“I painted about five square inches of the blue background before Mrs. Campbell refused to ever let me touch a work of art again.”
“You weren’t that bad,” she said.
“Cate. For real. She told me she’d give me an A if I’d run errands for her, keep everyone supplied with clean brushes, and never make her grade a piece of my art again.”
“Hilarious.”
“I thought it was pretty fair. I was only there to watch you anyway.”
“Travis, come on.”
“It’s true. You were so good at everything. You remember that stained-glass window you made for the library? It’s still there.”
“Really? Wow. I haven’t thought about that in so long.”
“I go in there sometimes just to see it, you know. I like seeing something you left behind.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Do you still have it?”
“What?”
“The painting you made me. The theater?”
“Yeah. It’s here. I told you I’d keep it.”
“Thanks. I just missed you so much, Cate.”
“I know, Travis. I missed you more than I can even begin to explain.”
“So can I see you soon? I know that’s not what we talked about, but we were okay the other night. It was okay, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. It was okay. I think Kyle helped a lot.”
“He did. Sure he did. But I just want to see you. We can get coffee or something. It doesn’t have to be anything serious. Just coffee. Two old friends having coffee and catching up.”
“I want to say yes, Travis. This is so weird. All of it.”
“Look, tell Turner about it. I know you don’t like secrets, and I know how you are. You probably beat yourself up inside every time we talk. But he needs to know I’m not going away, right? I think that’s only fair for both of us, if he knows that.”
“Okay. Yes. You’re right. I’ll talk to him and then maybe we can meet up sometime next week.”
“Yes. Okay. Good. This is progress, Cate.”
“Progress,” she said. “Friendly progress.”
• • •
The next day I was sitting in my room watching a rerun of The Bob Newhart Show when I heard a car pull up in the driveway. Then I saw Kyle through my window, so I ran downstairs to beat him to the door. I opened it, taking a deep breath and not entirely sure he hadn’t come over to give me the punch in the face I probably deserved. Then he sort of just fell onto me, his arms wrapping around my entire body, squeezing tight. He was crying. I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to, even with Jeremy Pratt’s strength.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, finally letting me go.
“Here, come in. Sit down. It’s . . . it’s fine.”
I followed and watched him take a seat on the couch. I sat on the big puffy arm of my dad’s recliner and let him gain his composure. He was leaning forward with his elbows on each knee.
“I’m an asshole, Kyle. And I’m sorry. I don’t blame you for a second.”
“You should. It’s my fault. You come back and you try to help me, try to be my friend, and I just treat you like shit. It’s not right. It’s not.”
“I overdid it. I should’ve minded my business.”
“You were right, though. That’s why I got so damn mad at you.”
I was right? Wow. I’d been so worried about him showing up and crying that I hadn’t considered this being the reason. It took me a few seconds to register what he’d said.
“Oh. Okay. Does Valerie know this yet?”
“Yeah.”
With that he started crying again but silently, just letting tears fall freely, not even wiping them away.
“It just . . . it bummed me out to think that you weren’t happy, you know?” I sat down in the chair and leaned forward.
“Ten years,” he said. “Ten years of praying every night for something to go away, knowing it doesn’t work like that. Ten stupid years.”
“God, Kyle. I had no idea.”
“It’s like . . . maybe everyone thinks about it sometimes. Maybe we all think we’re gay at one point or another? That’s how I rationalized it for so long. I convinced myself that I was just thinking the same way every guy thinks . . . just choosing to wash away thoughts that I shouldn’t be having.”
“Look, if I ever made you feel bad about—”
“No. That’s just it. No one ever made me feel bad about anything. And my folks, they’re the best people I know. It’s just . . . it’s like I wanted so badly for it to be a phase and I convinced myself that if I made it one, then it was one. It was just something to linger there forever and never get its way.”
“I guess I thought if you were ready to tell me back then, you know, that maybe you were getting ready to tell everyone.”
“That’s the worst part,” he said. “After I told you . . . after you went away, I just sort of got more and more paranoid about it. I mean, you’re the only one who ever knew, so I had this weird chance to just keep it a secret forever. But once I’d said it to you, once I’d said it out loud, I was so scared that people would be able to tell. Like, they’d see it in the way I talked or in my hand gestures or whatever. It’s ridiculous. It’s like this—I felt like if I could be as different from all the stereotypes about gay guys as possible, then it would just go away. I couldn’t be gay . . . I like sports. I hate shopping. I think Broadway musicals are bullshit.”
We both laughed, and I could see that with each new thing he said, with each little confession, Kyle sat up straighter and began to look less sad and defeated. It was like watching an actor slowly separating himself from his most famous character, like he was shedding an artificial skin.
“Can I tell you something?” he said.
“Of course.”
“You remember Jake Brassett?”
“Yeah. Soccer guy.”
“He liked sports too.”
“Okay . . .”
“And making out with me in his grandma’s basement senior year.”
“Wow.”
“Sorry. Too much?”
“Hell no. I’m fascinated. Anyone else?”
“Not really. A couple of guys you wouldn’t know, from college. I got really tired of the secrets, so I just kept it from myself, too. I started dating girls when I was a sophomore.”
“Yeah . . . how does that work exactly? Do you just picture a dude when you’re with them?”
“Not really. It’s more like I just shut off my brain and go for it. That, and pretend that I want to wait for marriage.”
“You’re kidding, right? No sex at all, Kyle?”
“Nope.”
“This is so much worse than I thought.”
He told me he’d dated three girls in college, all fairly pretty and sweet, all patient or religious enough to wait for sex. He said that was the worst part—when he would be with one of them long enough to realize they were seeing him as this great, respectful guy who cared more about love and companionship than anything else. He said it was the most painful thing in the world to repeatedly break these girls’ hearts just because he was too scared to stop trying, to stop hoping that one of them would change the way he felt.
“And I loved them, I think. At least a little. But that’s why I had to end it, I guess. I couldn’t keep lying to them and knowing that if we stayed together, then they’d be missing out on their chance to be with a guy who really could love them all the way.”
He said he was done. He said Valerie would be the last girl he dated, the last person he’d lie to about being gay, or anything at all. Secrets, he said, will boil under your skin until it feels like every time you speak, every time you look in the mirror, every time you hug someone or kiss someone or tell someone you love them, it feels like you’re going to die.
“One last thing, Travis,” he said to me before he had to leave.
“What’s that, buddy?”
“It’s you, man. I’m in love with you.”
“Oh . . . I . . .”
“I’m just screwing with you. Don’t be an egomaniac.”
“Shit. That’s not funny.”
Kyle told me he was planning on coming clean to his parents that weekend. He said his mom would probably cry a little but would eventually realize the perks of having a gay son. He said she always hated his girlfriends anyway. And his dad would give him a hug and awkwardly tell him to “be safe” or something like that. Kyle said he felt guilty for how easy he knew it would be to tell them and for how hard he knew it was for so many others.
I didn’t mention Cate. I wanted him to say everything he needed to say, and I wasn’t quite sure how he’d react to the situation. I sure didn’t want him to know what my real plan was, that I had no intention of being her friend and every intention of making her fall in love with me all over again. He’d say I was ridiculous and immature and selfish. Maybe he was right, but I was also in love. So logic and maturity weren’t all that important to me.
I dreamed that night that Cate and I were lying on my roof, and we kissed and held hands and her head was resting on my shoulder. Mostly it felt just like before, like we could pretend the years away. Or she could. When I woke up, all I could think about was how the familiarity of it all made me wonder what would happen if I stayed there in that one spot and closed my eyes again, if I refused to acknowledge everything and everyone in the world around me. Maybe time, as they say, is just a human invention. Maybe I never really left because leaving wasn’t possible. Maybe we’re all on a string, and maybe our past selves are on that string and our future selves are too and maybe Jeremy Pratt’s there. Maybe he’s there lying awake at night and wondering if his family will be okay after he dies. Maybe we all just exist, all versions of us exist at all times, and we have to figure out a way to get to each of them, to find each one and tell that version that it’s okay, that it’s all just the way it works, a concept too powerful to ignore but too complicated to explain.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TOO COMPLICATED TO EXPLAIN
It was the first week of December when I saw Cate again. We met at this new little coffee shop downtown called the Grindhouse, which I guess was supposed to be funny, but sort of grossed me out. I kept picturing people drinking coffee and dry humping. But as I’m sure you might have guessed, this is not what happened when I met up with Cate.
Even though it was pretty cold, she was waiting for me outside when I walked up. I’d told my mom to drop me off around the corner because I was a little embarrassed about not being able to drive yet. Before, when I was sick, it hadn’t mattered. But now with Cate being a little older and all, I didn’t want anything extra to remind her of our age difference. She stood up to hug me, and I counted to three and then let go of her, being careful not to touch the small of her back or press myself too close against her. She wanted to be friends, so we’d be friends until she wanted something more than that. Damn, it was hard, though. I wanted to be like this couple I saw in a horror movie when I was a kid and be Super Glued to her forever. Only without the murder by the demented serial killer that followed.
“Should we go inside?” she asked, shivering.
“Hell yes,” I said.
I stepped just past her and opened the door. Then I stood back and waited for her to walk in ahead of me, and I swear it was like nothing was different. For a few seconds there, nothing had changed at all. Not her, not me, not the world around us. I’d call it déjà vu or whatever, but that’s sort of what my whole life was right after I came back. Just one big moment of “Hasn’t this happened before?” that no one else could understand.
“This okay?” she asked, stopping at a table by one of the front windows.
“Works for me.” I took my jacket off and hung it on my chair before sitting down. She did the same.
“This place is pretty good,” she said. “They’ve got the best chai I’ve ever tasted.”
“You and your chai,” I said. “Still no coffee? I thought maybe you’d grown into it or something.”
“Oh no. No, thanks. I’ve tried. I really have. It’s still like . . .”
“Drinking dirt?” I said, finishing her thought.
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Plus, Turner says tea’s much better for you anyway.”
Turner says tea’s better for you? What is he, a doctor? Last I heard, he worked with computers. So he knows how to use Google, then? Good for him. I bet if I Googled “people who are destined to lose their fiancées to miracle cryogenics patients,” his name would pop right up. So suck it, Dr. Computer.
“Well, I’m still getting a coffee. I’ll be right back. You want medium or large?” I stood up with my wallet in one hand.
“No, Travis. Here, let me get mine.” She handed me a five from her pocket.
I took it from her and then set it back down on the table.
“No way. You crazy?”
Then I walked away before she could argue. I ordered our drinks at the counter and looked over to see her texting someone. I bet it was Turner—probably checking in to make sure I hadn’t kidnapped her and tried to take her back in time with me or something.
“Here you go.” I handed her the tea and sat down.
“Thanks,” she said. “Sometimes they have music and stuff here. Over on that stage. We saw this guy doing an acoustic set here one night, and it was surprisingly good.”
“Oh yeah? We?”
“Me and Turner. He doesn’t drink or anything, so we usually end up coming to places like this whenever we need to get out of the house.”
Oh, Turner doesn’t drink? Well, isn’t he just Mr. Awesome? I swear this guy was getting on my last nerve and I’d never even met him. Why couldn’t he be some jerk who made her miserable? I mean, I didn’t want her to be miserable, but I also didn’t want her to be in love with some guy who sounded perfect, either. Even her parents said they liked him, and I never thought they’d like anyone as much as they liked me. This was going to be harder than I thought.
“He’s a recovering alcoholic?” I asked, sort of whispering.
“No, Travis. Jesus.” She laughed.
“You’re sure?” I kept a straight face.
“He says he doesn’t like it. His mom was a pretty big drinker when he was a kid, and I think it just left a sour taste in his mouth, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds like a good reason.”
“Travis?”
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine, yeah. Still getting used to you having a boyfriend who isn’t me, I guess.”
“I’m sure it’s weird,” she said. “And I appreciate you trying so hard.”
“Did you date much? After I left?”
“Not really. I was completely shut off to even the idea of it for a long time. Then senior year Jake Brassett asked me to the Homecoming dance.”
“Jake Brassett? The gay football player?” Shit. I probably wasn’t supposed to say that.
“Yeah. That one. But he wasn’t gay at the time. Or he wasn’t all the way gay or whatever.”
“How long did you date him?”
“Not long. Maybe two or three weeks. Then I saw Ryan Fielder for a while after that. He was nice.”
“Ryan Fielder? Wow. Did you guys play Magic: The Gathering, like, every night?”
“No.” She laughed. “He’d grown out of that by then. Mostly we just drove around town and stuff.”
As hard as it was to hear her talk about dating other guys, it also made me proud of her. She hadn’t let my “death” ruin her, you know? She hadn’t let it keep her from trying to just be a normal kid who did normal-kid things. That being said, I made sure to add Jake Brassett and Ryan Fielder to my list of Assholes Who I Will Find a Way to Destroy. I mean, let a guy actually die before you go taking away his girlfriend.
“Let me ask you this,” I said.
“Oh boy. Okay. I’m scared.”
“Were either of them as good a ki
sser as I am?”
“I’m not answering that,” she said with surprise.
“Okay. Fine, fine. But at least tell me you never took either of them to the park. Please just tell me that.”
“Nope. Never once. Some things are sacred, Travis.”
“I haven’t been back since,” I said. “Feels too weird.”
“You’re kidding. Okay. Let’s go.” She stood up and started putting her jacket on.
“What?”
“We’re going to the park. We have to. It’s weird if we don’t now.”
I followed her out and to her car, which was parked on the street just about a block away. She was still driving the same thing she’d always driven, this black ’90s Jetta her stepdad had rebuilt an engine for and given to her on her sixteenth birthday. It felt so familiar that I didn’t think twice about kicking my right foot up to rest on the edge of the dashboard above the glove compartment, like I’d always done.
“Weird,” she said.
“What?”
“I just got the strongest déjà vu when you put your foot up there.”
Soon enough we were turning into a small parking lot beside the Colonnade at Kessler Park. We used to drive up here all the time, just the two of us. It seemed otherworldly, this massive collection of stone columns that stretched along the road and looked down onto the park. She liked the way it opened out to the nature all around, how nothing was confined to any small space. It was like a long corridor that only pretended to lead somewhere, but instead could’ve taken you in any direction you chose. Concrete benches lined the section we liked most, the one with no real roof, just rectangular beams lying across and connecting the two long rows of columns. If you sat there at the right time of day, just late enough in the afternoon for the sun to still be blazing bright, but on its downward path toward the west, the shadows from the beams and columns would intersect and slice dark lines through your face and chest and arms. Maybe even your neck.
And so we got out and sat on one of our benches, and I immediately noticed how different this place felt without the sound of kids in the distance or tourists walking around snapping photos or cars driving past. Winter had driven these things away. And it was cold out, but it was a good cold, the kind that reminds you you’re alive, that every inch of your body is still able to feel. Even painful, uncomfortable things are good for a guy who never thought he’d feel them again.
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