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Around seven o'clock, the sun sank. After a brief introduction ("This is Roger, my roommate. Roger, these are my grandparents, Rachel and Joshua Cohen.") and a slew of complaints concerning the timing of the trains and the rudeness of the people on them, the family sat around the table. A small paperback book with a shining cover had been placed at eight of ten plates; Cindy's sons were not given books.
Roger leaned nearer to Mark and whispered, "What are these? I thought a seder was a dinner."
"It is," Mark replied. "But first we read from the Haggadah. It basically tells the story of Passover and why we're celebrating tonight."
Roger nodded. "Oh." He did not understand. "So we just read our haggadahs for a while?"
Had the situation been less severe, Mark might have laughed. As it was, he only felt a slight ease in the tension of sitting around the table with his ancient, Orthodox grandparents and his male lover. "They're read aloud. And it's haggadote, not haggadahs."
"Okay."
Across the table, Lea tugged on Cindy's sleeve. "Mommy, I don't feel good," she complained.
Cindy kissed her daughter's forehead. "Then maybe you shouldn't have been eating chocolate all day. Come on, you're just excited. It's Passover. Oh, David, no!" She hurriedly removed her son's hand from a plate of wide crackers.
"But I'm hungry!" David whined.
"Sweetheart, seder first. Behave!"
Again Roger leaned over and whispered, hot breath tickling Mark's ear, "Why the crackers?"
And once again, had the situation been less solemn, Mark might have laughed at his friend's naivete. "Those are matzot," he said. "It's unleavened bread, which is all I'm allowed for a week."
"Why?" Roger wondered. "Sounds like Lent."
Mark's defenses broke. Though Roger had no way of knowing this, he was asking questions included almost word-for-word in the Haggadah--except, of course, for the comment about Lent. Mark smiled; Cindy was not the only person to notice the sparkle in her brother's eyes. Mark leaned over and whispered, "Baby, just wait, okay?"
Patience had never his strong suit, but Roger nodded. "Okay," he said, and gave Mark's hand a quick squeeze under the table. Mark grinned. He liked being near Roger, being touched by him. This dinner served to remind him of that.
"The sun is now hidden, and the full moon is rising," Samuel read, beginning the seder. Roger instinctively glanced over his shoulder; the moon was full. As Samuel continued his reading, he explained that the seder told the story of slavery in Egypt in biblical times, but it was no fairy tale. It was a true story. It would be read in present tense, in first person plural, to "help is happen tonight to each of us." At this point he glared at Roger, who set his jaw and sat up a little straighter.
Together, the Cohens recited a blessing as Lily lit two white candles in stout blue holders. Roger stumbled through the Hebrew, following along in his haggadah, painfully aware of Rachel's eyes on him. He lowered his gaze, aware only of the book in his hands.
After he had struggled through half the blessing and the Jews, even five-year-old Ethan and David, recited it in its entirety, Joshua touched Roger's hand. His skin was cool and smooth as wax. "It's 'Elohaynu', son," he said. "Just for the next time." And he gave Roger an encouraging smile.
The uncomfortable heat drained from Roger's body. "Thank you," he said.
"May each of us help kindle flames of hope and freedom," Lily recited. It was not her son's part to echo, "Hope and freedom," but the words moved his heart. Another blessing was read, then one for wine, both essentially thanking G-d for the item in question.
Roger squirmed. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he asked Mark quietly, "Can I leave for the bathroom?" The air of ceremony around the table was thick, and Roger felt it almost a sin to break it.
"Wait for the afikohmen," Mark told him.
Roger had no idea what an afikhomen was, but he nodded, trusting Mark.
"Help me with the next piece, buddy," Samuel said. Mark looked up, realized what had been asked of him, and fetched a bowl of water from the kitchen. He carried the bowl around the table, giving each member of the seder a chance to rinse his or her hands. Cindy smiled at him as he paused beside her, then quickly reprimanded her sons, who were flicking droplets of water at one another.
"According to ancient custom, we wash our hands, but no blessing is recited," Samuel read in his thick New England accent. Roger had noticed the same accent on Rachel and Joshua's words, but thought better of asking them from where they hailed. Beyond niceties, he said nothing. This was a beautiful thing, a holy night. Roger sensed that. He was not going to ruin it.
"Washing our hands is a way of showing that we hope to purify our hearts," Samuel read. He glanced at Mark and emphasized the last three words. Mark raised his eyes to meet his father's gaze. Across the table, they glared, neither showing hatred or anger, only resolve. For a long moment they looked at one another steadily, then Joshua patted Mark's arm and Samuel gave a little nod as though saying, okay, Mark. Enough now.
"It is also a way of feeling clean and ready to take part in our seder."
Mark offered the bowl to Roger last. By then, after watching the Jewish adults, Roger knew what to do. He meant to imitate them, but he had to raise his eyes. He had to glance at Mark. What he saw made his heart kick. Mark looked the same, yet completely different. He was well dressed; Roger had noticed this earlier. He had not seen such determination in Mark's face. He had not seen that the blue of his eyes seemed a veil reflecting pain and tears.
Perhaps it was the way Mark's glasses shone in the candlelight or the shadows dancing in the hollows of his cheeks. Something made Roger melt. Something made him realize, I love you. And before he could help himself, his mouth formed the words, silently, privately. Because fuck 'em, Mark needed to know.
---
Roger splashed cold water on his face and scrubbed. "Uhh…"
What was wrong with him? No one had commented, if they noticed his little message to Mark. Nevertheless, Roger felt like a fool. He had promised Mark, given his word, then gone and broken it before even the story began. What an idiot! After Mark worked so hard to extract the promise, too.
"We need to talk."
Roger looked up. Mark had returned from his father's room and was practically trembling, but standing with an appearance of false certainty. "What is it?" Roger asked.
Mark told him, "Tonight, I'm going to introduce you to my grandparents as a friend."
Immediately, Roger exploded, "What? I thought you wanted them to meet me, me, and to tell them the truth about yourself."
"Well…" Mark shrugged. He did want his family to know the truth. It felt like such a lie, that little thing, his homosexuality. Every time he spoke to Grandma Rachel, his stomach twisted as she eventually began her offers to set him up with one of the many nice Jewish girls whose grandmas she knew. "I mean, maybe if they can get to know you as my friend first… And it won't be strange. We were friends. We'll just act like friends, just not use pet names or touch, and it'll be fine."
"That's ridiculous," Roger said. "That's a lie."
"Not… exactly. I mean… Roger, it won't be easy for them. You're… I mean, you're nice and you're great, but you're a goy. That alone…"
When Roger gave his response, it was measured and calm. He gripped his arms tightly, hugging himself. "You're ashamed of me?"
"No!" Mark replied hastily. "No, Roger, I'm not. I just… they don't think homosexuality is okay. And I really want this night to go well. If they like you, they might be able to accept you as my lover."
"Well, what if they don't?" Roger asked. "What if it isn't okay to them that you and I are sleeping together? Do we stop being 'us'? Do you think we can still be friends, time will turn back?"
Mark shook his head. "I wouldn't leave you," he said. "You know that--"
"I thought I did. But now you're ashamed of me. You're keeping me in your closet, releasing me bit by bit, just as much as is okay to your family. Like they control your life. They'll never approve," he concluded, shaking his head. His voice was heavy and sad.
Mark sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around Roger. Though Roger said nothing, Mark knew he felt better for the hug. "I would never leave you," he said. "I just want, if it's at all possible, for my family to approve. It's important to me… they're important to me. Please, Roger, do this for me. Knowing that no matter what happens, I'll stick by you."
He had no choice but to agree.
Roger opened the door and was immediately shoved aside by a child. Before he could snap, or at the least object to the rudeness, she had lifted the toilet seat and begun vomiting. Roger knelt beside her and pulled back her hair. He rubbed her back with his free hand as she was sick.
Lea was apparently finished after the third time. She looked up at Roger with big eyes standing out from her sallow face. Sweat soaked her hair, dregs of puke clung to her lips, and the color was drained from her face, making her appear much older than her seven years. "Thank you," she croaked, then burst into tears.
"Lea!" Cindy appeared in the doorway. "Honey, I'm sorry," she said, kneeling beside her child. She pulled a stream of toilet paper and clean Lea's face as Roger ran water from the tap into a plastic cup.
"Here." He offered the cup awkwardly to Cindy. With a nod she took it and gave the cup to Lea, who rinsed her mouth out and spat into the toilet, then flushed her vomit.
"Bedtime," she told her mother, who nodded. "Okay." Lea left the room. Cindy followed, leaving Roger alone, mystified. He had never been skilled with children. Drunken vomiting, however, was nothing new to him. He had held the hair of more than his share of groupies. Yes, puking ladies were his specialty.
Roger laughed, inopportunely amused, washed his hands once more, and was leaving the bathroom when Cindy joined him. "Hey," she said.
Heat splashed. "Hi," Roger replied, suddenly aware that the two of them were completely alone.
"Thank you for taking care of her."
Roger shrugged. "It's nothing."
"It meant a lot," Cindy countered. She touched his arm, let her palm come to rest just above his elbow. "I'm divorced, Roger," she confided. "Having a man around means a lot to Lea. And to me."
Roger pulled away. This wasn't right. He was Mark's boy. "You have your father and your brother," he muttered.
"Family," Cindy retorted. "Even my children feel the difference with a man who chooses to help."
She reached again for Roger, and again her stepped back. "You don't need any man," he said.
"This is about desire."
Roger's throat constricted, chafing in its dryness. This was wrong. He knew beyond any doubt the wrongness of the situation. Cindy wanted attention from anyone. Even had he not been taken, he would have rejected her. She had no real feelings for him, only missed… who knew what? Perhaps sex, perhaps comfort, perhaps having someone to lie beside at night.
"We should get back to the seder," he said, and hurried back downstairs.
TO BE CONTINUED!