by L B Winter
I could hear the echoes of Steven in my own voice, and evidently I wasn’t the only one. “Wow, dude,” Tay said. “I think Steve-o is rubbing off on you.”
“In a good way?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, and I could hear in his voice that he felt better. “I think you’re right.”
“And it’s just that you’re such a nice person that made you feel bad in the first place,” I added.
Having helped Taylor made me feel pretty confident, and when we ended the call, I stared at my phone in my hands for a few moments. It was nice to talk to the people you cared about on Christmas; that was probably what had made Marissa want to talk to Taylor. I wondered if maybe Jamie wouldn’t mind if I called him. He wasn’t exactly alone on Christmas, but it can’t have been great to be the third wheel on everything Lynn was doing with Deacon.
Even though I knew his phone was just a burner, and even though Lynn had made me feel more than once that I probably shouldn’t call him, I wanted to make an exception for Christmas. Even if he didn’t answer, at least I’d show that I cared about him—I mean, as a friend, of course. And if he did answer and the minutes were a problem, I would just pay him back.
The phone rang twice, and when Jamie picked up, there was surprise in his voice. “Paul, hey.”
“Hey,” I said, and even though I was in my room alone with the door closed, I looked around for a quick second like I was afraid I might get caught. “Merry Christmas.”
I could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, “Merry Christmas to you, too.”
There was a little stretch of silence, and I knew I should probably say why I was calling, but I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound totally lame. “I just wanted to…hear how your Christmas is going,” I said, hoping that wasn’t as pathetic on the other end of the line as it sounded to me.
He paused for another moment, and I was starting to worry that I’d offended him somehow again, when he said, “That’s really nice. You know, it’s been pretty quiet around here, so. Just another day, really.”
“Really? Where’s Lynn?” I asked.
“She went to Deacon’s place,” he said. “She’s been there since yesterday. She invited me along, but I didn’t really want to go anywhere.”
That sounded like a serious bummer. I wanted to be encouraging when I said, “You should have gone! It’s Christmas. I’m sure they would have loved having you, and nobody wants to spend Christmas all alone.”
The calm, benign quality of his voice from a moment ago was suddenly replaced with something sharper. “Maybe that’s exactly what I wanted. We aren’t all as great at making friends as you are, Paul. For some people, it’s hard.”
“Sorry,” I said softly, feeling the blood rush to my face. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“Then why do you always say things like that?” Jamie answered, and I was surprised by the sharpness of his voice. “Why do you always ask these questions like you think I should be something better than I am?”
“What? What questions?”
“Like, are you going to counseling? What are you doing next? What are your plans for your life? Did you really love your wife, or were you pretending? All these questions you’re always asking me, and making me feel like I’m just the most pathetic waste of space—”
“Jamie, I—I never meant to make you feel that way. God, if you had any idea how I—” but then I stopped, unable to finish that thought. He wouldn’t have wanted to hear it anyway, I was sure.
He sighed. “I know. But somehow you always do it anyway.”
My heart was racing, the fight or flight instincts totally triggered. I didn’t know how to respond, and the idea that talking to me was actually hurting Jamie instead of helping made me fearful of doing anything that made it worse. Yet everything seemed blurry and out of focus; I could hear what he said to me, and I could say what I thought, but the truth seemed like this third thing, obscure and unknowable, and neither of us had seemed to put our fingers on it quite yet.
“Look, I just missed you and wanted to say Merry Christmas,” I finally said in a rush. “I just was thinking about you and—if it makes you feel bad to talk to me, then we don’t have to.”
“Talking to you doesn’t make me feel bad,” he said quietly. “I just always feel like you expect something better from me. Something more than I can do.”
“I don’t,” I answered earnestly. “Maybe I just see something in you that you don’t see in yourself yet.”
“See?” he said, “There it is again. You want to fix me. But I don’t know if I can be fixed, or how. And I need you to back off of it, okay? Just let me figure it out, and don’t interfere anymore.”
Wow. I had not been expecting any of that, and I wasn’t sure how my calling to say, “How was Christmas?” was interfering. I felt like Thanksgiving again, when everybody had been angry with me even though I was pretty sure I hadn’t done anything wrong. “Okay,” I said. “I honestly don’t even know what you’re talking about, but okay. You want me to just not call again?”
“I don’t have many minutes left,” Jamie muttered.
I’d thought about offering to pay for them before, but it just seemed pointless now. Why was he always doing this to me? We’d get closer, and then he would just push me twice as far away. And what did it say about me that I kept coming back for more? I’d tried to give Tay advice about getting over somebody who wasn’t worth the sacrifices, but really, I was the one who needed that advice. Even when all I wanted was to be there for Jamie as a friend, I still got burned.
But then, he said brokenly, “It’ll just be better when you’re home. I hated spending Christmas alone.”
And just like that, my anger melted away. “Jamie…”
“I know, I know, you invited me,” he said, and again I could hear a smile in his voice. “I shouldn’t be such a jerk to you; you’re the only person left in the world who really cares about me. I guess I just don’t feel like I deserve it.”
Fuck. Me. “You do,” I said.
“What did you do today, anyway?” he said, and I could hear in his voice his effort to sound lighthearted.
“Just, like, talked on the phone to people,” I said. “And helped my mom cook.” God, he didn’t want to hear about this, did he? My Christmas had been filled with family and food, and even if it felt like I was being bossed around, I was still with my mom. I was still surrounded by people who wanted me there, people who loved me. It was way better than his Christmas, I realized. I had been taking so much for granted.
“I was surprised that you were a good cook,” he said. “At Thanksgiving.”
I smiled. “What, the pancakes? That’s basically all I know how to do. Today my mom did most of the actual work; she had me make up the relish tray.”
“You made more than pancakes,” he pointed out. “Eggs, bacon, the whole works. It was really good. Like, diner quality.”
“I used to work at a restaurant,” I said, “so I learned all the basics. But I wouldn’t say I’m a good cook.”
He laughed a little. “You never take credit when you’re good at stuff.”
“If I thought I was really good, I’d take credit,” I said. “I’ve never really needed to cook; Mom and Dad both know how, and I’ve never lived by myself.”
“Oh, wow,” he said. “I guess you haven’t. I never thought about that before. Huh. You eat in the dorms, don’t you?”
“Yep. And sneak food to you,” I added, and he laughed.
“Yes, thank you for my daily fruits and vegetables.”
“And granola bars.”
He laughed again. “And granola bars.” He paused, then added, “That’s at least one thing I miss about being married. The food.”
It was like he’d splashed me with cold water. I had no idea what to say—none whatsoever. Like, was I supposed to ask about Ellen? Hear him wax poetic about her cooking skills? I’d never expected his marriage, sham though it was, to have a
nything but the most stereotypical of gender roles. She’d quit her job after she’d married him, after all. But whatever their marriage had been, I just did not want to hear about it. Didn’t he get that?
There was a long, very awkward pause. I knew he could tell that what he’d said had bothered me, but who knew if he thought it was fair that I felt this way? It was the strangest thing; sometimes it felt like we were just pretending that we’d never slept together. The fact that he was my first—my first of almost everything—just seemed like it was lost in translation. Did he really not get how much he’d mattered to me, and how badly he’d hurt me, and how much of that whole situation was all wrapped up in Ellen? I finally said, in a voice that tried—and failed—to be lighthearted, “Seems like it would have been easier to just hire a cook.”
His answering silence felt just as tense as mine had been. Then, when he spoke, his voice was laced with sarcasm. I hardly even recognized it for what it was at first; he’s normally never sarcastic. “Thanks, Paul. That’s really helpful.”
“Well, geez, what do you expect me to say? Like, wow, that’s too bad you don’t have this woman to cook for you anymore?”
“No, I was just being honest about this one thing—”
“Okay, fine. But I don’t like hearing about her.”
“Why the fuck not? She’s my wife, you know. She’s kind of an important person.”
Just like that, I felt as alone and vulnerable as I had back at Freedom the first time he’d told me about her. Tears stung my eyes, and I fought against the tight feeling in my throat as I said, “Yeah, I know. You’ve told me a thousand times, Jamie. I get it.” I sighed, shaking my head and wiping surreptitiously at my nose. I shouldn’t have called him. This was a bad idea.
I heard him sigh, and after another awkward pause, he said, “Look, I gotta go. My minutes are gonna run out. Thanks for calling, though.”
What was I supposed to say to that? You’re welcome?
“I’ll talk to you next week,” he said. Then the line went dead, and I was left staring at the phone in my hand again. Why was it always so tricky to talk to him? There were land mines everywhere we stepped—either he was mad at me for caring too much about him, or I was mad at him for caring too much about Ellen. I hated how we’d left things. I hated that there would be a whole week before we got to talk again. Fighting with him made me miserable, especially since things were so great when we were getting along.
Remembering my dad’s email, I had an idea. I logged onto my account and found the note Dad had sent to the church after Thanksgiving. Adding a short message to the beginning, I forwarded it along to Jamie. My note said, “I hope this will help you see you how I see you. –Paul.”
I clicked send, praying that maybe this time my words would get through. Then I went downstairs to hopefully think about something besides the guy who could never quite be enough of an asshole to make me forget him.
CHAPTER 15
Gravitational Pull
__________
I wasn’t really surprised that Jamie never wrote back to me when I sent him my dad’s email. I hoped that it made a difference to him, anyway, but when we got back to Franklin, he did what he does best and proved me wrong.
We checked back into our dorm on Sunday, and Taylor made a point of wanting to hang out with me before things got really busy for him. We were in the main room of our dorm playing a video game when Trent came by to drop off Jamie.
“Hey,” I said, standing up and walking over to them before I could give it a second thought. It wasn’t just Jamie I was excited to see; I’d really missed Trent, too.
“Hey, kiddo,” Trent said, giving me a hug. Taylor paused the game and got up, too, and Trent gave him that head nod that dudes who aren’t really good friends but sort of know each other like to do. As they chatted about their Christmas vacations, I had a weird thought. It had never really occurred to me before that moment that Tay and Trent weren’t friendly; Tay was always either flirting with Lynn or competing with Steven. I wasn’t sure where that left him with Trent.
Suddenly wanting to fix that, I said to Trent, “You should stay for dinner.”
Trent wasn’t the kind of person who ever said no to a meal, but his instant reply of “What are you having?” was met with a vacant silence that made him laugh.
A little embarrassed, I said, “I guess I just wanted to catch up. I don’t have dinner plans, per se.”
“Let’s get cheesesteaks again,” he said enthusiastically. “I just found out Jamie’s never had one.”
“What? Oh, dude,” Taylor said. I smiled up at Jamie, but he didn’t look me in the eye. That was odd, but whatever.
“Let’s call Steven to see if he wants to come,” I said.
“He doesn’t eat meat,” Trent reminded me.
“Oh,” I answered. I knew he might still want to come along, but then again, if the whole point was getting Tay and Trent to be friendlier, then I guess Steven would just be a distraction. Either way, I did really want to see him.
Recognizing the inner dialogue showing on my face, Trent laughed. “I know you want to see him, though. He has a meeting at The Beat right now, but maybe tomorrow you guys can hang out.”
I nodded, smiling, and glanced at Jamie, who was still silent. We all went out to dinner, and afterward for ice cream, but Jamie didn’t say a word to me the whole time. He wasn’t silent and sullen; he had jokes for Taylor, answers to questions for Trent, but nothing for me. Then again, I wasn’t really talking to him either, but I felt like I was the one waiting for a response, since I was the last person who had reached out via email. Had he not read my email? Did I have his email address wrong? Or had I offended him so much by sending it that he had changed his mind, again, about being friends with me? Something about our track record made me think it might be the latter.
At the ice cream place, Trent said to Jamie, “Hey, you gotta order a bigger ice cream than that. You’ll never survive marathon training without a few extra calories.”
“Those aren’t exactly the kind of calories I need,” he answered with a small smile.
“Marathon training?” I said, turning to Jamie. He looked at the cooler of ice cream and didn’t answer.
Trent said, “Yeah, he loves those running shoes you got him. He’s been running every day, Lynn said, even in the blizzard they had last week. He just bundled up and ran.”
I loved that, and I turned to look at Jamie again, but he still wouldn’t meet my eye. How great was it that he finally had something like this to do with himself, a goal and a regular habit? But then again, was this just me trying to fix him again? Would he be mad if I said something about it—even madder than he evidently already was? Who knew what I’d done to make him give me the cold shoulder, but it seemed like the perfect moment at least for him to say, “Thanks for the shoes.”
He didn’t, though. He only said, “I’ll pay you back, Paul,” and was silent.
I glanced at Taylor, whose scowl told me that none of this had gone unnoticed by him.
We got back to the dorm a little after nine, and because he had an 8 a.m. class that already had a pre-reading posted online, Tay went straight to his room to study. I wasn’t really tired yet, but I didn’t want to invade Jamie’s space if he wanted his privacy, which it seemed like he probably did. I walked to the minifridge for a water, and then turned to go into my own room, but Jamie stopped me.
“Hey,” he finally said. I stopped and turned to look at him. His face was serous, and he was standing up behind the couch, arms folded in front of his chest. “Can I use your laptop?”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” I said, surprised. Jamie was really a low-tech guy; he hadn’t used a real phone since his break-up, and he was way more likely to read a paper book than an e-reader. I’d never seen him touch a computer before, I realized, though it seemed crazy for anybody our age to be so out of touch with technology. I had a tablet, too, so I didn’t have any problem with him using my laptop, and I ran to
get it and brought it to him where he now sat at the couch, placing it on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” he said, still not looking me in the eye.
“You’re welcome.” I went back to my room, wondering why he needed my computer, and wondering what he would do on it, but also recognizing that it wasn’t fair to never give him any privacy. Still, I was struggling to keep my mind from speculating when I saw an email come in on my tablet. And it was the strangest thing in the world, because it was from Jamie.
I opened the message and saw that it was in reply to my forwarded note from my dad. He’d written, “Paul, I don’t know why you would send this to me. The Bible is clear about homosexuality. I can accept that this is my identity, my cross to bear, the thorn in my side—but you are being a thorn in my side, too. I know God doesn’t accept sin; you can’t tell me that he does. You are making everything worse, and I need you to stop. You might be okay with this sinful lifestyle, but I’m not done fighting it. Back off.”
“Well, shit,” I said. I spent a moment or two looking at the email, trying to parse out how I felt. Was I hurt? No, he couldn’t really hurt me with bullshit like that anymore. Was I surprised? I mean, yeah, a little. I’d thought he was doing better, but I guess I’d never really heard his side of it. This was good to know. Was I annoyed? Ah, yes, there it was. I was super annoyed. Because I was in this room, and he was in the next room, and he still had to borrow my laptop and email me? Seriously?
I put down the tablet and walked out the door to the main room. “Dude,” I said.
He looked up from the couch, where he was sitting with a Bible on his lap; the computer was now closed on the table. “I’m done with this,” he said, gesturing toward it. “Thanks.”
“Nope,” I said. “That is not how this goes. You want to say something to me, say it to my face. Look into my eyes and tell me what you want to say.”
