by L B Winter
I looked up at her again. “Am I his Daniel?”
She cocked her head to the side before laughing. “No, Paul!”
I laughed a little, too, though I didn’t know why. Seeing her happy made me feel a little bit better.
“You are nobody’s Daniel. You’re great.”
“Are you sure you aren’t just happy and projecting now?”
She hit me with the pillow again, and said, “You are off your rocker. Now let’s study.” But her smile still gave her away.
Knowing that Taylor and Tessa were sort of seeing each other, and Lynn was getting married, and Steven and Trent were living with Jamie, I felt more forgotten than ever. I even stopped by The Beat one night when I knew Steven was working so that I could catch up with him, but he’d been too busy to talk much to me, and what he had said wasn’t helpful at all. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t Steven’s fault, but by default living with Jamie made him more privy to his point of view and more on his side of things. When I said that I didn’t know why Jamie never tried to get in touch with me, Steven said I made it hard. When I pointed out that somebody should have told me that Jamie had applied for the scholarship and was enrolling in classes, Steven said Jamie didn’t owe me any explanations. I started to feel like I couldn’t do anything right in their eyes, and maybe I should just back off altogether. Maybe my friendship with Jamie had really run its course—and maybe my friendship with Steven had, too.
I wasn’t sure which thought made my heart break worse.
Trent, at least, was still my friend. He was always happy to see me and never made me feel judged. So naturally, he was one person I thought of when, right before the last week of the semester before finals, I realized I had made a terrible mistake.
It was Saturday, and I was sitting with Taylor going over flash cards for one of his pre-med courses, when he’d said, “What days are your finals? I need to know when you’re available for more flash card boot camp.”
“Flash card boot camp” was the painfully dorky name we had given our Saturday night study sessions. Don’t judge us.
While I dug my course syllabi out of my backpack, I said, “I don’t see why Tessa can’t help you study.”
He grinned. “I don’t want her to find out how dumb I really am.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Okay, it looks like Spanish is Monday morning, Business Ethics is Tuesday, and so is Marketing—” I paused, looking more closely at the syllabus in my hands. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Tay said, grabbing another flash card off the pile and idly twisting it between his fingers.
I read the page again. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit.” I stood up and started pacing.
“Geez, Paul, what is it?”
“I have—” I held up the page. “A final project due on Monday for this course.”
“Monday? Are you shitting me?”
I shook my head mutely, eyes wide as headlights. “I knew we were supposed to be working on a case study, but I thought it was due finals week.”
“Okay, so you’ve started it, right? How bad can it be?”
“Well,” I said, “I’m supposed to submit a 30-page mock business plan, complete with marketing campaign and projected numbers for a full fiscal year, in less than 48 hours!”
“And you’ve done…?”
“The executive overview,” I said, tossing another page out of my backpack. It was a 500-word summary of the plan I’d made for this project, which had been deemed acceptable by the professor, but which I’d never touched since. I had thought if it was due the Friday of exam week, I would have a couple weeks left to work on it after I got some of my other course work out of the way. I never dreamed I would have to do the whole thing two weeks prior to the end of the semester.
“Dude,” Tay said, “how did you miss that? Didn’t the professor ever say anything?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess,” I said, “but I only knew it was due ‘soon.’ That could have meant anything.”
“And it never occurred to you to check the syllabus?”
“No!” I said. “Obviously it didn’t!”
“Okay, well,” he said, “no more flash cards. Let’s take a look at what we’re dealing with here. Do you have a description of the assignment?”
“Yeah,” I said, “but you don’t have to help me.”
“You always help me,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You have an exam Monday, too. It’s not fair to take away your study time for this. It was my fuck-up. I’ll do it myself.”
Tay looked torn—he knew he needed to do his own studying, but he also knew that the odds of me doing this all myself were slim to none. Finally, he said, “Look, why don’t you work on it tonight, and then tomorrow we can reassess. If it’s looking like you really won’t be able to finish it, then we’ll pull an all-nighter to get it done.”
“You will not pull an all-nighter,” I said, “before your big test.”
“We’ll see,” he answered.
I went to my own room and worked until I passed out at 4 a.m., but I knew when I woke up a little after noon on Sunday and saw the confusing mess I’d written the night before that I was really and truly screwed.
I dragged myself into the shower and was there when I had a brilliant idea. I didn’t need to bother Tay; what I needed was Lynn! Lynn knew everything about business. I called her and texted twice, but she responded, “I am visiting Deacon’s grandma today in New York. I’m sorry! I so wish I could help. Maybe Trent could?”
Yes, Trent! Better than nothing. I texted him but got no reply. Getting desperate, I called Tessa for a ride to the apartment. Sure, I had to hear a lecture on the way about the importance of reviewing my course syllabi in their entirety and creating a corresponding calendar of important dates (who does that?), but I got to the apartment with time to make some serious progress on my project.
Only, Trent wasn’t there, and neither was Steven. Instead, the door was opened by Jamie, nicely dressed in a button-up shirt with the top button undone, and slacks that made my mind instantly fly to our night together, now months ago, and everything I was intimately familiar with underneath. I must have been standing there drooling like a pig, because Jamie frowned and said, “Did you need something? Steven isn’t here.”
“Is Trent?” I said. Then, holding up my backpack, I said, “I have a crisis situation here.”
His expression softened and he said, “Is everything okay? I noticed you weren’t at church.”
“Oh, that’s right, it’s Sunday,” I said, shaking my head. “They’re at East Chic, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, they are. Can I help with anything?”
It was truly desperation that made me say, “I don’t know. Maybe.” My voice cracked, and from that moment, Jamie wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was helping me.
I explained the situation while I walked with him to the bedroom that, according to him, “everybody just treats like an office.” It was Trent’s room, and the scholarship application I’d once seen there was long gone. The other papers might have been important, or not, but Jamie swept them aside and held out his hand for my backpack.
“Okay,” he said, climbing onto the bed with it. “Tell me about this assignment.”
So I did—the premise, the objectives, what I’d done so far, and what I had left to do.
“Let’s divide and conquer,” he said. “I’m not great with numbers, but I can write the marketing stuff for you. I’m a decent writer.”
“Deal,” I said. I hunkered down with my laptop while he wrote by hand in my notebook, and we worked that way, each occasionally asking each other a question or comparing notes, for hours.
My mock company was a photography studio, and its basic business model was already written up. The studio specialized in food photography, and it was hired by restaurants for menus and social media shots, and it also did pictures for books and calendars. Most of the bills, though,
were paid by food magazines and other entertainment. “It’s a big industry,” I explained to Jamie.
“Oh, I know,” he said. “Ellen used to love this one baking show. Who knows—she probably still does.” It was the first time I’d ever heard him mention her with such indifference.
“Did you ever watch them?” I said.
“Nah,” he answered. “I’m not much into television.”
“I noticed that you’re a low-tech kinda guy,” I said, and he smiled at me.
“Low tech. Huh.”
“I just mean, like—if you have a social media presence, I haven’t found it.”
His smile widened. “You’ve looked for me?”
“Sure,” I said. “You would have looked for me, too, if you had social.” I was pretty confident about that fact, and also feeling a little flirty at the moment—probably because of how he’d been about Ellen.
But then he answered, “Well, I don’t,” and went back to the notebook.
For a split second, it hurt the way it used to when he’d snap at me—just a split second—before he put the notebook down and said, shaking his head, “Ah, shit. I don’t mean to do that. My therapist thinks whenever I feel like somebody’s getting too close to me, I snap at them. Like, I snapped at her constantly for probably the whole first month I saw her. But I don’t ever want to do that to you.”
My face felt really hot all of a sudden, and I couldn’t answer him without worrying I would start to cry—which would have been really stupid, since nothing had happened to warrant such a strong reaction. Right?
“You probably get the worst of it,” he said softly, “because you’ve been there for me like nobody else has. You’ve been through all the same stuff. Like, nobody understands me how you do. I know it sounds crazy, but it just makes me really…I don’t know. Really scared, sometimes.” He laughed, a self-deprecating sound. “I must seem so screwed up. At least I’m in therapy,” he said, but his false cheerfulness couldn’t fool me.
“That’s great that you are,” I said, sincerely meaning it. “I’m…I mean, don’t get mad at me for saying this—” He scoffed. “But I’m proud of you.” I tried to say it in a bro way, but even breaking eye contact and shrugging my shoulders like it didn’t matter, I knew he could tell that it did—that I meant it.
He took a deep breath, looking into my eyes. “Thank you,” he said. There was a quiver in his voice, but a second later, he tapped the notebook and said, “Okay, let’s compare our notes here and see how far we have to go.”
If I didn’t have this whole project to finish in the next twelve hours, I would have kissed him. But there was no time, and besides, who knew how he felt? He might have just been finally becoming my friend—and that would be good, wouldn’t it? I still longed to touch him, to feel his skin against mine. But the moment passed, and nothing approaching it in intimacy or honesty happened again.
We looked over each other’s progress, and then we regrouped and kept working until seven, when our stomachs started growling in unison. But we had so much to do that we just ordered a pizza and kept at it. At about nine, the numbers were all sorted out, and all that was left was to type up the essay.
“Okay,” Jamie said, “I’ll read you what I’ve got here, and you type.”
“Sounds good,” I answered, and we both sat up against the headboard to work—being too tired to sit up any longer.
We worked while the sun set out the window, and we worked through the unmistakable sounds of Steven and Trent getting friendly next door. I’m not sure how late Jamie typically stayed up, but after working all day, I couldn’t make it much past midnight. My eyes were drooping, and his hands were looser on the notebook, and neither of us seemed to have much to say. I had at least the wherewithal to press the “save” key before letting my computer fall onto the bed and following it down to the soft piles of blankets between us.
CHAPTER 22
A Big Fan of Communication
__________
In an odd moment of déjà vu, a loud rap at the door alerted me that I’d fallen asleep somewhere unfamiliar. I woke up with a crick in my neck and looked up to see the sun in the window, my computer on the bed, and Jamie curled up in the blankets, blinking blearily up at me as we both started at the sharp sound.
“Lovebirds!” Steven sang cheerfully as he pounded the door. “Time to rise and shine!”
Lovebirds? I looked at Jamie, still as fully clothed as I was, lying on top of the bed, notebook where he’d written copious notes still in his hand.
“Geez, nothing happened,” he called to Steven as he rolled out of the bed. Without looking at me, he rubbed his hands over his hair and started toward the door.
“Wow,” I said under my breath. I was sore all over, I had no idea how far I’d gotten on this paper last night, and I wanted to say thanks for helping me, but it looked like Jamie just wanted to get as far away from me as possible.
He glanced back over his shoulder at me. “What?”
“Just—you know, it was pretty clear he was joking, but you just had to make sure everybody knew that we weren’t hooking up.”
He sighed heavily. “What are you talking about?”
“The way you said that just now!”
“Paul, look, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just woke up. And besides, it’s true. We weren’t hooking up!”
“I know,” I said. “Thanks for the help.” I picked up my laptop and backpack, making my way toward the door as I shoved the computer inside the bag.
“Wait, hang on,” he said, “you can’t be mad at me for stating a simple fact.”
Joke’s on you, I thought. I can be mad about all kinds of irrational things.
“Look, I have Spanish,” I said, then paused. “Shit.” I still needed a ride back to campus.
Sighing, I pushed my way through the door to face whatever annoying teasing was on the other side.
“Well, look who it is,” Steven said saucily.
“Yes, it’s me,” I said, “if you even remember what I look like. And before you say anything else about it, Jamie and I were up all night trying to finish my Marketing homework—but I might as well delete the whole paper if I’m not back at Franklin in time to hand it in.”
“Oh, you were doing ‘homework’?” he said, batting his eyes. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Yes,” I said, unamused. “My friends and I all call our homework ‘homework.’ It might sound crazy, but somehow we get by using this bizarre and almost undecipherable code language. Now can you guys give me a ride, or should I call and bother Tessa at—” I glanced at my phone. “seven in the morning.” It wasn’t that early, and she was probably awake, but still. It felt like the crack of dawn to me.
“I’ll drive you,” Trent said, walking up from behind me. “Lighten up.”
I looked at Steven, who was clearly taken aback by my anger, and then at Jamie, who appeared at least to feel somewhat chagrined, but more than that, as uneasy with my outburst as Steven. Even Trent looked annoyed, and their annoyance with me made me annoyed with them. What was the big deal? Was I not ever allowed to be in a bad mood? They’d all been assholes from time to time for any given reason, so why was I suddenly the one coming out looking like the bad guy?
“Forget it,” I said. “I’ll take the bus.”
“No, you won’t,” Trent said. “You’d be late. I can finish getting ready after. Let’s go.”
He hadn’t seemed this serious and imposing to me since the day I met him. Was he mad at me now, too? For fuck’s sake. I followed him out the door without another word to Steven or Jamie, feeling so hopelessly awkward about both of them that I really didn’t know what I could say.
Trent, though, only waited until we were in his car to say, “Why did you come yesterday, Paul?”
“I was looking for you,” I answered. “I needed help with my Marketing assignment, and I forgot that you had to work.”
He nodded and was quiet for a l
ong time, mulling something over. I had just started to relax and assume that we would spend the rest of the car ride in silence when Trent said, “You know, Jamie’s been doing a lot better lately. A lot better. He apologized to Steven and me for how he acted when he first met us. He’s referring to himself as a gay man, which I never thought I’d hear him do. He even got accepted to Franklin in the fall, and he got a scholarship through the LGBTQ Center. They liked him so much, they want him to be a part-time student mentor there, which I think will be so good for him. He’s making real progress.”
A part-time student mentor? Oh, hell. “That’s great,” I said, though in a tone that probably conveyed my feelings were pretty much the opposite at this point.
“You know, I get the sense you don’t think it’s great,” Trent said, “and that’s a problem for me, because Jamie is somebody I’ve come to care about a lot, and I want him to be okay. I’m not okay with somebody not wanting him to be okay.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I turned toward him in my seat. “Trent, I’m the first person who ever wanted him to be okay. I always wanted that, and he threw it back in my face, over and over and over again. He’s the one who hurt me, not the other way around! And, for the record, it isn’t mutually exclusive to want somebody to be okay and want them to take responsibility for the things they’ve done. Like, just because he’s doing better now doesn’t mean that he didn’t hurt me. Badly. But you guys just conveniently forgot all about that. So, good for you. I hope the three of you are very happy together.”
We were at the edge of campus now, and Trent’s eyes were on the students walking by as he said, “Don’t make it like that, Paul. Don’t make it you versus him, and don’t make us take sides. You were as angry and confused once as he was, in case you forgot. If anybody should cut him some slack, shouldn’t it be you?”
My eyes stung with anger as I said, only understanding it myself for the first time, “No. Because I went through all the same things, but I didn’t take it out on him. I didn’t use him, or lie about how I felt about him. I was honest, and I never told a single lie to him or about him. I respected him enough to tell the truth. And he didn’t. He made me feel like I was…his dirty little secret or something. Like I was the one he just wanted to fuck, while she was the one he wanted to marry. And even though he wanted me, he still married her. And I waited,” I added, voice cracking with the strain. “I waited, after we slept together, to see if he would come after me the way he did her—to see if he ever cared about me the way he cared about her. If I was worth a damn to him. But he didn’t. He never came.”
