would definitely not make things better.
A thousand thoughts rushed through my head: maybe Ishouldyell at her and everyone else to stop treating me like a child, or maybe I should leave now before things get worse.
That was exactly why I stayed away for so long. During a phone call, you can make an excuse and hang up if things get tooheated. Here, though, I had to endure that shit, listen to them accuse me of being an asshole when they were all nothing but bullies.
“Exhausting is a fitting word,” I eventually said, keeping my voice low.
Mila interlaced her fingers and rested them on the table. “Then why all the rage?”
“Because!” My voice flared up automatically, but I managed to stop myself.Because you ruined my chance to get to know Alex on my own terms.
I would never say it out loud, but if I saw him in a bar, I would try to get his number. That smile where the lips tuck in to hide his teeth? The curious eyes that kept flicking toward me whenever he thought I wouldn’t notice? The fact that he made music, too? He was just my type.
If it weren’t so ridiculous, I’d think Mila was trying to set us up, but that couldn’t be the case. After all, she and the rest of the family didn’t know I was gay. The topic never came up when I still lived here, mostly because I didn’t figure it out until college, and after everything that happened later, I didn’t see why I should bother telling them. It would only add to the pile of disappointed looks Dad would give me, and I could easily live without that.
My eyes searched for Alex, but I couldn’t find him—and somehow that didn’t feel right. Mila blamed me for him being gone, even though it was her fault.
“I like Alex. To answer what you asked half an hour ago,” I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper. “We had a good conversation.”
Mila narrowed her eyes at me. I avoided her gaze.
“I was just starting to warm up to the idea of telling him about myself,” I went on, “but then you barged into our conversation like we weren’t capable of having one.” I looked atthe flames of the candles burning before me. “That… hurt. I’m not a kid anymore. I can decide on my own when I want to open up and when I don’t.”
We sat next to each other in silence for a minute. The room around us was filled with polite laughs and shallow conversations.
“I…” Mila drew in a breath as if she were about to yell, but then her head sank down as she slowly deflated. “I guess that makes sense.” Mila gave me a sideways glance, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” I said firmly. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Which was the truth. I hated screaming. It’s bad for your voice, and it never helps win anyone over. “Sometimes I just feel like nobody’s listening if I don’t.”
“Maybe that’s not too far from the truth.”
We watched the family together. Dad slapped his hand onto our nephew’s back. Mom hugged her sister with a tear in her eye. And out of nowhere, Mila leaned her head against my shoulder.
“How about instead of talking like everyone else, we just stay quiet together for a little bit?” Mila asked. “It’s better than fighting, right?”
“I’d like that,” I said, leaning my head against hers. “But I also want to hear about your internship at that magazine. Promise me you’ll tell me everything about what’s going on in good ol’ NYC in a bit, okay?”
“I promise,” she whispered, and then we sat like that, enjoying a moment of peace before the hours of small talk we still had ahead of us.
I was stuckin a conversation with my great-aunt Darcy when I finally spotted Alex again across the room. He was talking with my aunt’s husband, his hands tucked into his pockets and his ears hidden by his long hair. He chuckled at something my uncle said, pointed behind him, and, without anyone complaining, slipped out of the party room again.
Let me tell you, this guy was a mystery to me. For over three hours, he would talk to someone for five minutes—never initiating a conversation himself, by the way—then disappear outside for ten, only to repeat the whole thing.
The entire time, I tried to sneak away and catch him alone to ask if he was okay—and to find out if I was actually the reason he left earlier. Judging by his smiles whenever he talked to someone, he seemed fine, but I wouldn’t know for sure unless I asked him.
