Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,82
dealt with their “unmentionables.”
Seriously.
She said, “I’ll take care of our unmentionables,” like that was a thing people really called their underwear and bras.
Maybe Grandma called them “brassieres.”
I grinned.
“Glad to see us go?” Grandma asked.
“No. Just thinking something funny.”
She studied me, her eyebrow arched.
“I think it’s for the best, you know. I think your dad is better off when he doesn’t see us so much.”
“Why do you say that?”
Grandma did this weird flip-fold thing that got her underwear into a tiny triangle. “He won’t say it, but I think being around us depresses him.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, even though I was pretty sure it was.
“You don’t have to lie, Darius.” Grandma grimaced. “I think it was hard for him, going through Oma’s transition. Having to rearrange his whole life.”
“I think sometimes he’s just depressed because that’s how the disease works. It doesn’t need a reason. Least of all Oma’s transition. Isn’t she happier now?”
“So much happier.”
“Then that’s good. For Dad too.”
“Hm.”
Grandma dropped her last unmentionable into the laundry basket and started to lift it.
“I can get that.”
She swatted me away and lifted it. But then she looked at me and put it back down.
“It wasn’t easy, you know. Going through it all. I think it was harder on me than on your dad.”
“Why?”
“Your dad and I both had to let go of our picture of who Oma was, and make a whole new one. But I also had to make a new picture of myself. I’d spent my life thinking I was a straight woman. But I was still in love with Oma. So what did that make me? A lesbian? Bisexual? Queer?”
“Oh.”
“But you know what? Even though it was hard, we’re closer now than ever. When you go through something like that, you come out stronger.” She lifted her basket again. “I’m sorry about Landon. Breakups are hard.”
It still surprised me to hear her say that. Like sometimes I forgot it had happened. Like I could go hours without remembering the hole in my heart where Landon’s smile used to live.
“Yeah.”
“But you’re going to be okay. You know that, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
Grandma took my shoulders in her hands.
“You are.” She smiled at me. An actual smile.
“I’m glad we got to be here, with you.”
“Me too.”
“Let us know about Pride. Maybe we can go together. If the weather is nice.”
“Really?”
“We’ll see.”
It was the softest of maybes.
But it felt like something more. Like maybe Grandma had left the door between us open a crack.
It felt like love.
* * *
I helped load the luggage into Oma’s Camry while she and Grandma said their goodbyes.
It was weird, saying goodbye like it was a big thing, when they lived a few hours away. When we would see them again over winter break.
Oma surprised me by gathering me into a hug. A real one.
“You’ve grown up,” she said.
“I have?”
“Take care of your dad for us. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said. “I love you, Oma.”
“I love you too, Darius.”
GRAVITON DENSITY
Our first playoff was against Riker High School, about an hour south of Portland.
Even though I knew it wasn’t named after Commander William T. Riker, I hoped the Star Trek reference was a good sign for our chances of victory.
The tension between me and Chip had resulted in a gravitational shift in the team: not in how we played, but in who talked to who, who stood where in Circle, who jogged next to each other during warm-ups.
Chip had started jogging alone, keeping his head down, and though he still played as hard as ever, he didn’t have that grin of his anymore.
I did that.
I took away Chip’s smile.
I wondered if I was hurting him or me more, not trying to mend our friendship. But the longer it went, the harder it became to even bring up the subject. There was a shield between us, building in graviton density with each passing day.
I had taken to jogging next to James during warm-ups. It turned out that, in addition to being into technical theater, he was also into Dungeons & Dragons and Star Wars.
I wasn’t really a fan of Star Wars. I didn’t not-like it, but it didn’t do anything for me. Not really.
Still, it was nice talking with another nerd. James was a cool guy, though he had the absolute worst luck in dating, which he told me all about when he wasn’t debating means of faster-than-light travel, and whether hyperdrive or warp drive was faster.
(Given that the theoretical limit of warp drive was infinite velocity—something that was