Jilted

by Lilah Suzanne

  The irony of Link potentially ending up in Chicago after Carter left that area to be here is not lost on Carter. He could go back easily enough; there isn’t much tying him to New Orleans. He probably won’t. Carter didn’t come here for Link, not on purpose, and he shouldn’t leave for Link, either. Is this their story, then, he and Link? A series of endings?

  “I could wait for you,” Carter offers. It sounds like a question. Link shakes their head.

  “I watched her wait. Danielle. Like she had to put her life on permanent hold until my father was ready, and he never was. I swore I wouldn’t be like that but—” Link shrugs. “Here we are. Relationships and family were just never the priority.”

  Carter rolls his head to one side. “Because Chumbawumba was?”

  A wide smile breaks across Link’s face. “Because Chumbawumba was. Yep.” Link reaches over and taps Carter’s knee. “For the record, I’d rather not go.”

  “Okay,” Carter says. He believes it. It still hurts.

  “And, Carter, you are… so sweet and smart and funny and interesting and sincere.” Link smiles at him, though their eyes are sad. “You deserve a solid foundation and a full life with someone who has their shit figured out. I don’t want you to wait around for me, okay?”

  Carter nods at the ground. “Sure.”

  “Carter.” Link squeezes his knee. “Please?”

  Carter has to count seventy-three patio tiles before he can push his feelings away and speak. “Okay,” he says. “I won’t.”

  Danielle chooses that moment to push the sliding glass door open. “Oh, Carter! Have you ever tried cupping? Because I would love to see if we can get your qi flowing!”

  Carter doesn’t want to stick around and find out what that is. “I should, um.” He stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have so much to do on my house still.”

  “Carter is fixing up an old house over near Lakewood,” Link says, voice lilting in a fake-cheery way. “It’s something he’s wanted to do for a long time.”

  Of course Link remembers the conversation at the diner about Carter’s dream of fixing up an old house, and of course, Link is looking at him with admiration and encouragement even now, at another ending. “Yes. It’s a camelback style built in—”

  “I have just the thing!” Danielle snaps her fingers and disappears into the house. Link follows her. Still not knowing what else to do, Carter follows too.

  Danielle roots around in a kitchen cabinet and pulls down clear jars full of green leafy things and green powdery things and brown seed things and colorful dried flowers. Then, from the windowsill, she removes a ceramic jar, pulls the cork stopper, and shakes into it whatever herbs and plants she brought down. “Link made this.” She shakes the ceramic jar; it’s lumpy and misshapen, collapsed a bit in the center.

  “Ceramics are not my forte,” Link says, cringing. “It was a phase, really.”

  “Confused, huh?” Carter says.

  Link smiles. Even now it’s impossible to not be what he and Link have always been: connected, easy. The joyful spark catches in Carter’s chest every time. “I was, yeah. But I’m not anymore, don’t worry.”

  And even now, as always, Carter wants to kiss Link more than he’s ever wanted anything.

  “Okay!” Danielle says, dramatically popping the cork back in the jar. “Unfortunately, I am fresh out of marjoram, but not to worry, I put star anise in there instead.” She hands him the jar, grinning hopefully.

  “Oh,” Carter says. “Um. Thank you.” He looks to Link, who once again just seems amused.

  “It’s for good luck and protection in your new home,” Danielle explains. That’s a relief; Carter was worried he might have to smoke it or perform a ritual of some sort. Danielle places her hands around Carter’s hands on the jar. “Sage, cornflowers, hyssop, lavender, lemongrass, honeysuckle, and Sampson snakeroot, of course.”

  “Of course,” Carter agrees.

  She closes her eyes, and Link does too. As Danielle begins to speak, Link’s lips move. “Cleanse this space; remove the past. You’ll find your happiness at long last. Fill this space with joy and love, sending healing from above.”

  Carter is too mystified to do anything but stare at the jar in stunned silence. Magic spells are as ridiculous as… well, magic spells. Yet somehow, in this kitchen, with Danielle’s sure hands on his, her soothing voice wishing him happiness at long last, with Link’s presence, even with Link leaving, even with Carter agreeing to move on, Carter feels something like peace settle his shoulders and stitch through his heart. Danielle opens the jar and tilts it toward Carter’s nose. He takes a deep breath.

  When Carter gets back home, he places the jar in the center of his dining room table and opens the email he’s been putting off answering.

  To: Regina Marshall-Yu

  From: Carter J. Jacob

  Subject: re: Magnolia Modern Architectural Group - Employment

  Dear Regina,

  After meeting with you in person and carefully reviewing the position offered to me via email, I would like to formally accept the offer as is outlined in the second correspondence email that was sent to me on Monday, May the Fifth. I look forward to starting employment on the first of next month, as was previously discussed in the initial email…

  Carter stops, squints at the email and backspaces. There’s formal and then there’s “I’ll be bringing my perfectly portioned, nutritionally balanced lunch to work in a bento box and leaving at five-thirty sharp with no fraternizing whatsoever,” formal.

  Dear Regina,

  Thank you so much for the opportunity to work at Magnolia Modern. The work your firm does is an inspiring combination of traditional design and modern architectural movements that I would be thrilled to join. I’d like to come by on Monday morning and work out the details of my start date and position, if this works with your schedule. I look forward to working with you and the rest of the firm.

  Best regards,

  Carter J. Jacob

  It’s not his dream job, perhaps, but that was never the shape of his dreams anyway. Carter drifts off to sleep, noticing for the first time how loud the cicadas and crickets are here, and how, if he moves his sleeping bag to the other side of the room, he can sleep beneath the steady glow of the moon.

  Thirty-four

  Carter’s new office is in a newly built home in a newly built neighborhood; the rooms inside are laid out in office suites instead of living spaces. The effect is faux-homey, but Carter appreciates the comfortable design aesthetic they were going for. On his first day, he learns that the initial team-client meetings to suss out exactly what they want in a home are handled by a customer liaison, and that’s his least favorite part of the job passed right along to someone else. On his second day, Carter is carefully looking over his HR packet near quitting time when another production architect stops by his office.

  “Hey, man, a bunch of us in the office get dinner together on Tuesdays; you in?”

  Carter struggles to remember his name. He’s been trying to use word association to help him remember people here. Jeremy, that was it. Carter starts to beg off with his usual excuses, the same ones he used in Aurora to keep to himself: he’s not really hungry, he’s fine, actually he’s heading out now, he wouldn’t want to intrude on an established friend group. He’s boring anyway. But he has flooring contractors at his house, and he was planning to eat out tonight; might as well go with other people. He told Link he would.

  “Yeah, that sounds great,” Carter says. Jeremy raps on the door frame twice, then shoots Carter finger guns before leaving. Finger Gun Jeremy, Carter thinks with a smile. He seems okay, otherwise.

  They go to a sports bar: Finger Gun Jeremy, Sara Without an H, Tom from Tulsa, Tall Chris, Short Chris, Pilar who drives a Prius, Too Many Plants in His Office Isaiah, and him. Regular Old Carter. There’s a soccer game on TV, a spo
rt for which Carter sat on the bench enough as a kid to follow along now and make passable sport-related conversation. Pilar asks him how he’s liking New Orleans. Jeremy knows a family from Aurora, so they play the “do you know…” game for a while, and everyone is really interested in his house. He gets to talk about stylistic embellishments verses purely utilitarian facades for historical shotgun houses for quite some time with people who have an opinion on that sort of thing. It’s not the same as Link’s sweetly enamored interest, but it’s nice. Sara gives him the card of a local restoration contractor who specializes in historic dwellings and has helped rebuild the parts of lower New Orleans that were hardest hit by recent flooding.

  “Thanks,” Carter says.

  “Of course.” Sara Without an H is from Wisconsin, it turns out, and came to New Orleans in search of a place with a little more character and a little more warmth, just as he did. “We get together to play pool usually twice a month, too, if you’re interested.” Sara says. He is interested.

  On Friday after his second week at his new job, Carter goes home to glossy, impeccably restored wood floors. The one camping chair in the living room and the other pushed up to the dining table that Link made look particularly sad now, but he promised he’d wait and go furniture shopping with Paige. Except for Tuesdays and Friday night pizza, Carter has been cooking at home, and on Sunday he has a catfish fillet with greens sizzling in a new cast iron pan when he gets a text from Link. It’s the first he’s heard from them since that day at Danielle’s.

  Link: We’re out studio hunting. I saw this and thought of you.

  It’s a photo of a white sign with bold red lettering advertising a real estate company, with little placards hanging below the sign that announce: APARTMENT. COMMERCIAL. HAUNTED.

  Carter leaves his finished dinner to warm on the stove as he quickly texts back: Gimmick

  Link: Such a cynic Carter Jacob

  Carter: Just pragmatic is all

  Link: I know this. It’s adorable. Usually.

  In his kitchen, alone, Carter smiles and writes, Hey I did let Danielle read my aura.

  Link: And did you believe her?

  Carter: No. Well, the part about my raw sexual energy was right on. Oh wow, do you think your mom is into me?

  Link doesn’t text back, and Carter is worried he crossed a line. He plates his dinner and grabs a sparkling water from the new fridge, sits down in the camping chair at the table, and eats his dinner for one. Finally, Link sends another message.

  Link: OMG I was laughing so hard I had to excuse myself from the tour. The realtor probably thinks I’ve lost it.

  Carter: Haha. How is the search going by the way?

  Link: Still haven’t found anything we can afford but Eli is optimistic

  Carter: And you?

  Link: I’ve been in touch with some folks in Seattle. It’s Plan B for now.

  As much as he is trying to build a life for himself, by himself, Carter really doesn’t want Link to go. He still can’t imagine a future that doesn’t involve Link in some way.

  Carter: I don’t think Seattle is haunted at all, just saying

  Link: Are you kidding? That whole city is an eldritch horror unto itself

  Carter: Never been

  Link: Gasp! Well if I end up there you’ll just have to come visit right away :)

  It sets Carter at ease, the notion that perhaps he and Link aren’t different planets orbiting the same sun in lonely, singular paths, never to meet, never to line up quite right. Their paths are connected, he’s sure of it, just in different places along the way.

  Carter: I’d love that

  Link: :)

  After his third Tuesday coworker dinner and first pool night, Jeremy stops by his office as Carter is fiddling with a digital blueprint, cranes around the doorjamb, and aims a quick finger-gun-shot in his direction.

  “Hey, man, you’re gay, right?”

  Carter swallows the instinctive fear-then-irritation response to that question, going with a noncommittal, “Sort of.”

  “Cool, so my cousin is in new in town and he’s gay too. I thought maybe you could show him around?” Jeremy’s ties are always crooked, Carter has realized. He should have remembered him as Crooked Tie Jeremy.

  “Uh. I don’t really—” Carter starts. He’s not looking to date and particularly isn’t looking to be set up by coworkers that he only sort of likes.

  “Just casual!” Jeremy protests. “He’s lonely. Needs a friend. That’s all.”

  Carter’s distracted enough by Jeremy to screw something up in the rendering program, so he scraps the blueprint to start all over. It hasn’t been long at all since Carter was new in town and lonely, even when surrounded by people. “Yeah, okay,” he says. Jeremy finger-guns at him again and leaves. Carter really hopes that is not a family trait.

  Evan turns out to be soft-spoken and polite, with dark hair and blue eyes and nervous hands that never keep still. He doesn’t really like the club scene, Evan says, and tends to keep to himself, reading or going to museums. He ended up in New Orleans on a job transfer a few months ago. “Jeremy says you were transferred here, too?”

  “Not exactly,” Carter says, cutting his steak into very small bites.

  Evan shakes his head. “I hope he wasn’t too annoying when he asked you do this.”

  Carter shrugs. “No more than usual.”

  Evan laughs, then blushes and turns his wine glass around and around, staring at the clear stem as he says softly, “I hope this isn’t too forward, but I think you’re really cute.”

  “Oh.” Carter desperately tries to swallow a gristly bite of steak. “Um. Thanks.”

  He and Link are not in a relationship. They aren’t even in a not-relationship or a fake relationship. Carter should date; he told Link he would. He should be responding to the perfectly nice, good-looking guy who thinks he’s really cute. All he can think about is Link and the way Link calls Carter cute, their voice lilting on the U as their eyelids lower and flutter, how their wide, full mouth curls into a smile.

  Carter awkwardly avoids eye contact with Evan and flags down a waiter. “Two more glasses of wine, please.” And then to Evan, changing the topic, “So, Pensacola! What’s it like? I’ve never been.”

  He cannot imagine that he ever will be.

  Link sends him a message after he gets home and changes into pajamas, when he’s lying in his new bed staring up at the waning moon.

  Heard you were on a date.

  Carter grits his teeth and texts back: Why does Paige feel the need to broadcast my life to the world?

  Link: Because she’s Paige, duh

  Carter: Right. Well, it wasn’t really a date. It wasn’t supposed to be anyway.

  Link: Doesn’t answer my question sweetie

  Carter hesitates, wanting to reply that he would have rather been with Link. He finally replies with a not-untruth: It was fine

  Link: That’s Carter-speak for it was terrible and I was miserable

  Carter: Yeah, well.

  He smiles to himself; Link really has cracked his code. It wasn’t terrible though, just—meh. Minutes pass, and Carter assumes that’s the end of the conversation, so he puts his phone face down on his new nightstand and turns off the new lamp. Carter rolls onto his back again, and the phone lights up with another message.

  Link: Is it unfair of me if I say that I’m glad it didn’t go well?

  Carter doesn’t have to think twice about typing a simple: No.

  Thirty-five

  Evan comes to the next pool night, arriving with Jeremy, and stands by Carter’s side as he racks pool balls. Cues in hand, Short Chris and Tall Chris lean against the other end.

  “Need a partner?” Evan asks, voice quietly hesitating, hands wringing on a cue.

  “Uh,” Carter says. Why is he so bad at this? Has dating
always been this hard, or is he just out of practice? Or is he always like this? Evan is sweet and still likes him for some reason. “Yeah,” Carter says. “I do need a partner, actually.”

  Chris and Chris make a good team; Carter knows from experience. He beat them once, with Sara, and that’s only because Sara is really good and too nice to point out that she could have beaten them without Carter’s help. He and Evan do not make a good team.

  “Eight ball, corner pocket,” Tall Chris calls out, and sinks it.

  “Oh, well,” Evan says. He wraps both hands tightly around his pool cue, then sets his cheek against it to smile up at Carter. “So I really want to check out the botanical gardens here, and I thought we—”

  “You know who would love that?” Carter blurts, backing away with a sudden urge to flee. “Isaiah. He loves plants.” Carter calls Isaiah over and excuses himself to the bathroom. He locks himself in a stall, rubs his hands over his face, and smooths down his hair. Seriously, what is wrong with him? Evan is—Evan is really—

  Evan is not Link.

  He is supposed to be working on not being hung up on Link, not looking to them for guidance, not waiting around. He has to make his own way, he knows that. If only he could stop thinking about Link constantly. And the hardest part is that it’s different from when things were over with Matthew. That was lingering resentment and the fear of being alone, the fear of never being enough on his own. That’s not what this is at all. Carter just misses Link. Everything is better when Link is around.

  Carter groans, the agonized sound echoes across the bathroom, and he realizes too late that he isn’t alone in here. He hustles out, irritated at himself, and goes back to talk to Evan. He can go to a botanical garden; it’s not as though he’d be promising a lifelong commitment to someone he doesn’t have strong feelings for—again. But when he gets back to the section of the bar where the pool tables are laid out, Evan and Isaiah are still deep in conversation, drinking matching drinks, leaning close together, and laughing. That is not what Carter intended to happen, though it does let him off the hook.