“That’s great,” I said, truly happy for her.
“I think so, too.” She gave a girlish smile. “And if I can find the-pardon the expression-balls to have my cock cut off, darling, I certainly think Tony should be able to come out of the closet for a prize like you.”
For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, I couldn’t help but agree with her.
“Kebbin!” Rafi screamed, in an ear-piercing peal of joy. “You nebber picked me up before!” He flung himself at me, wrapping his arms around my waist and nearly knocking me off my feet.
“Let me guess,” his teacher said, “you two have met before.” She was an uncommonly attractive brunette in her mid-twenties, I’d guess. She had a great body on her, too, which she seemed to be hiding underneath a particularly unflattering and bulky sweater. I wondered how many dads suddenly found themselves uncharacteristically helpful, offering to pick up their kids from her classroom.
Then I thought one of them might be Tony and felt a little queasy.
I shook her hand and introduced myself. The class was seated in a circle in the brightly decorated room. She had been reading them Where the Wild Things Are when I’d walked in. It was a book I’d read to Rafi about a hundred and twenty times myself.
“I’m Max,” he roared, letting go of me to make monster hands and bare his tiny teeth. “Feah my tewwible fuwy!”
“He knows the book by heart,” his teacher, who’d introduced herself as Ms. Sally, said. “That your doing?”
I shuffled my feet. “Guilty as charged.” I loved Max from that book. The kid was a badass.
“It’s wonderful that you read to him,” she said. “You must be a close friend of the family.” She arched her eyebrow at me suggestively. “Very close.”
“I’d like to think so,” I answered, guardedly.
“I’ll tell you what,” Ms. Sally said to Rafi. “Since you are such a good reader, why don’t you finish reading the book to the class while I go talk to Mr. Kevin?”
“Really?” Rafi asked. “Can I, Kebbin?”
“Sure,” I said.
He ran off excitedly to sit in Ms. Sally’s oversized chair and opened the book. “One, two, three,” he commanded the class. “Eyes on me.”
Damned if all the kids didn’t pay attention. Maybe Rafi was going to be a badass, too.
I wish I were. I had no idea why Ms. Sally wanted to talk to me. Had Rafi done something awful? If so, why tell me? Surely, it could wait till a day when Tony or his mother picked him up.
Or, maybe she was interested in Tony and wanted to see if he was available. No, what if they were actually… doing it, and she wanted to warn me away from “her” man?
My queasiness was now full-blown nausea. Stomach churning, I let her take my arm and guide me to a quiet corner of the room.
Ms. Sally sat with me on two kid-sized chairs. The seat actually wasn’t that small for me, but she was a few inchers taller. Most adults her size would look ridiculous on the tiny perch, but she sat with the straight back and perfect grace of a ballerina. I hated her already.
“Kebbin,” she began.
“It’s ‘Kevin,’ ” I said.
One of her hands flew to her mouth, getting the message to cover her embarrassing gaffe a few moments too late. “Oh my god, I knew that. I’m sorry, Keb-Kevin! I swear, you spend enough time around these kids and you start to talk like them.” She blushed between spread fingers.
Okay, maybe I didn’t hate her so much. Let’s see what she had to say.
“Do you mind if I’m direct?” she asked.
“I’d appreciate it,” I said, thinking that seemed like a very grown-up thing to say.
“Three days ago, Rafi asked me if I knew what a ‘faggot’ was.”
My nausea was replaced by a ball of ice in my stomach. “What did.. how did that come up?”
She placed her hands on her knees, forcing herself even more erect. “He said that he heard his mother use the word when on the phone with one of her friends. According to Rafi, he heard her mention ‘Tony and that faggot he’s living with.’ Rafi said she sounded mean and scary.”
The thought of Rafi hearing such ugliness, and being hurt by it, broke my heart. Not to mention that I, however blamelessly, was somehow linked to it. I blinked back a tear.
“I don’t know who she was talking about,” Ms. Sally said, with kindness if not truthfulness, “but…”
“I’d be the ‘faggot’ in question,” I said, sparing her the discomfort. She grinned widely. I had the feeling she was probably pretty cool. “What did you say?”
“I asked him what he thought the word meant. He thought for a moment and I knew he was trying to reconcile what he’d overheard with what he’s observed and known to be true. Finally, he said, “I think it must mean ‘bestest friend.’ Because I know my daddy lives with his bestest friend, and that he loves him very much.’ ”
I was doing a lot of blinking now. I didn’t trust myself to say a thing.
“I told him I bet you were his dad’s best friend, but that ‘faggot’ wasn’t a polite word to use. Rafi said he could tell it was a ‘bad’ word from how his mom said it. He said it was the same tone she used when he took a cookie without asking.
“He’s a smart kid, you know. You could tell he was really thinking about what I’d said. Finally, he asked, ‘But why would my mom think it’s bad for my dad to have a special friend? Doesn’t she want him to be happy?’ ”
I didn’t envy Ms. Sally for having to come up with a diplomatic, kid-friendly answer to that question. The only one I could think of was “Because your mom’s a miserable bitch.” That fit neither criteria.
“What did you say?”
Ms. Sally gave a wry smile. “To be truthful, I punted. I told Rafi that it wouldn’t be fair for me to guess what his mom was feeling and that he should ask her.”
“That seems fair. I think you did a great job,” I said.
“I mentioned it to his mom when she picked him up that night.” She darted her eyes guiltily to the ground.
“Annndd…” I prompted.
“Annndd…” she mimicked me, “I really shouldn’t say any more.”
“I’ll bring you chocolate,” I offered.
“It’s an ethical thing,” she said. “Confidentiality.”
But she wouldn’t have mentioned it if she didn’t want to tell me. “Hand to god,” I said, raising my right palm. “I won’t tell a soul. But it would be helpful-to Rafi-if I knew what he was dealing with.”
“Can I have your word and the chocolate?”
“I’ll throw in a doughnut.”
Ms. Sally let out a long sigh. “She said ‘I suppose it’s just as well. Better he hear about his father from me than on the playground. ’ ”
“Ouch. Now, I’m totally withdrawing that Mother of the Year nomination I’d submitted for her.”
“So is it true? Are you and Mr. Rinaldi… more than roommates?” Her eyes glittered with the zeal of someone excited to hear some especially juicy gossip.
I didn’t know if Tony would want me to answer that question truthfully. Actually, that’s a lie. I knew he wouldn’t.
But, fuck it. He was the one in the closet, not me.
“Yeah,” I said, “we’re lovers. But Tony’s not entirely comfortable with it. I’m the first-well, the only guy he’s ever been with. So, please, don’t say anything to him about it.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Mr. Rinaldi is always very nice, and I can see he’s a terrific father, but I’m no idiot. That’s a man who could intimidate a Tyrannosaurus rex and he carries a gun. I want to live.”
I laughed. “I really appreciate your sharing all this with me,” I told her. “I’ll talk to Tony. He hasn’t been open with Rafi about our relationship. I don’t think the secrecy is doing anyone any good.”
“I’ve spent most of my waking hours with kids for a few years now,” Ms. Sally said. “The thing about keeping secrets from them is that it doesn’t work. Most parents who think their children don’t know what’s really going on are deluding themselves. Even if it happens behind closed doors, kids have a way of knowing the truth.
