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He hadn’t wanted to try again after that. He figured maybe after college, when people got a bit more mature and weren’t walking around letting their libido make all the decisions for them, he might find someone who understood him. Someone who wanted to take the time to get to know him and the things he liked and what he needed.
He hadn’t considered someone like Caleb: older, seasoned, and for all his flaws, almost desperately attentive.
And now, he couldn’t help feeling the weight of Caleb’s stare. He knew he was being watched out of Caleb’s periphery as they sat in comfortable silence. He just didn’t know what that meant.
The lights flashed and Bodhi started as Caleb jumped up. “Food’s here.”
They’d ordered from the Indian place on campus, which Bodhi found tolerable. Most people assumed it was his food issues, and it was easier letting them assume that than telling people he had been spoiled by his dadi’s cooking in the short time he and Ravi had been allowed to see their paternal grandparents.
He looked up as Caleb offered him a smile and gestured toward the coffee table. “Here okay?”
Bodhi nodded and finally sat, curling his feet under him as he settled his back against the couch. He folded his hands in his lap as Caleb set out all the food, then he pulled his container of chana masala toward him and immediately pulled off the top.
The spices were rich, and he realized he hadn’t eaten much that day from the way his stomach rumbled enough he could feel it with his hand. He tipped rice onto his plate, then poured the chickpeas and gravy over the top before giving it a mix with his fingers.
“Do you want a fork?” Caleb asked.
Bodhi flushed and glanced away for a long second. “Is it okay if I eat like this?”
Caleb looked confused. “You can eat however you want. You’re a grown man. You don’t need to ask for permission.”
Bodhi laughed, and at Caleb’s confused look, he sighed and scooped up a bite before he explained. “I grew up with my mom’s parents. They were really…” He struggled to find the right signs for what he wanted to say. His lexicon was growing every day, but he hadn’t actually sat down to discuss complicated family issues with anyone before. It was easier to keep those things close to his chest.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Caleb offered, his expression softer and kinder than usual.
Bodhi shook his head. “It’s nice. If you don’t mind listening.”
Caleb’s mouth twitched. “Look, I know I messed up today. I scared you, and I’d like to understand why. I can only do that if you let me get to know you.”
Bodhi let out a short, startled breath. Maybe it was foolish, but he hadn’t expected Caleb to pick up on it. He took another bite, then wiped his fingers on a napkin before he pulled apart the foil and tore a piece of the garlic naan. “My parents were never married. My mom lived with her parents, and they hated my dad.”
Caleb’s frown deepened and Bodhi tried to read his expression, but it was more subtle than usual.Peh-peh.
Bodhi nodded, taking a breath. He’d never really talked about this with anyone—not even Ravi who went through it right alongside him. In a way, it was just easier to compartmentalize how it made him feel because there was nothing he could do to change the past.
But it felt odd—in the best way, like a warm hug—that Caleb was asking. That he wanted to understand.
“I was too young to remember it, but they convinced my mom to try for full custody, and my dad didn’t fight. He and his parents were immigrants, and they probably wouldn’t have won.”
Caleb bit down on his lower lip. “Where from?”
“My dad was born in Bangladesh where my grandparents were living, but they moved to San Jose when he was a baby,” Bodhi said. “When my mom met him, I think she was just trying to make her parents angry. They weren’t together very long.” He tapped his fingers on the table in a short rhythm to calm himself down. His body seemed to be reacting to everything stronger than his head was. “I think she actually hated him.”
“I’m sorry.”
Bodhi shrugged. “We saw him once a month until my mom moved to London and left us with our grandparents.”
Caleb’s eyes went wide. “Your mom moved to London and left you behind?”
With a short laugh, Bodhi nodded, then took another bite of naan and sipped water before he swiped his hands on his jeans. “We were five. My grandparents got temporary guardianship. They hated that we were not white, but mostly they hated that we were deaf. They blamed my dad, even though all of his family was hearing too.”
Caleb’s face morphed into something like anger, exactly the way Bodhi expected, and he braced himself for Caleb to lash out. But after a beat, Caleb just took a breath and nodded for him to go on.
“We had speech therapy every day.” Bodhi rubbed at his temple, the memory of the horrible woman who wouldn’t relent no matter how hard he cried, giving him the ghost of a migraine. “If we didn’t speak clearly and they couldn’t understand us…” He trailed off, his fingers refusing to sign the rest.
Maybe that was why he never told the story. The memories made him feel sick to his stomach. All the yelling, and the way his grandfather would hit the wall next to his head to scare him into submission.
“They hurt you.”
