by Adam Silvera
“I don’t want to go back next week either,” I say. I’m done pretending anything I do in class actually matters for my future. I could ace all my classes like you did and complete all my homework assignments and still find myself the victim of a random and fatal accident. If you knew you were going to die young, would you have spent as much time studying, Theo? I’d bet two dollars you would have, actually. But we’re different. I can’t even sit on someone’s right without having a panic attack.
“Okay. We can see how you’re feeling on Monday,” Mom says.
Dad nods. He looks worried, not that I can blame him. “We understand how hard it is being somewhere where you spent so much time with Theo,” he says. He’s right, but school isn’t the only place where I spent so much time with you. He turns to my mom. “Maybe next semester we can get Griff transferred to another school. Fresh start.”
“This isn’t some out of sight, out of mind thing,” I say. “It’s Theo.”
Jackson nods. “Transferring is too easy. I’ve thought about it too, but it feels wrong. Like I’m trying to forget him.”
My parents look at each other. They’ve always had a way of wordlessly consulting. They’re honestly both good cops. The closest my dad has ever come to playing bad cop was when he shrugged Jackson off after meeting him, but now it’s my mom’s turn. “Jackson, would you mind if we speak to Griffin alone for a second? We need to talk to him about something sensitive.”
“Whatever you’re going to tell me I’m just going to tell him,” I say.
“It’s okay,” Jackson says. “It’s a family meeting, I get it. Sorry.” He gets up and heads straight into my room, closing the door behind him.
“That wasn’t called for,” I say.
Mom looks at me. “We’ve been very accommodating, but I’m honestly not sure if Jackson’s being here is what’s best for you right now,” she says. “You’re going through a huge loss—”
“Jackson is the only one who understands,” I interrupt.
“—and it might be time for Jackson to go home to give you a more stable environment. More importantly, we need you to see a real therapist.” She stands and takes Jackson’s seat, your seat, beside me. My parents rarely falter on this left versus right business, thankfully; you never did, either. “If Jackson’s presence is affecting your compulsions, it’s a problem. Regardless, you need to see a therapist and psychiatrist soon.”
I can’t tell them that I’ll be fine, that there’s really nothing wrong with me. I hate even recognizing myself as wrong. But I also doubt words and exposure therapy will make the compulsions stop. I think it’ll be the opposite, like seeing a psychiatrist will only drag the compulsions more into focus. The real problem is that my parents are too normal to understand this.
“You can’t make me,” I say. And I know I have them there. There’s no way they can punish me any more than I already punish myself.
“Therapy isn’t a bad thing, or anything to be ashamed of,” Mom says. She reaches for me.
“Then you go.” I shake her hand away and go to my room. If she wants to go see a “mental health professional” and report back on how I’m supposed to be doing according to the seven stages of grief or whatever bullshit they’ll feed her, she can be my guest. I don’t need that in my life any more than I do Wade’s telling me everything about you I already know.
I just need you and Jackson.
I close the door behind me and throw myself onto my bed.
Jackson is sitting on the air mattress, texting someone. “They want me to go, don’t they?” I don’t answer him, which says everything. “It’s okay. Don’t get mad at them. It’s probably for the best, anyway. It’s like we said out there, that we have to face Theo, wherever he is. We can’t hide from him.”
“But Theo lived in New York,” I say. I sit up. I can’t believe my parents have made Jackson so uncomfortable he’s ready to go. “Sending me to a different school isn’t going to change that.”
“But I don’t live here,” Jackson says quietly. “Theo isn’t here for me the way he is for you.” He wobbles from the center of the deflating air mattress to the edge and sits with his elbows on his knees. “I already texted my dad, and he’s looking into getting me a ticket this weekend. It might be hard because of the snow and cancellations, but we’ll see.”
So that’s it, then. Once he’s gone, I know I’m going to end up back in that black hole of worthlessness. I can already feel his support being sucked away. I lie back down and stare up at the ceiling.
Jackson fills the silence with a list of everything he’s been missing back home anyway, always in pairs because, like you, he’s grown hyperconscious of my needs. He misses his mom (a lot) and dad (a little); his dog and the runs they go on; his bedroom, your dorm room; his school halls and classrooms (not enough to resume classes, though); his car and driving in general; the sun and sleeveless shirts; iced coffee and popsicles; digging his toes into the grass at the park and into the sand at the beach.
“I would miss all that stuff, too,” I say, even though a lot of it is alien to me, closer to an alternate universe you’d create than my reality. I don’t know what it’s like to have the freedom of a parent-free space like a dorm room where you could’ve come over without us feeling like there was a spotlight on what we were doing. I don’t know anything about getting behind the wheel of my own car—or any car—and deciding my own path, wasting as much gas as I want because it’s gas I bought with my own money. I don’t even know what it’s like to have a dog. But I can’t fault Jackson for missing the things I do get, like my toes in the grass; drinking iced tea; the heat I feel on my arms and the back of my neck when I’m in a tank top; and even something as annoying as shielding my eyes from the sun, because I’ll take brightness and sweat over darkness and chills anytime.
Jackson takes a deep breath. “It’s almost been one month . . .”
I know.
“This is for the best. It may sound stupid, but I want to be back home on that day,” Jackson says.
I envy him so much. He gets to go back to his land of sunshine, where in spite of the pain, good memories of you will greet him. I’m doomed to freezing weather that will keep me trapped in my room, alone with impulsive thoughts I don’t want to act on. I almost joke how it’ll be nice to have my room back to myself, how I hated competing for shower time with him anyway, but they’re lies. Jackson is not my enemy. He’s filled cold silences with warm stories, even if those stories sometimes hit too close and burned me.
Jackson gets up and approaches my bed. “Can I sit?”
I’ve been really good about not letting him on my bed; he’s never asked, I’ve never invited. He’s always chilled on the bedside chair or the air mattress. But I’m vulnerable, so without moving an inch from my current position, I turn my eyes away from the ceiling to his and say yes.
He sits down at the edge of my bed, not pushing his luck by getting too comfortable.
“Thanks for letting me stay here, Griffin. Seriously. I still feel broken—that’s not your fault, that sounds bad—but I don’t feel like a million different pieces anymore. I’m never expecting to feel whole again. I don’t think you are either. I hate the idea of leaving you here alone.” He shuts up, and his silence isn’t the same silence I’m okay with, the one where he and I don’t have to say anything and are just cool with someone being around. “Are you going to be okay?”
That’s when it comes to me. Out of nowhere, like those genius epiphanies you had all the time, I’m possessed with brilliance. “I’ll go with you. You can show me what Theo’s life was like out there. We could keep each other company on the thirteenth.” Saying these words out loud, I feel like I’m flying right out of that black hole.
“Would your parents let you go?”
“I can work it out with them. Are you cool with me going with you?”
“Ab
solutely.” Jackson smiles. “Let me text my dad.”
He pulls out his phone, but I throw my arms around his neck, and his arms wrap around my waist. I should pull away, but I don’t.
Friday, December 9th, 2016
“I’ve missed family hang-outs since the divorce,” Jackson tells my parents over dinner—his “farewell dinner,” as my dad put it. We’re buttering them up now in the hopes they’ll let me go with him on Monday. “This is back before my parents took shots at each other, obviously, but for the most part it was cool catching them up about my day. I think I’ve missed home-cooked meals even more, though. The steak tacos really lived up to their glory, Mr. Jennings.”
“Glad to hear,” my dad says, wiping his mouth clean of salsa. “But seriously, call me Gregor.”
“You got it, Gregor.”
“Thank you again for understanding, Jackson,” Mom says. “It’s been wonderful having you around the house. It truly isn’t personal. We just want Griffin back on track, and the same for you as well.”
Jackson nods. “I can’t thank you all enough for letting me camp out here. It’s time for me to figure out my next moves at home, too.”
I’m scratching my palms. “I want to go with him for a couple of days. It’s almost one month since Theo died, and I want to be in California with Jackson for it. It’s not like I’m going back to school right now and—”
“Your time off isn’t a vacation,” Mom interrupts.
“I wouldn’t call grieving Theo a vacation.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant, but I’m sorry. But your recess from classes has been suggested so you can relax somewhere familiar. You’ve never been to California,” Mom says.
I know a lot about California from everything you’ve told me, from everything Jackson has told me. I know from my own research, when I was considering going to college out there to be reunited with you. I know from common sense.
“Have you outgrown your fear of flying?” Dad asks. “If you had a panic attack in your library, we can’t trust you to be okay up in the air for several hours.”
I’m about to suggest I take a sleeping pill, when more excuses come my way. They can’t afford a plane ticket on such short notice, especially given the money they’re saving for my therapy sessions. They don’t care that Jackson’s dad has already booked us both tickets. Neither of them can take off work right now to accompany me, like I’m some kid on a field trip in need of a chaperone instead of a seventeen-year-old who would be staying with Jackson’s mom.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Mom says.
“Me either,” Dad says.
“Well, I’ll be uncomfortable here once Jackson leaves,” I say. I don’t get how they haven’t seen a difference in me. I’ve been able to watch a little TV without feeling guilty for not grieving and crying. I’m in a place again where I can imagine myself laughing again, really laughing, with tears in my eyes and everything. Besides, I want to see your dorm room, your favorite places, the places you avoided. I even want to visit the beach where you died. “I really want to see what Theo’s life was like out there. I swear I’ll give therapy a shot if you let me go.”
Mom grabs my hand. “Therapy has to come first, Griffin. We don’t like trying to pressure you into this, but we all have to face the truth here: you need to see someone professionally. You’ll be able to visit Jackson in California when you’re feeling better. I’m sorry.” She releases me and begins clearing the table.
I was delusional to think they’d let me go. But at least I asked.
It would’ve been nice to leave with their permission.
Oh well.
Saturday, December 10th, 2016
In the cemetery, Jackson and I pass a lot of elaborate headstones carved from rocks of different colors, their sharp angles poking out like the skeleton limbs buried beneath them. Maybe the families wanted to throw down as much money as possible to get the best headstone in the catalogue, one final splurge on the one they lost. Even though your headstone is pretty standard—flat-faced, gray, only knee-high—to me it stands out better than all the others, almost as if it would glow in the dark. I want to kneel before it, but then I realize I’m stepping on you. This is the closest we’ve been physically since November 21st, when we buried you. I don’t want to think about the state of your body under this frozen dirt. But I can’t help it.
“This feels right,” Jackson says. “Thanks for bringing me here. I can’t think of a better way to spend my last weekend in New York.”
“Do you think you’ll ever come back?” I ask him. “Maybe to make things right with Veronika and visit Anika?” I still can’t believe Anika never made time to talk things out with Jackson; there’s no way he could’ve known about Veronika’s abortion. If these are his friends, maybe he needs new ones. Maybe that’s me. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to you.
“Yeah. I would want to see you, too,” Jackson says.
There’s a flash of warmth in my face before the cold wind chews it away. “It’s weird, right? Us. Not bad-weird anymore, but still weird when you think about how much time we spent trying not to be friends.”
“Every morning I wake up without Theo, I think about how strange it is that I’m waking up in your room. It always takes a second to click, no offense.”
“None taken. I’m the same way. I want to ask you something. And you can’t lie to me or avoid answering because we’re pretty much standing on Theo right now and that’s deeper than swearing on a Bible.”
“Shoot.” Jackson doesn’t even stop to consider this like I would’ve.
“Did you worry Theo would ever break up with you and get back together with me?”
“Competing against his first love was so impossible sometimes,” Jackson says. “I know Theo would never cheat on me, but if he were going to do it, I know it would’ve been with you.”
You never told him what happened when you were here in June without him, did you? Sorry, that’s taboo. Even now.
Jackson bounces a little to warm up. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think I would’ve had it in me to be his friend if we’d broken up. I would’ve wanted him in my life, but I wouldn’t have been able to stand it. I would’ve said goodbye. I don’t know how you survived this.”
I’m not sure I actually did survive it. Look at me now, Theo: I’m about to run away from home and get on a plane, two things that had never crossed my mind to do. Maybe I will need therapy when I get back. I’m shattered and empty. I’m loyal to the end, but that’s the heart of my problem and may soon be Jackson’s too: when exactly is the end?
Sunday, December 11th, 2016
Jackson is folding his clothes, packing for the flight tomorrow. “Are you sure you want to go? There’s no turning around once the plane takes off.”
He’s whispering, but I almost panic that my parents will overhear us. Then I remember they’re both napping—or having sex, whatever—in their bedroom. “I’m definitely going. You’re more scared of them than I am.”
Jackson puts his shirts in his bag. “I don’t want to piss them off. I like them.”
“If you snitch on me, I’ll end you,” I say.
“Not snitching. I really want you out there with me. It’s the only reason I’m not completely freaking out right now.”
I’m not freaking out, either, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because I’m committed. I’ll have to lie in the worst way possible and scare the shit out of my parents to get out there, but I’ll call them the second Jackson and I land, so they know I’m safe. I’ll fly home on Wednesday and I’ll be punished forever, but it’s worth it. I have to see how you lived.
The doorbell rings.
“Let me get that.” I rush out of bed and open the door to find Wade standing there with an aluminum tray; I can smell cupcakes. He baked them for my birthday this year. I can see one of th
e ties you bought him peeking out from underneath his coat.
“Sorry to stop by unannounced,” Wade says. “You weren’t answering my texts and I wanted to see how you were doing, since Thursday . . .”
His voice trails off.
Jackson comes out of my room with an empty glass on his way to the kitchen. He waves. “Wade, hey. How’s it going?”
Wade’s eyes narrow. He turns away from Jackson and back to me. “What the hell is going on?” He’s quiet, but the question sinks in as if he shouted it. “You won’t talk to me but you’re hanging out with the guy that made your life hell?”
My lips feel dry. “Things have changed,” I say. I want to close the door on him.
Wade closes his eyes, fighting back tears, and shakes his head. “Clearly. You’re no longer suffering alone, unlike me. Real nice, Griffin. You’re so fucking selfish.”
I should tell Wade about the trip. But he might react the same way as my parents. I can’t risk this for him.
I am selfish.
Wade drops the tray at my feet. “Hope you both enjoy.” He storms away and slams the door behind him, the noise echoing through the hallway.
I can’t chase after him, Theo. I have to get ready. I have a flight to catch.
Monday, December 12th, 2016
Can you believe it, Theo? I’m in an airplane, ready to take off.
I’m going to California with Jackson, and I’m fighting back a freak-out. I have to keep it together before I get kicked off. Before I prove my parents right that I’m probably not in the best state to be doing this.
I’m not a fan of what I had to do. Jackson hates it too, but it didn’t stop him from pulling the cab over a couple of blocks away after he said goodbye to me and my family, so I could join him. I only have a small backpack with me. My parents think it’s full of books and notebooks for a fake trip to the coffee shop to work on make-up assignments. It’s actually stuffed with shirts, underwear, a phone charger, and a toothbrush. I have the other essentials in my wallet—cash, starter debit card, ID, ticket.
