by L B Winter
“Don’t turn your life upside down for him, Marissa,” I said. “Don’t make your choices based on where you think he’ll be.”
“Why not? If I love him—”
“Because he won’t do the same thing for you.” As soon as I said it, I heard how cruel it must have sounded to her, but it was the honest truth. There had been a time in Tay’s life when she was his priority, but that time was over now.
Tears started gathering in her eyes, and I said, “I’m sorry, Marissa. I…I didn’t know how else to say it. He’s not thinking about you anymore.”
“Okay, geez, I get it,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“What other colleges did you get into?” I asked.
“Everywhere I applied,” she snapped.
“That’s awesome,” I said, but there wasn’t any enthusiasm in my voice. It really sucked to have to break the news like that to somebody.
“Yeah, great,” she said sarcastically. She stood up to go, and as I walked her to the door, I said, “Look, Marissa?”
“Hm?” She was digging in her purse for her keys and didn’t look up at me.
“I’m sorry I said it like that. I guess I just—I meant that you should decide where to go based on what’s best for you, not him. You’re the one who matters most in this decision.”
“Even if I love someone?” she said, sniffling and still looking away.
“You have to love yourself more,” I said, remembering how Steven had taught me that, and how many times he’d needed to tell me to love and accept myself before I really started to do it. Maybe it wasn’t just closeted teenagers who needed to hear that message; maybe it was everyone. Maybe everyone had trouble realizing that their first responsibility was to themselves.
“I don’t even know what that means,” she said, sniffling. “I don’t have plans or career goals. I just want to be with him.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” I answered. “You’re capable of more than you think you are.”
She finally looked up at me, blinking away tears, and it was like she’d never quite seen me before. After a moment she cocked her head to one side, and she held my gaze for several breaths before giving me a dazzling smile. “Are you sure you’re gay, Paul Garrison?”
I laughed out loud, and so did she.
“Take care, Paul,” she said. Then she surprised me, right before walking out the door, by turning back and giving me a quick hug. Then she disappeared, long hair flowing behind her as she jogged to her car, before driving off. I doubted I’d ever talk to her again, but I hoped wherever she went and whatever she did, she was happy—for the sake of all the years when she had made Taylor really happy, too.
It wasn’t until later, much later, when spring break was almost over and Mom was going to drive me back the next day, when I had a surprising thought. Jamie had decided to apply, not to a college nearer his hometown or a community college or a less expensive option somewhere where cost of living is lower. He’d chosen, of all the places in all the cities in all the world, my college. It would have been so easy to use this opportunity to put some distance between us. If he’d wanted to avoid me, it would have been the perfect excuse. But he didn’t. He’d chosen Franklin, where he knew he’d be near me.
Huh.
CHAPTER 21
I Don’t Mean to Do That
__________
When I got back to Philly, the first thing I did was call Steven and ask him to pick me up and bring me to the apartment. I missed all my friends, and if Tay was eventually going to need a ride to the dorms anyway, I might as well pop over to their place first.
But Steven surprised me. No can do, babe,” he said. “We’re all a little under the weather around here. I think Taylor infected us with some mystery virus from the lab. Trent is going to drop him off later, after he picks up Jamie from his run.”
“Jamie’s running?”
“Yeah, more marathon training. He wanted to do altitude training, so he’s off somewhere outside of town. He’s supposed to call Trent when he’s done.”
“I’m surprised he’s running when he’s sick.”
“Oh, he’s not sick,” Steven said. “He’s the only one. The rest of us have had the plague all week. I’ve probably lost ten pounds; you won’t even recognize me.”
“I hope not,” I remarked. “You didn’t have ten pounds to lose.”
“Oh, you!”
I felt bad that the guys were sick, but when Tay got home that evening, I saw that he wasn’t half as bad as Steven had made it sound. He confirmed, though, that he’d been sick first—and then Steven and Trent had gotten it worse.
“You should go see him, anyway,” he’d said. “You won’t catch it. You never get sick.”
That was true. So after classes on Monday, I asked Tessa—one of the few freshmen I knew with a car on campus—to drive me to the apartment so I could drop off some soup. When I came upstairs, Steven was as sick as I’d ever seen him—sniffling nose, sore throat, cough, the works.
“Oh, man,” I said as I handed him his soup while I stood in the doorway, leaning away from him, “Maybe I should have just stayed away.”
“No,” he said, smiling sweetly and reaching for a hug, which I kindly put off with hands raised.
“Rain check,” I said. “Sorry.”
He shrugged and walked back into the apartment, where it was clear he’d been camped out on the couch watching TV.
“Where’s Trent?”
“Back at East Chic. He feels better today, but the plague finally struck Jamie, so he’s home.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah, why?”
I nodded toward the bag in Steven’s hand. “I brought soup for both of you.”
“Aw, baby,” Steven said smiling. Then he looked in the bag. “What is this?”
“Yours is the only vegan option they had today, butternut squash bisque.”
He sighed happily. “And the other one is filled with bits of chicken carcass?”
“It’s chicken noodle, yes.”
“Well,” he said, throwing himself onto the sofa again and tossing up his legs. “Feel free to give it to Jamie.”
“Where is he?”
“In Lynn’s room. I mean, his room. Her old room. You know.” His eyes began to look bleary, and he sighed as he opened his soup and looked inside. “Oh, this looks amazing. Here, take the remains of this dearly departed chicken to Jamie.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll just see if he wants it,” I said, and I took the bag with its remaining soup cup down the hall. I was nervous as I walked. The only time I had ever been this nervous in this hallway, I was coming in off the streets to take a shower after Lynn bought me a sandwich. What a crazy life.
I rapped twice on the door. “Jamie?” I said. “Can I come in?”
I heard the sound of a bed creak, and a moment later the door opened. Jamie was looking at me with confusion in his eyes. “I thought it was your voice,” he said softly, frowning.
“Yeah,” I answered, nervously. “Um…I heard you guys were sick, so I …I brought some soup.”
His expression instantly softened, and he looked down at the bag in my hand. “Oh. Wow. Thanks, Paul. I’d actually love some soup.”
I smiled, feeling about a million times happier than was probably reasonable after so simple an exchange.
He turned and walked back to his bed—Lynn’s old bed, still made up with her rose-colored bedspread—and sat on the edge. I followed him, soup in hand. The way he watched me, anticipation in his eyes, I realized he expected me to open it up for him and give him the bowl and spoon like he was a child. Maybe it was something about being sick that made him feel it was natural to be cared for, but it was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.
“Here, you can lie back,” I said. “I’ll get it ready for you.”
He smiled, propped up a pillow, and leaned against the headboard. I put another pillow on his lap, then settled the sou
p cup on it, spoon at the ready, chunk of freshly baked bread on a napkin beside it.
“There,” I said softly. “All set.” I felt like I was playing a role, a type of my own mother bringing me soup.
He must have noticed it, too, because he started to laugh. “You have to think I’m pathetic, huh?”
A shadow of our last argument flashed into my mind, but I didn’t think he noticed the similarities. I shook my head instantly. “No, never. I just…it’s nice to be taken care of when you’re sick.”
“Yeah, it is,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Of course.” I glanced around the room, seeing an empty box of tissues on the bedside table, used tissues strewn about the floor beyond it, and an empty mug and water glass crowded into one corner. “You don’t have anything to drink,” I observed. Lifting both dishes, I said, “Tea? Water?”
He nodded, eyes lighting up hopefully. “You don’t mind?”
I could have laughed because he was so goddamn cute, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I’d never taken care of anybody sick before, but I realized I loved it. He was adorable. Finally, he was letting me help him without being so weird about it. “No, I don’t mind,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
I put on the tea kettle in the kitchen—another of Steven’s luxury kitchen items—and while I was there, I offered Steven a refill, too. His reaction was more along the lines of what I’d expected from Jamie.
He’d finished his soup and was lying on his side on the couch with a pillow over his head. “No. Now shut up and let me sleep!”
Yeesh. Sick Steven was no barrel of monkeys. I grabbed a bottle of Tylenol and tossed it toward him on the couch as I walked past him with the drinks for Jamie. He, at least, was still happy to see me when I got to his room. In the delirium of what I imagine must have been a low-grade fever, he said, “I’m so glad you’re here, Paul. I was really hungry, and my throat hurt.” He’d finished eating, and the paper bag on the table, I now saw, was stuffed with the take-out dishes. “It’s so nice that you came over. You’re the best.”
I smiled to myself as I cleaned up the bag—stuffing it with tissues for good measure—and placed his drinks on the table for him.
“The tea’s still a little hot,” I said, “but there’s water. Did you need anything else? You’re out of tissues, but I’m not sure if there are any more…”
“Tissues would be amazing,” he said, and then he sniffled in a way that proved he definitely needed them.
“I’ll look and see,” I said, and I grabbed the empty tissue box, too.
The kitchen pantry was stocked with paper towels, batteries, lightbulbs, and all sorts of random things, but the tissues weren’t there. I checked the bathroom, the living room—no tissues. Finally it occurred to me that Steven’s or Trent’s room might have some. I tried Steven’s first, but it was clear by the mess I found on the floor there that he’d emptied the box that had been in there, too—and if he hadn’t, it wouldn’t be right to take it for Jamie when he needed it for himself. I checked Trent’s room next, and sure enough, amid the neat and tidy books and blankets—I realized he must sleep in Steven’s room, because the bed was being used like a desk—was a box of tissues, mostly full.
I walked in and grabbed the box, but when I was next to the bed, a familiar paper caught my eye. I looked down and saw the scholarship application for the LGBTQ Center, all filled out in Jamie’s block-style handwriting, with a sticky note on the edge from Trent that said, “Scanned and emailed to you! Thought you might want to keep a copy.”
When had Jamie done this? And why had he—I paused, catching my breath, feeling suddenly like I’d been punched in the gut. Why had he been such a dick about me bringing this to him, but then applied for it anyway, and all without telling me?
Taking the tissues, I hurried out of the room and returned to Jamie’s room, where he was now almost asleep under the blankets. I put the tissues on the table and said, “Okay, well—I’m gonna go now. I hope you feel better.”
He was facing the other direction, but he turned and smiled at me before I left, obviously oblivious to everything he’d done that I was internally raging over. “Thanks, Paul,” he said. “I feel better already.”
That made one of us.
As the week unfolded, I started thinking maybe I should cut Jamie some slack. Maybe he’d planned to tell me about the scholarship, even apologize for how he’d acted, but just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Maybe after we’d had such a friendly exchange at the apartment, he’d start making more of an effort. I knew I could do better; I could stop by more when I knew he’d be home. I could try to be the kind of person that’s easy to talk to about stuff that’s going on in his life, without trying to fix him or making him feel judged. I wanted to do better—but he never gave me the chance. One week passed, and then two, and then it was April, and he still hadn’t said more than a few words to me in passing on those increasingly seldom visits I made to the apartment.
I’d been right that the fever had been the driving factor behind his friendliness that day; from then on, when I visited the apartment, he rarely came out of his room.
“Don’t take it personally,” Trent had said to me after I had dropped by one day to find that Steven wasn’t there. Trent had caught me looking particularly hurt at the door Jamie had just closed. “He likes his alone time. We can’t all be as extroverted as you, you know.”
Tessa had had opinions, of course, when I told her about it. “I think he probably feels guilty. He knows he treated you like shit, so he’s too embarrassed to face you.”
“He doesn’t seem embarrassed,” I said.
“You don’t see him enough to know,” she countered. “I don’t think anybody can be such a dick without knowing it.”
“I think they can,” I said. “People can be pretty horrible. Look at Daniel, for instance.”
I knew very little actual truth about Daniel, but it was enough to turn Tessa’s eyes serious, and she nodded and said, “Yes, that’s one specimen of a very horrible person. But you know,” she paused, then said hesitatingly, “I don’t really think Jamie’s one of those people.”
“How would you know? You’ve never met him.”
“No, but from what I’ve heard—”
“From me?”
“No, not from you,” she said, “just from…other places.”
“What other places?”
She shrugged, not meeting my eye as she said, “Just, you know, other people who know him.”
We were in her dorm room studying, and I threw my book to the side and said, “Okay, time out. Tessa, are you or are you not seeing my roommate Taylor? And I say ‘seeing’ because I asked him last weekend using the word ‘dating,’ and he gave me an unequivocal ‘no.’”
She smiled, still not meeting my eye. “We are not dating, that’s true.”
“But you’re seeing him!”
She sighed and finally looked at me. “What does that even mean? Like, when he’s in front of me, yes, my eyes perceive him.”
“Okay, future lawyer,” I said, “if you really don’t know, it’s like the casual thing that happens before dating.”
She shook her head, but her face gave her away; her smile was getting bigger and bigger.
“Tessa, that’s awesome!” I finally said, punching her lightly on the shoulder. “I swear, the first time I saw you together, I predicted this.”
“Predicted what?” she said, giving me a placating look. “That we would eat breakfast at the same time on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and that we would always sit together and talk about our week?”
“Oh my God, that’s so weird. That was my exact prediction.”
She cracked up and hit me with my pillow. “No, look, I’m just taking things slowly, okay? And you know he’s way too busy to date.”
“What I know,” I said, “is that he knew something random about you the other day that I know I didn’t tell him, and he has seemed really happy lately.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, don’t tell me that,” she said. “Too much pressure.”
“Fine,” I said, still smiling to myself. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“Okay,” she said. After a moment, she added, “What was the random thing?”
“About your grandma’s cancer,” I said gently, wishing I hadn’t said anything about it at all as I watched her face fall. Her mom had called a couple weeks ago to tell her that her grandma’s health had taken a turn for the worse. She was on hospice care now, but still hanging in there. I had been given strict orders by Tessa to take much better notes than I normally do if she ever had to leave abruptly to go home.
We went back to studying, but after a few minutes, I said, “So what did Tay tell you about Jamie?”
She looked confused.
“You said you’d heard other things about him.”
“Oh, well,” she closed her book again and tucked her hair behind her ear. “He said that he’s doing better. Like, a lot better. Therapy has been helpful, and he’s got a small group that he’s going to at church, and he’s enrolling in classes for the fall. He even got this scholarship through the LGBTQ Center, so he’ll be able to afford to enroll full-time. Taylor thinks moving out of your place was really good for Jamie.”
That was the prevailing opinion, wasn’t it? Get rid of Paul, and good things will follow—at least in the life of Jamie.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean it in a ‘you should feel guilty’ way. I meant it in a ‘no regrets’ kind of way.”
She tried to sound cheerful, but it was hollow.
“I wish I didn’t have any regrets,” I said, looking at my hands, remembering a time when they’d been running through his hair. “But honestly, I don’t even know what to think anymore.”
“Okay,” she said. “Well, look, we don’t have to talk about it. But I just want to say that…well, at first, when I said he was your Daniel? I don’t think he is anymore. I think I was just sad, and projecting, but—he’s not your Daniel.”
