Love in Real Life

by Seth King

  Soon we got to that fuzzy, Netflix-y stage where both of us were falling asleep but neither of us knew what to do about it. I started reaching for my things, getting ready to slip out and leave him undisturbed. Just as I clutched my bag, though, I felt an arm tighten around me.

  “You’re sleeping over, right?” he asked in a half-asleep voice, so hopeful it made me want to cry. The way he’d asked it – like it was just a given that I’d be staying – was mind-blowing. In all the years I’d been alive, nobody had ever asked me to stay – for anything.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, creeping backwards and snuggling up against him. “Yeah. I’m staying.”

  He smiled, closed his eyes, and fell back asleep immediately as I made myself comfortable.

  This was the first time I could remember where I did not dream about my mother at least once during the night.

  STOP SEVEN: LISA’S BOOK PLACE

  ORANGE PARK, FL

  “Look at your phone,” George said as we walked up. It was a bright, humid, stifling morning, and I was totally distracted by my annoyance at how I’d worn jeans when I should’ve worn my favorite slutty shorts.

  “Okay. I am now. And?”

  “Does the date mean nothing to you?”

  “…Not really?” I asked,

  “We met exactly thirty days ago today,” he sighed, and my entire face went numb. His eyes looked like a piano sounded, and his voice was like rain on a Sunday morning.

  “You just did it,” I whispered as I looked away, lost in this quiet state of awe.

  “Did what?”

  “Did that thing I warned you about. Bumped my books into the number two spot in my mind.”

  He smiled.

  “But don’t get too comfortable, though – there’s a Rainbow Rowell coming out soon that I suspect may give you a major run for your money.”

  “What if I wear that shirt you love tomorrow?” he asked soon, and in that moment I realized he was my best friend. “The one with all the buttons?”

  “We’ll see.”

  ~

  After the bookstore visit that day, George said he wanted to go swimming in the ocean in a deserted stretch of sand he knew about, so we stopped by my house so I could change first. But as soon as we got inside, the light outside changed, and some clouds slid in. We tried to wait it out, but the trees started swaying and bending and the air started to smell like wet dirt. We were trapped in a famous Florida monsoon.

  The skies finally opened up against the roof, filling my living room with the fuzzy roar of a summer storm. It made me tired immediately, as summer storms were designed to do, and he yawned a little. We locked eyes, hazel on hazel. Our plans were screwed, and it was just us now, on my cozy grey couch. What now?

  I grabbed my dad’s fluffy blanket and snuggled against the body pillow, and George scooted closer to me. My breathing slowed down, then became erratic. He took out his phone and opened his Kindle app, and I took out my actual Kindle and opened a book, too. For a minute I wanted to apologize that we couldn’t go out and do some exciting typically date-ish activity, like beach walking or go-cart riding or put putting, but then I remembered I didn’t have to. He wouldn’t even want to, anyway. George wasn’t a typical guy – he was a bookworm, too. He enjoyed this quiet heaven just as much as I did.

  So I took matters into my own hands. As we lounged there, George with his eyes closed, I took a deep breath and took off my shirt. I cleared my throat to make him notice, and he looked over. I thought I heard him gulp.

  “Hey,” he said. “You’re missing something.”

  “My shirt?” I asked. “I think I’ll be okay.”

  “Is that right?” he asked, scooting forward. Goosebumps bloomed on my arms. “Do you read erotica?” he said, his voice low. I nodded, and he smiled. “So, then…has anyone in the novels ever done…this?”

  His hand migrated to my chest, warm and smooth, and I held my breath. He played around a little and then started teasing my nipple, which I could already feel was hard. I shook my head and moaned. I could tell this was difficult for him, touching me, as it was every time, and he was a bit nervous. I took a breath and gave him all the time he needed.

  “Has anyone in the novels ever done…this?” he asked, starting to rub my nipple now. My back arched, and I sighed a little. As I watched, he leaned forward and his tongue made contact with my skin, and I inhaled and cried out as it circled around and around and around. I was so hard I couldn’t hide it, and the tip had emerged from my belt line. (Those things are notoriously hard to conceal.) And slowly he started to take me away to bliss…

  But no. Then the bad memories came back, the images of what had happened that night, the night that stained my soul. So I straightened my body and pulled his head away.

  “Stop, I said. “Please. I want to wait.”

  “What?”

  Think of a lie, a voice said. “It’s just…I did stuff way too quickly with my ex, or whatever he was, and it ruined everything. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said as he sat up and we re-oriented ourselves a little awkwardly. And just like that, I ruined the moment. As usual.

  When we were normal again he reached over and kissed me on the head, and I saw the hairs on my arms stand at attention.

  And then we just read, my mind reeling with the knowledge that the book gods had smiled upon me and blessed me with the truly unthinkable: a guy who maybe loved books more than he loved sex.

  But I was still me, and the Teddy I’d been the past few weeks with George – I didn’t recognize him. I was happy and funny and lighthearted, and barely read any books at all. Everything else in my life, I’d ruined and messed up and walked away from. How long did I have before I started acting like…well, me again?

  George Charles

  As Teddy fell asleep against my leg, I realized something both heartwarming and creepy: you can never tell how deeply you feel for someone until you watch them sleep.

  He was so cute. He was so peaceful. He was so pure and kind and all the other Good Things you wanted from a partner, in life and crime and everything else. His blonde-ish hair was perfectly blonde-ish, and the curl of his eyelashes was like an angel had descended with one of the curling things my mom used.

  He was also sort of healing me, softly and carefully. I know that sounded crazy, but…seriously. He was. He was helping my anxieties so much I wasn’t even noticing them sometimes. I’d never been accepted by someone so wholly before. The thing was, he shined so much, it canceled out some of my darkness. Not all of it, obviously, but he definitely contributed to the new lightness of my being.

  Because being adored made me brave. When we were together everything felt muted but happy at the same time, and my mind didn’t race with panic and swirl with dread like it did any other day. He shared his shine with me, and I was braver because he was beside me. I didn’t even know how to really describe him: having him around was like being around a second version of myself. Just hotter. How could I be anxious walking into a room when there were two Georges, side by side?

  Sure, I still had episodes. I would never be magically normal, but Teddy didn’t even care about that. Neither of us cared about normal, anyway. Basically the impossible had happened: I’d found someone I liked being around as much as I liked being alone. And if that wasn’t a socially-anxious introvert’s dream, what was?

  There was just one problem: I was moving away in one month, and there was nothing at all I could do about it.

  THE GREAT CHARLES/MARTIN BOOKSTORE TOUR

  STOPS: EIGHT-TO-WHATEVER

  Teddy Martin

  One day George came to the Bookworm to get me and truthfully, all I wanted to do was sit around and talk about this essay collection was reading. I was starting to feel bad about the whole tour thing: we were two able-bodied teens, and here I was, trapping him in bookstores for a Florida summer. Florida could be so beautiful when it wanted it to be, after all, with long scorching days and windy evenings with pas
tel light shows over the ocean.

  But when I said something on the way to that day’s store, he was nonplussed.

  “Seriously,” I said, “I feel like I’m holding us back with my nerdiness. Go to a party, go to the beach, go to…wherever it is that people go. I don’t want to ruin your summer because all I do is read.”

  “You’re not ruining it,” he smiled. “I am totally fine with this. Books are life. Now sit back and finish that book so you can give me your opinion at the end.”

  “For real?”

  “For real. I would be happy to have a bookish summer with you.”

  So as the summer barreled on, we eventually visited all the bookstores within a fifty-mile radius, then a hundred miles. Then we ran out and just started visiting the same ones again. The frequent company of another booklover wasn’t just a breath of fresh air, it was a tornado in the height of spring. I wasn’t really impressed with any of the stores, but I did shamelessly steal a few ideas I came across, like how one store asked people to tag them on social media in exchange for a ten percent discount. Mostly I was just happy to be around George. I was growing addicted, actually.

  I was starting to learn more little things about him, like how he hated driving at night because he was scared, and how he only ate meat on weekends, and how he didn’t step on the cracks of sidewalks because his grandmother had told him it was bad luck. I was also starting to notice that every moment around him felt like sinking into warm water, and that every second without him made a sweet sort of sorrow wash over me. I didn’t know what was happening, exactly, but I knew I liked it. Sometimes we argued like brothers, but usually we got along like two people who were stuck inside the same skin.

  That weekend George formally met my dad, which scared me shitless. George was terrified, too. I had a boring community event at the Bookworm, and when it started getting late I hinted to George that he should leave and go find something better to do.

  “But why should I go somewhere else?” he asked, wrapping an arm around me. “You won’t be there.”

  “But…so will my father. And you haven’t officially met yet, besides the Bookworm encounters.”

  He glanced at his phone, checking the time, but he didn’t leave. He stayed. “Teddy. Stop. I would love to hang out with your dad. You said he’s cool with the gay thing, right?”

  “Never an issue. He is very discerning about who I hang out with, though. Even if he seems playful.”

  “I got it covered. Don’t worry.”

  So he stayed and had cocktails and hors d’oeuvres under a canopy of sparkling lights in the courtyard while some mayoral candidate gave a speech about something-or-other. I had a weird fantastical vision of George being perfectly charming and courtly with my dad, but if anything he was…shy. Scared, almost. He hadn’t made too much progress in that area, it seemed. He was barely getting in a word, and soon I was starting to worry, too.

  “What’s the deal?” I asked after we finally escaped. “You’re confusing me. I thought you were getting better. I thought we both were.”

  “I’m nervous!” he said, wiping his neck. “Duh! He’s not anyone’s dad, he’s your dad, and I’m trying to impress him! What’s confusing about that?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh…”

  Afterward, we made out on my upstairs porch as the wind chimes sang. Once the yard was fully empty, he went below the belt, and before we could get to sex I realized I was moaning so loud, someone might hear. So I took my hand and finished him off, using a towel from the hall bathroom to clean up. We’d done these things quite a bit now, but we’d gotten nowhere near the big shebang – and I don’t think I wanted to. Every time he tried, I would close my legs and ask him to please stop. He was always respectful, but he was also a guy, and I knew this wouldn’t last forever before he got bored with me…

  On Sunday I met George’s aunt, Patty Ann, whom he said was like his second mom. We have to take precautions when being exposed to people – certain people will just hate you for no reason at all, because of what you are – but she didn’t seem to care about the gay thing. What she didn’t like was me. She did not seem to like me at all, actually, but she was pleasant enough. (She only called me “plain” twice. Or was I imagining things?)

  The next day we lounged in the Rose Room, the mansion’s former parlor, since I’d ignored his texts and he’d showed up anyway. The walls had been painted a dusty, blush-y pink with sponges so that no two areas looked the same, and all the books were either red, white or pink. We didn’t categorize books like usual stores, with Young Adult over here, Mystery over there, hot new fiction in the front – we arranged them in different room by different markers, including cover color, subject matter, theme, or whatever floated our boat that season. Wind chimes had been hung next to the air vents so the room constantly sang, and a diffuser in the corner sent out a constant rosy scent. It really was a rosy paradise. It just didn’t fit my mood.

  Because inside, I was spinning. We were moving faster, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I was getting sloppy and making little mistakes. That age-old voice was rising up inside me: you will fuck this up. Give up now. Stop trying to make this work. It’s not worth the inevitable heartbreak in the end.

  What was George going to do when he realized the truth about me?

  “Teddy?” he asked, in the Rose Room.

  “Mhmm?”

  “I’ve been thinking. We’ve visited almost every bookstore within a two-hour drive, yes?”

  “Pretty much. I don’t even think there are any left in northeast Florida, actually. And it’s getting later into the summer…”

  He gulped. “Exactly. That’s why I think it’s time for a little road trip.”

  “Oh. Where?”

  “Key West,” he said, his voice speeding up with excitement as my heart stopped beating. “It’s one of my favorite little writer’s towns, but it’s also the ultimate bookstore search – Judy Blume has a store there, right in the middle of town, apparently. You could probably even write it off as a Bookworm trip.”

  I tried to mask my panic. “Wait – the Judy Blume?”

  “The Judy Blume. That one! The poet laureate of growing up. She even works there pretty often. You just walk in and she’s there. It sounds like a book lover’s dream, yeah? The final stop of our tour.”

  I paused and tried to think of a reason not to go there. This tour had been a highlight of my life, but we couldn’t go there. Anywhere but Key West, please…

  “Um, that would be awesome, but…can you even go there? Think of the crowds, think of all the people…”

  He faltered for a moment, but only for a moment. “Yes,” he nodded. “I think I’ll be okay.”

  “Really?”

  “You’re making me stronger, Teddy. You pushed me out of my little comfort zone, with the tour and everything. Being with you is just…easy. Let’s not stop now.”

  I wanted to melt, but instead I kept protesting like the idiot I was. Key West wasn’t the only problem. This seemed like some Big Romantic Move that he was making to pull me in, but he didn’t need to do that. Big Romantic Moves were cheesy. This was real life. “Okay, but also, we would have to sleep in a hotel together…”

  “And?”

  My face heated. “And my dad’s health is already bad enough without giving him chest pains. Don’t forget that he was raised Southern Baptist – he’s old-fashioned in a bunch of modern ways. And remember – I don’t know you terribly well yet…”

  “Well let’s fix that. I wanted to go anyway, and I was thinking that…well, I need you there, actually.”

  “You do?”

  “We’ve been hanging out a lot lately. All the time, actually. Why stop? I’m pretty used to be around you by now, and I would be nervous to go there alone. You’re my safety blanket, Theodore.”

  My whole body tingled. I could see in his eyes that this question was about more than a trip – it was about our future. And we would probably have sex on this litt
le trip of his, too…

  “Um, yeah!” I said, attempting to land somewhere near Casual Town. “I’ll think about it. Just make sure Patty Ann isn’t nearby, I’m pretty sure she wants to burn me alive.”

  “Oh, stop, she’s like that with everyone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she is from Connecticut and she grew up on country club tennis courts and she was never taught how to smile. But hey, Key West – will you think about it? Please?”

  “Sure,” I said, but I never would in a million years. And I couldn’t possibly explain why…

  George Charles

  “Leaving already?” my mom asked as I headed out the door to the Bookworm.

  “Um, yup,” I said, pausing. My mom had my general face shape, but with brown hair that bordered on black. Still it was always a bit unusual looking at her and seeing a female version of my face staring back at me.

  “The Bookworm? Again?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “George. This is my last summer with you. And this is when you decide to become a social butterfly?”

  I stared at her. “Please don’t make fun of my condition.”

  “Alright, alright – just saying. What happened? What changed? Your whole life you’re a couch potato, and suddenly all this?”

  “Nothing happened. Well, the medicine, for one. And Teddy, I guess…”