Never Mine - 1. Never Mine

March was already gently lambing its way towards April when I realized my little brother had fallen in love. And not with me. I know, I was shocked too. I didn't notice until I counted and realized it'd been fifteen days without Satar crawling into my bed or shower, which was the longest time I had gone unmolested since he'd broken up with his first boyfriend three years ago. Not that the relationship had lasted all that long, but it was the first time anyone was aware that Satar swung both ways. In fact, he beat my coming out, even to myself, by a solid year. My first clue then was I didn't mind his pawing as much as I should have, as my first clue now was that I woke up in the middle of the night dreaming of him whispering my name, the gentle "Khayyam"s caressing my tongue while his hands did the same to my exposed waist.

The second clue was that Satar, stars in his eyes, breathlessly told me an old friend of ours by the name of Mason would have spring break the same week as us. Mason and I had history, not a lot of good towards the end, but I while I didn't hate him anymore, I also didn't want to spend too much time with my once best friend who had intentionally caused my first boyfriend and I to break up, partly out of some misguided notion that he loved me, but mostly because he could. I should have been able to count on my brother to back me up, as I'd backed him up over one heartbreak or another over the years, but instead he brought about the first part in Mason and my reconciliation. I'd wondered about that gesture. The look in my brother's eyes when he thought about all the hours he could have with Mason explained much.

The second to last Saturday morning of March was awkward for me. Weekend mornings I usually spent with my mother, us both drinking coffee and enjoying the early hours. In a family that did not include my brother, we'd have both been considered early risers, getting up before dawn even in summer. However, Satar did not seem to sleep at all, or at least, never when anyone could catch him at it. This was useful for him, I guess, but it made the rest of us seem lazy. Anyways, my mom and I often woke near the same time, and we spent that time between and chatting about whatever projects we had on the horizon. My descriptions of my work as a freelance programmer might as well have been in Chinese for all the sense they made for her, but she always made the right noises on cue, just like I did for her.

But this weekend I kept my peace. Work didn’t interest me, hers or mine; all my thoughts ran around topics that I didn’t want to say to her. Luckily, she could talk for two. So she talked, and I sat, imagining what the week coming after next would bring. Because there was no way, once Satar made his interest known, that Mason would resist him. To my knowledge, no one besides me had ever resisted Satar for long. Visions danced in my head, some as pornographic as my memory of their bodies could conjure, helped along by my brother himself, working shirtless in his garden right outside the kitchen window. Others were oddly tender "couple moments," like sitting on the couch holding hands. I was trying to decide which set bothered me more when she sighed. "I get the feeling you’re a million miles away, Khayyam."

"I guess so. I just have a lot to think about," I said with a shrug.

"Anything I can help you with?" she offered. I might have been touched, but I doubt she meant it. We didn't have that kind of relationship. She was probably asking more out of curiosity than anything else.

"No. It is just something I will have put up with," I said. That was when it hit me, the answer I had been looking for. My jaw dropped, and I sat bolt upright in my chair. She watched, amused, and let me recover my smile. "You know what, you just did help. Thanks."

"Anytime, I promise."

A million miles away.So what if my brother and my first crush were going to start screwing around. There was no reason I had to stick around for it.

"Texas?" my cousin Marcia suggested to me. She was almost exactly my age and lived within five miles of me nearly all of my life, and so was my partner in crime despite the fact we had completely different personalities. To put it plainly, I was a stick in the mud, and she was a wild child in a family of wild children--after all, consider Satar, who'd switched not just partners but the gender of his partners with such alarming speed that my parents had been grateful I was only gay. The entire world was a party to her, and meanwhile I was the sort who spent more time cleaning up after parties than participating. But we made an effective team. And Operation "Get the BEEP out of Virtue" would require all of her daring and my planning to pull it off.

"We're too young. There's no way we'd be allowed that far," I pointed out.

Her green eyes squinted at me oddly. "Who's going to ask?"

"A good point, but if we have our parent's permission, they get to pay our airfare. Let's us waste our own money on other things." I tried not to think too hard about why she smiled right then.

"Ah. How about Vegas then?"

We decided on Los Angeles. I had colleges in the area I needed to check out before sending off my acceptance, and Marcia had always wanted the chance to run riot in a major metropolitan area. The only reason I wouldn't want to go there was going to be up here, entertained by my brother, so it seemed the best time to head down in any case. "Okay then, it's settled," I said, "we'll take your car, and I'll get my parents to pay for the hotel room."

"Sounds fine to me," Marcia said. Our tasks settled, we marched back home, certain nothing could go wrong.

For as long as she has drawn breath, my mother has never missed an opening like that. "Oh, Khayyam. I've been meaning to talk to you about that. Now that you've brought the subject up, maybe we should sit down and do it now," she told me when I asked for the use of her credit card that afternoon. I had been expecting something along the lines of, "sure," and maybe an hour later a, "what for?"

It must have shown on my face. "In fact," she continued, "can you call your father and brother in here? We should make this a family discussion."

In other families, this might not have been a big deal, but I could only vaguely recall the last time we'd ever had something like a family discussion. Mostly, my parents did their thing, Satar and I did ours, and no one interfered with anyone else. It worked. This, whatever this would bring, left me somewhat slack-jawed and too stunned to argue.

We all sat around the dining room table, parents facing the children, and my mom reached over to squeeze my father's hand for strength before she could speak. It was disgusting, really. "We're concerned boys. Very concerned, about both of you."

"Why?" Satar asked.

"We're good kids. Parents would kill for kids like us," I added.

My mother sighed. "And the things you two have been getting up to might just kill us. We worry you know. That's what parents do." Dad patted her hand; I rolled my eyes. I concluded that she must have been on drugs, as the mere thought of one of her co-workers at the Women's Services building catching her in such a moment would have made her slap my father with less provocation.

"Stop that," I said. They looked at me like I was the one was the one suddenly replaced by a Stepford clone. "And what do you mean by 'what we've been getting up to?' We've hardly been planning to burn down the gym or anything."

"Only because it would probably be traced back to us. Damn CSIs," Satar said. He was joking (I think), but by the shocked expression that briefly crossed our mother's eyes, she wasn't sure about that.

"We never know where you are at night, or any other time. We don't know any of your friends, or even how you met them," Mom practically cried out. "We tried to be good parents, treating you like adults, but now it seems like we barely know either of you anymore."

Realization dawned in my brother's eyes. "You've been reading parenting books again, haven't you?" Satar asked. "Khay, you were supposed to watch her."

"I have been, but I can't search her office. That must be where she's hiding them." I turned to my parents. "So what, you think one of our friends might be a bad influence on us? That's just paranoid. You raised us both to have more sense than to associate with people that could hurt us."

"Boys, your mother is just concerned, and expressing that concern. And you have to admit, both of you have been engaged in behavior that might be considered questionable by a third party, however 'cool' it might seem to you and your circle."

It took us a solid minute of staring, first at them, then at each, for us to work that one out. "Do you mean our sexuality?" I asked. "You have a problem that we date, have sex, with guys."

It wasn't really a question, but they took it as one. "I have a problem that you are having sex at all, at your young ages, irrespective of what gender you prefer," my mom said with a good old-fashioned liberal sniff, but I saw my father's eyes. It was the boys that worried them.

"It is a bit late for us to go back in the closet, Mom," Satar said. " We are what we are, and we aren't going to act like good little breeders so you two can pat yourselves on the back for being good parents."

"This isn't about us being good parents," Dad insisted.

I had to object, saying, "That's not what you said earlier."

"It's not." This time, it was my mom denying the color of the sky. "This conversation is about us having a better grasp about what is going on in your lives."

"You mean better control," I said.

"I meant what I said!" She closed her eyes, probably somewhat ashamed she raised her voice at us. "In the future, we're going to expect to be better informed about where you are and who you associate with. And yes, this will involve you asking us for permission to go out, and if we say no you will respect that decision. Is that understood?"

"No. No it's not. What exactly do you think you are trying to prove?"

"That sometimes, adults need to be treated like they are adults, not inconveniences, and that children need to be treated like they are children."

There was finality in my mother's tone, and my brother and I took it as a dismissal. "One more thing, well two," Mom said before we could leave. "Spring break will be spent here, Khayyam. And Satar, since Mason is one of those friends who we feel might be...questionable, I don't think it’s a good idea for him to spend the week here." With that, she turned her attention away form us and out the window. I noticed, in my own distraction, that the flesh-colored daylilies my brother planted the year before were finally in full bloom, now that effects of last winter's frosts had finally faded away. I mention this, because the glare from the window meant I could see her expression. From that doubted she saw a thing, let alone something so beautiful made by her own son's two hands.

"You didn't tell me you were leaving," Satar said. We'd beat a retreat to my room, where I spent five minutes pacing, trying to find a way for our parents to see reason, and he'd sat quietly at my desk. This was the first thing he'd said to me in that time.

I shrugged. "It didn't seem important. You were going to have Mason to keep you occupied. By the way, you never told me you planned for him to spend the week here."

"I only thought of it today. I was going to tell you," he claimed, but I didn't believe that. He didn't quite meet my eyes when he said that, so I guessed it was going to be a "surprise." What a joy that would have turned out to be.

"I know you like him, and that the both of you are sluts, but don't you think you could pretend for the rest of us?" I asked. Insight struck me. "I bet that's what set Mom off, too. What are the odds that two of you would even ever leave your bed if you both wound up in the same house for a week?"

Satar's eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed without sound. I rolled my eyes. I'm a good eye roller. "Don't look so shocked, you know that's what you had planned. I guess it didn't occur to you that our parents would figure it out too, and have a problem with it."

"Fuck you, Khayyam. Just, fuck you. You don't have a goddamn fucking clue what you're talking about!" He was on his feet, and looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he just stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"Keep it down you two!" My mom yelled from the kitchen.

I shook my head and kept pacing. I'd figure his outburst out later, once my other plans were in place.

It didn't take me long to realize that I wasn't going to figure it out on my own. That's why, if I'd believed in God, I would have thanked him for gifting me with Marcia. I caught up to her in school, and we staked out an isolated bench to talk.

"Oh, so you're parents pulled the same 'We don't know you anymore' crap too?" She asked, once I told her how my asking for money went. "My mom tried that, but once I fell off my chair laughing at the idea, she gave up. I don't think it was her idea in the first place; it sounded like something your mom cooked up."

I nodded. That was how things worked. Our moms were sisters, but my mom was older than hers by six years. Neither of them were young children anymore, but doing whatever my mom suggested was practically a spinal reflex for Aunt Lynn. "I'm guessing once you point out to her that you were the one that ran the house and made sure all the bills were paid on time, the idea that she couldn't trust you seemed a bit silly?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much how it went down," Marcia said. "Parents, and anyone else for that matter, only have as much power as you let them have. If you are willing to take the consequences, they really have no means of controlling you, you know."

See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Marcia might live in her own little world most of the time, but she comes down to Earth just often enough to have a great insight or two before she headed back into orbit. "Do you think that would work?" I asked.

"That was my original plan for our road trip, if you remember," she pointed out.

I sat back against the bench, pondering this. I couldn't make things worse for myself, could I? "Let's do it."

"Good." We talked a little, going over what this change meant for our plans, but really not much did change. We'd be staying with one of her friends instead of in a hotel, but that might be for the best, anyways, and that was largely it. "I have one more question. Just something I've been wondering."

"What?" I asked.

"Is it really so bad between you and Mason that you have to run away?"

I grimaced. "It isn't Mason, really. I just don't want to see him and Satar get all gooey about each other. I have limits, you know."

"I know. But this is the first time I've seen you jealous. It's strange on you, Khay." I didn't know how to respond, and the first warning bell chimed out before I could. "Well, see you later. We have lots to do before Saturday, so you'd better get started. Later."

She walked off, and was out of view before I managed to vocalize my denial. "I am not jealous of anybody," I told the air, as I got up to head for class myself. I wondered, as I walked, just who my cousin thought I was jealous of, and why.

I also wondered how every member of my family managed to get whacked around by the crazy-stick at the same time.

Fridaynight, Satar walked into my room, where I was discreetly packing a week's worth of clothes. I was trying not to think of the song "Runaway Love," where they say they're going to runaway and never come back. I hadn't quite reached that level yet. In fact, I knew I was in the wrong, and I spent the odd moment wondering what shape the inevitable punishment would take. But for all that they are my parent's, I could not allow them to dictate my life.

Anyways, Satar. "So you're leaving anyways?"

"Yes," I said, stopping to meet eyes with him. "I am."

He shook his head and said, "Idiot. Why do you have to go so bad? After all the effort I made for you, you have to go ahead and ruin it."

"What are you talking about?"

"If, after everything that happened last winter, you still have to ask that question, you are an even bigger idiot than I thought. Why don't you stop reacting for once, and think about why you want to get out of town so badly," Satar said. Naturally, he left my room in a huff.

I wanted to be mad at him, for dropping cryptic lines and backing away before I could find out what he meant, but it was hard. This was the first time we'd spoken in days. It was the first time I thought he might forgive me. That was the only thing I could think of.

I consideredsneaking out, and gave it up as useless. It wasn't like my parents wouldn't know within hours exactly what had happened, and sneaking out would be admitting I was guilty. I was not ready to admit anything.

As it happened, my father left that morning, early, for some academic conference in Berkeley and would not be back until dinner. So it was only my mother, sitting at the kitchen counter with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand, who witnessed me taking my pair of bags from my room to the front door. She didn't yell, sputter questions she already knew the answers to or try to extract promises she knew I wouldn't keep. She just sat, watching and sipping from her position of strength.

"Do I even need to remind you I said you couldn't go?" she asked. Her tone was resigned, but there was something else to it that I couldn't quite identify yet.

I replied in an equally resigned tone, "No, you don't."

We stared each other down for a silent minute, me loaded down with my luggage, her with her coffee rapidly cooling, both waiting for the other one to blink. It then dawned on me what was in her tone before: defiant guilt. I wasn't the only one not ready and not willing to back down. So I said to her, "It isn't too late to give your permission."

"I know. Just like you know it isn't too late to put your bags down and pour yourself a cup," she said. I don't know why I expected her to smile, but she didn't. I replied back that I knew, and we returned to our silence.

"Do I have your permission to go?" I finally asked.

The edges of her eyes tightened, the tips of her lips curled down. And then the brief kiss of a scowl vanished. "No, you don't," her resignation said.

I nodded. "Then I don't think there is anything left to say."

"Just two things. Be safe, and I'll see you when you get back."

"And 'until then, goodbye,'" I told her, as I walked out the front door.

Sinceit was Saturday, and the first day of my vacation, I talked Marcia out of her "at-the-crack-of-dawn" idea. She didn't fight me too hard, and as I waited for her to show up the sun was already arcing up past the trees. Dawn is interesting in the forest, especially with a mountain range to the east. Day doesn't break; it arrives in steps, lighting the sky before filling the spaces between the trees with cool light that doesn't cast shadows. It's full morning before the first rays are seen. It was just bright enough to dazzle when Satar walked up to me from where he had been clearing a new patch of ground for his garden.

Satarand I sat down on the edge of the deck. I was waiting for Marcia to show, I think he was waiting for me to crack first. But then he said, "Fair warning: I'm going to say I told you so."

"Excuse me," I asked.

He ignored me. "And I'm not going to just accept your apology. If you had half the brains you think you have, and been willing to use your own eyes and heart, this whole misunderstanding wouldn't have happened. It's all your fault, really."

I smiled. "Listen to my heart?" I said, sarcasm dripping. "This from you, the ultimate stud? Are you some wanna-be Romeo, promising to die in his lap? Love has tamed you."

"I'm not in love. And I always wanted to be Romeo, but not with Mason. He isn't in love with me, by the way. Like I said, if you had thought about it for two seconds instead of just assuming whatever meant you didn't have to risk yourself again, you'd have known that from the start."

"No, I don't believe you," I said.

"This is why I didn’t bother trying to correct you. The only reason I'm saying it now is because I'm about to be proved right." He checked the small watch he kept on his belt loop, because on his wrist would have left a tan line. "Any minute now, in fact."

"We'll see."

"Yes, you will." The minutes passed. I knew Marcia was due soon; she'd called saying exactly that, so I was certain my rescue would arrive before Satar's promise.

After that morning, I swore to never underestimate him again. Because Marcia did arrive. And in the exact same way that Satar had trapped me into speaking with him bare months earlier, Mason once again walked out the passenger door.

I had stood as soon as I heard Marcia's car coming up the road, but I whirled around, showing my brother what must have been a fascinating mixture of terror, shock, and disbelief. He looked fascinated, at least. "Told you so," he said. I'm not even now sure what he meant by that.

My cry of vengeance was stopped before it left my mouth by Marcia calling out to us, "Is there coffee up? I need coffee. Damn did it hurt to get up early enough to fetch the boy."

"You volunteered," Satar said.

She snorted. "Yeah right. ’Marcia, if you were really my favorite cousin, you'd go get Mason for me.' That sounds voluntary to me." She'd reached the porch by this time, and smacked my head with her hand as she came into range. "If you'd gotten your head out of your ass in time, you could have gotten him yourself, but oh no, not you Khay." She might have said more, but the smell of my mother's coffee hit her then, and she kept on walking inside.

Satar said, "Hey Mason," as he leaned down to pick up my things. "I'll just put these back in your room for now, then. You two play nice. Do everything I'd do."

"But we're leaving..." I started, before he cut me off there.

"Keep up Khay. You aren't going anywhere. Los Angeles will still be there tomorrow, if you even want to go tomorrow. For today, you have more important thing to do. Hint, hint." He also left, and I was left alone outside with Mason.

"Hey stranger," he said. He had moved towards me as the others spoke, just enough that he didn't have to raise his voice to talk and no closer. His uncertainty was almost hidden, but for that position.

"Do you know what just happened?" I asked, not really meaning it, since it was obvious my two closest and most trusted family members had plotted against me. Or for me, from their point of view, but whatever.

"I know bits," he confessed, "but Satar didn't want to get my hopes up, in case it fell through. Your parents’ almost ruined his plans, I gathered." A step forward, the slightest turned corner of his lips. "From what Marcia said, when you decided to rebel, Satar decided to find a way to top you. He said you weren't going to make him be the good son."

"Damn straight," Satar said, from behind me. We looked. My cousin and my brother were there, standing at the window closest, suddenly finding the floor an object of great interest. I chuckled a little. When I turned back, I moved a little away, and saw Mason had again moved closer. My lingering smile invited him to friendship distance, and I was bold enough to touch his arm.

"It sounds like some story," I said.

He nodded. "It is, but not one I can tell all that well."

"I guess I'll have to get the rest from them, then."

"Yes," he said. He touched me back. "I know other stories though, about college, and other things. It's some place there, Los Angeles. I could tell you about it."

"I'd like that," I said, before my second thoughts caught up with me. They came an instant later, when I wondered: where'd my anger go? Why was I no longer desperate to escape this moment? How long he'd had that haircut, which really set off his face in the best possible way?

Why, when he pulled me into a hug saying that he missed me, I melted into him? After that though, I stopped thinking. "I missed you too. I didn't even notice until now how much."

Author’s Note: Thanks to Lucy and Jesse for their insight and encouragement along the way. To see the first appearances of these characters, click here.

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