Page 220 of Two Marlboros

Lucky them that they were excited, I thought. I, on the other hand, got to thinking that by now it was not long before Alan would return, the moment when I would know whether I could continue to feel like his boyfriend or not. Going all the way to his house had been a bad, bad idea. The worst I had ever had. And Ihad also had to put up with the nosy relatives - karma was really making it all worthwhile for me.

Meanwhile, the table was going crazy, voices topping each other to come up with imaginative ideas on how to surprise Alan with my presence, although the only people immune to that flurry of excitement were the two sitting in front of me, that is, the freckled couple. Our glances crossed and he sent me a consoling look, for by now the herd had been unleashed and who could contain it any longer?

I pressed two fingers to the root of my nose and closed my eyes, in a mixture of embarrassment, jitters - no, actually, it was fear - and excitement. It was nothing more than a game to them, and until I had rung that bell it had been for me, too, but the more time passed, the more I felt my minutes were numbered. It was probable, because it was, that I would soon receive a huge disappointment, because when Alan was in a bad mood, he was also capable of being grumpy, and what did I know about what he had been going through during those months? I had not heard from him, he might have recovered, or he might have relapsed into despondency, I had no idea. And the thought that at that table they were trying to arrange the surprise, necessarily thinking it was a good idea, forced me to show my cards and shut them up with the reality of the facts.

I reopened my eyes and sighed.

“Look,” I said, in a voice loud enough to overpower them and silence them, “I’m glad this situation exhilarates you, but I have to tell you that you might want to curb your enthusiasm.”

“Why?” Virginia asked.

“Well,” and I realized that by saying that I was giving an opportunity for that situation to materialize, “let’s just say he could not necessarily like it, that is.”

Silence continued to linger among those present-for all but one, of course.

“What! I’m sorry, who wouldn’t like that?”

That question made me smile because it was a mirror of an age where loves are not so complicated. But I no longer had the courage to look at her or anyone else in the face, so I watched my index finger caress a section of the edge of the plate, and meanwhile tried to push back down the lump in my throat.

“Someone who’s not interested in me, for example.”

The smooth touch of the porcelain continued under my fingertip, and I began to yearn for Alan’s return more than anything else, because that waiting was wearing me out. The truth was that Virginia had been an excellent entertainer, for with her brazenness she had made me ignore, in those twenty minutes, the fear I was feeling at that moment instead beat by beat. Yes, I would have hidden somewhere. Yes, I would have come out of my hiding place and surprised him. But what if he had surprised me, too? With something like: “What-are-you-doing-here? Go-away.” After all, we had only loved each other for one night, how could I expect him to still have feelings for me after two and a half months? Stupid - I had been stupid. That’s no way to fall in love, flash in the pan, recoiled my brain again.

Suddenly the table came alive again with an agitated buzz. My ears picked up the roar of an engine and I felt worse than a condemned man. Virginia’s fingers squeezed my wrist in encouragement, but I gave her only a fleeting glance and wished that the grave I had dug for myself really existed. Someone rose from the chair, perhaps the same someone who put his hands on my shoulders. Alan’s mom.

“Come on, come on, hide in the kitchen. At least you can clear this up yourselves.”

In a mechanical gesture I rose from the chair and at a brisk pace made my way to the room I had been shown, closed by a double swinging door. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a silhouette outside the window getting out of the car, but it wasthe only image I could make out before I entered the room, which enveloped me with the scent of turkey in the oven. Alan’s mother closed the door behind her, leaving a small glimmer, just enough to hear what was happening on the other side, where meanwhile someone was moving my bags.

I had appreciated the discretion, but the fact that she had emphasized that we would sort this outon our ownleft a bad feeling in me. And that foreboding feeling made room to dread when I heard a click in the lock of the front door followed by a voice I hadn’t heard in an eternity.

My heart sank and my legs began to shake, so much that I had to lean against the wall, but I was thankful that I was alone in that room, free to feel whatever I wanted without someone coming to fleece me about how I felt. I was scared to death, unsure and certainly unprepared to take a rejection. Some tears wanted to fall but I tried to stop them, because it was not yet time to give up.

From the other room, after an initial chorus of “Welcome back” and his cordial replies, silence had fallen. No one was saying anything, not even Virginia. I couldn’t even hear footsteps - it was all still.

Someone spoke.

“Honey, are you okay?”

I wasn’t sure who spoke, maybe it was his mother, but I understood that she was addressing Alan. He remained silent, moved a few steps but not toward the kitchen, then stopped. Silence again.

“What are you doing, cop? Looking for evidence?”

That was Virginia, for sure; I had already learned to recognize her irritating little voice. There was some laughter, but again no response from Alan. He moved back toward the table.

“Was that coat always there?” he asked. It made me smile - he wasn’t missing anything at all. And he had a heavy accent,much more than when he was in New York, but it was not the time to think about how that fascinated me.

A chorus of “yes” rose from the table but without much conviction, after which silence fell again, so much that I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. I tried to let out some air in an attempt to calm down, but it didn’t do much good.

“Honey, listen,” and it sounded like his mother again, “since you’re up, why don’t you go to the kitchen and check on the turkey?”

The breathing stopped. My heart, however, began to sputter even more. My legs were shaking, my hands were shaking, and nine out of ten my voice would shake too. I threw out more air and searched for a cuticle to bite, tearing it off and hurting myself when I heard footsteps just behind the door.

The door closest to me opened. Alan pulled it back only with the movement of his arm, without turning around, and thus without seeing me. I was petrified. I was not even breathing. I was not moving, not speaking. The only thing alive inside me was my crazed heart and that out-of-control fear. I swallowed and felt like I was making a crazy mess, but he kept doing what he was doing, so he bent down in front of the oven and peered at the turkey.

I had to say something. Or even if I didn’t want to say anything, I had to get closer to him. Somehow, I had to make my presence known, didn’t I? No. My brain had a lot of good ideas, but it also had its communications down. I couldn’t say anything or do anything. I just stood clinging to that wall, following his silhouette with my eyes as he got up and turned to go back to the room.

He barely gasped. He frowned for a moment, raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth but said nothing. We stayed like that, apart, him surprised and me frightened, without taking our eyes off each other. He looked at the door and back at me. Hebegan to walk slowly, but not in my direction, more toward the hall; and when he got to the door, I thought he was going to walk out and leave me there alone, but instead he closed it. His mouth was still open, and his gaze surprised, then he decided to shorten the distance between us, and, in a few steps, he stood right in front of me.

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