Return to Sender

by Ashlyn Kane

  “I’m surprised he still knows how to speak English,” Jonah confided. “And thanks—you guys have been really great, and I’m sorry we haven’t hung out more. It’s just—I don’t know, I think I want to see the world. Or at least the country.” He owed Oliver at least that small measure of honesty.

  “Can’t say I blame you for that,” Oliver admitted as they stood and started clearing their dishes away. “Midterms suck, and when they’re finally over, it’s exam time.”

  “The two of you do seem to spend a lot of time at the library.” Setting the pot in the sink to soak, Jonah turned around. “Is it okay with you if I take care of this later? I’m supposed to be meeting Evan at his place.”

  Oliver waved him off. “No, go on. I imagine you have things to talk about.” Then he grinned. “Mind you be home by midnight.”

  Jonah laughed his way out the door, though the idea of talking about things with Evan made him want to do the opposite.

  It was a couple of blocks to Evan’s, and he usually just walked it, but today he just happened to be passing by the bus stop at the same time as the bus, so he hopped on. The early March weather was freezing cold, anyway, and it wasn’t like he needed the exercise. He did almost miss his stop, however—too busy staring out the windows at the gray concrete and grayer sky and trying too hard not to think about what he was going to do.

  When he reached the apartment building, Evan buzzed him in immediately, then met him at the door with a kiss and a mug of hot chocolate. “You’re awesome,” Jonah said feelingly, pressing another quick kiss to his mouth before hanging his coat on the back of the door and wrapping both hands around the mug. “How was work?”

  “Same old,” Evan smiled, leading him into the living room. “Mitch got his tie stuck in the photocopier. Got a picture with my phone before the IT guy arrived, see?”

  Jonah had only met Mitch once when a few of Evan’s work colleagues had gone out for dinner, but from what he remembered and the way Evan usually talked about him, the photocopier attack was just part of the universe’s karmic retribution. “Wow. I didn’t know people’s eyeballs could actually bulge like that.”

  Snickering, Evan turned his phone off and set it on the table. “I know. I’m thinking of sending out a company-wide e-mail on photocopier safety. Just trying to figure out if I can get away with it without being fired.”

  Jonah took a quick sip of hot chocolate, then put it down beside him; it was still too hot to drink. “Probably not with a picture attachment,” he said with a mock-regretful tone.

  “No, probably not,” Evan agreed. “Pity. Anyway, how was your day?”

  Jonah shrugged. “It was alright. I got a new client, another yuppie housewife,” he teased, knowing how Evan felt about the majority of his clientele. It wasn’t his fault the yuppie housewives seemed to find him charming and nonthreatening. Besides, he liked them; they were nice and never treated him any differently because he had a boyfriend. “She seems nice.”

  “That’s awesome, Jonah. You’ll be making more money than me soon at this rate.”

  Jonah poked him in the stomach. “Not unless you quit your job to become a street busker or something.”

  “Well, I do know how to juggle. You never know.”

  Jonah did know, actually—Evan loved being a chartered accountant and the money and prestige that came along with it. Jonah was just never going to understand the appeal of something so seemingly artless; he loved words and images and color too much to enjoy crunching numbers. “Whatever you say,” Jonah said with a roll of his eyes.

  He must have zoned out for a minute, because the next thing he knew, he was reaching for a cold mug of hot chocolate, and Evan was saying, “Jonah? Something on your mind?”

  Where to begin. Jonah stared down at the mug in his hands and told himself to just spit it out already, that he might want to move, that he might be leaving, but what he said was, “It’s Emerson.”

  Coward.

  “Your pen pal?” Evan clarified, his voice holding enough of a frown, Jonah didn’t need to check to see if his expression matched. “Is his dad okay?”

  “He’s still in the hospital,” Jonah said shortly, rotating the mug to the left, then right again. “But that’s not….” He huffed finally and put the mug on the table before steeling himself and turning to face Evan. “I’m mad at him for throwing his dreams away, and it’s distracting.”

  “Okay…,” Evan hedged.

  “It’s just—he always wanted to go to art school, and somehow his parents conned him into getting a soulless business degree.”

  “Gee, Jonah, tell me how you really feel,” Evan said, a hint of bitterness to his tone.

  Jonah blinked, then realized what he’d said. “No, that’s not—I get that it’s what you love, really. Come on, it would be kind of ridiculous if I thought everyone should be a starving artist, wouldn’t it? Besides, it’s not like I can talk.” Not when he had no real education to speak of. “I’m just frustrated. I want him to be happy, you know? That’s all.”

  “I believe you,” Evan said calmly, shifting so he was sitting facing Jonah. “Is there something else bothering you? You’re not usually this jumpy.”

  Fuck. There was nothing for it—he might as well just own up. “Our lease is up for renewal in a couple weeks,” he admitted. “Oliver asked if I wanted to sign, but it’s a year contract.”

  “I thought you liked that apartment?” Evan said. “Have you been fighting with your roommates or something?”

  Jonah shook his head. “No, nothing like that. They’re great guys, even if I do hardly see them.” He looked at his lap.

  After a moment Evan said, “Oh. I think I know where this is going.”

  Relieved, Jonah whipped his head around to look at him. Evan didn’t look mad. Actually, he looked… what, happy? Indulgent. “You do?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I was going to wait a little longer to say something, but if your lease is coming up now, there’s not much point, is there?”

  Wait, was Evan breaking up with him? That… actually that would make his decision at least a little easier, wouldn’t it? But then why was he smiling? “I guess not,” Jonah said tentatively.

  Evan fidgeted a little, but there was a smile fighting its way past the corners of his mouth. Jonah suddenly had a bad feeling that this was not at all going where he thought it was. “I know you’re a lot younger than I am, and it used to freak me out a little, but you’re so much more mature than I was at your age that it doesn’t even matter anymore. I know you don’t like to talk about your feelings, but you know that I love you, and I think—I hope—you feel the same?”

  Oh, God. The bottom dropped out of Jonah’s stomach. This was definitely not where he thought Evan was going with this conversation. This was the opposite. “Evan—”

  “No, let me finish. It’s early, but I think we get along well, and maybe this is just the universe’s way of telling us that it’s time, you know? So what do you say?”

  Jonah silently prayed that a bolt of lightning would strike the apartment and interrupt the coming question, but to no avail.

  “Move in with me?”

  “I’m leaving Boston,” Jonah blurted.

  Evan blinked hard, like he didn’t quite understand what Jonah had just said. “Finally going to visit your parents?” he said faintly.

  “No.” Jonah stood up, suddenly frantic. He didn’t want this. How had he ever convinced himself that he did, that this was any kind of acceptable substitute? It wasn’t. Jonah was still too in love with Emerson to want anyone else, and now Evan was going to pay the price for it. “Look, I—you’ve been really good to me. Good for me. But I’m just a stupid kid. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and I have a lot more growing up to do.”

  Evan flushed, then stood as well, putting his hands on his hips and then just as quickly removing them. “I don’t understand—are you breaking up with me?”

  “I’m not ready for this kind of commitment
,” Jonah said frankly, horrified to hear how his voice shook with the words. “I’m not.”

  “That’s—you don’t have to,” Evan said, taking a hesitant step forward, reaching for Jonah’s hands. “I’m sorry. That was too sudden. Let’s just—forget it.”

  Jonah took a step back. “No, you don’t understand. I wasn’t ready for the level of commitment we already have.” He swallowed what felt like a mouthful of cut glass and ran his hands through his hair, tugging. “I never meant for things to get this far. God, what a fucking mess.”

  “Jonah—”

  “I’m leaving,” he repeated, too quickly, unsteady. “You, Boston, my job. I’ve been lying to myself. I need to go.”

  “Jonah—”

  He couldn’t listen to it, couldn’t take the pleading tone. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to make it sound final.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Evan told him, and for all that Jonah knew his heart was breaking it didn’t sound like anything but anger now.

  “Yeah, well,” Jonah said bitterly, “it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  When he got back to his apartment, Oliver was already in bed, and the apartment was dark. Jonah washed the dishes as quickly and quietly as he could, not wanting to wake his roommates, but his hand slipped as he was drying Oliver’s stainless steel measuring cup, and somehow he ended up with a wide red crescent blossoming on his right knuckle.

  The measuring cup fell to the floor with a deafening rattle, and Jonah swore, grasping his hand around his wrist to try to stem the bleeding before it got everywhere. “Shit.” God, it hurt, and the fact that he’d got dish soap in the cut wasn’t helping any. He gritted his teeth and turned around to head for the bathroom to get a bandage.

  “Jonah?” Oliver appeared in his bedroom doorway wearing track pants and a holey T-shirt. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Jonah said a little roughly. What a fucking fantastic day it had been. Now he was capping it off by ruining his roommate’s sleep habits. “I just cut myself on the measuring cup, that’s all.”

  Oliver took a couple of steps forward; he glanced briefly at Jonah’s hand, then up at his face. “Are you okay?”

  “It’s just a cut—”

  “You’re crying.”

  Jonah stared at him, then down at his hand. A salty droplet landed in the cut, and he hissed. “I broke up with Evan.” He wasn’t convinced that was why he was upset, but it was a good enough cover for now.

  “I’ll get the peroxide,” Oliver said after a short silence, and he disappeared into the bathroom.

  He made Jonah sit on the couch while he cleaned the cut and bandaged it with some gauze and medical tape. “I guess this means you’re not sticking around.”

  Jonah stared at him. “How did you know?”

  Oliver stood. “You’re not that hard to read, Jonah.”

  Except for when it counted; apparently he’d had Evan completely fooled. “I’m sorry.”

  With a final pat on the shoulder, Oliver headed back to his room. He paused at the doorway and turned around just for a moment. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Jonah hoped so too.

  §

  TUCKED inside a summer course catalog for U of T with all four art night classes marked with sticky notes:

  Emerson,

  Well, it is huge. I can see why you’d be afraid. But I promise I’ll be gentle.

  Did you not so much as glance at the classifieds I sent you? Advertising, corporate logos, web design, clothes designers, video games, art directors for films, need I go on? If you’re going to throw away your dream, at least do yourself the courtesy of admitting the real reason.

  I’ll be moving again in a couple of weeks, so if I don’t hear from you before then, I’ll send you another letter from wherever I land.

  Jonah

  §

  Jonah,

  As someone who isn’t here, you don’t get to judge.

  Emerson

  §

  Emerson,

  Sorry about the delay. My funds lasted longer than I thought they would—I made it all the way to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. It is probably the coolest place in the world.

  I got a job working at the tourist information center, which is pretty sweet. It doubles as a travel agency (Jackson Hole is really tiny) so I also get discounts on bus fares. You should come and visit when exams are done (not by bus though)! I will show you the Grand Tetons, and we’ll go hunting for dropped elk-antler souvenirs. Maybe we’ll even camp out at Yellowstone.

  There’s a writer’s workshop that meets every Sunday night at one of the local cafes, and I think I’m going to start going. I’ve really been itching to put pen to paper lately. I haven’t had that since I left home. Maybe it’s a sign.

  Jonah

  Chapter 5

  NOW

  IT WAS two o’clock in the morning and Emerson was awake. His face was pressed into his pillow as he attempted to keep himself quiet.

  Emerson was used to having to use a pillow to stifle his noises in the middle of the night, but that was because he had no other way of stopping the noise if he used two hands to jerk off.

  He wasn’t jerking off now.

  No, he didn’t have the energy or inclination for that.

  The next sob that tore its way up Emerson’s throat was loud and painful. God. Crying again. Sometimes it felt like all Emerson had done for the past three years was cry.

  His body shook, and the tears fell with wracking spasms. Emerson was tired of crying, but tired also of the pity. No, Emerson didn’t want Zack to try and calm him this time. So, he was crying in the middle of the night with his face pressed to the pillow. This way no one would know. Emerson just wanted to get some of the pain out.

  The pain of missing Jonah, of knowing that he had chased him away. God, Jonah was gone, and this time Emerson had no one to blame but himself.

  Another sob and more tears come out. Even he could tell his voice was filled with pain. Emerson’s fingers spasmed and gripped his blankets.

  Jonah had left two days ago, and Emerson was starting to get worried that he would never come home. That he would never want Emerson again. Emerson knew where he was, but not because Jonah had told him. Jonah hadn’t spoken to him since he ran out of the house in anger, and such a long silence from Jonah didn’t bode well. The only other time that Jonah had given Emerson the silent treatment had been when he had run all the way to Boston.

  Emerson’s heart was breaking over Jonah Cherneski once again.

  He cried into his pillow still. Sobs still breaking and tears still falling.

  He stayed there until exhaustion overtook him, and he finally fell asleep with the slowing of his sobs.

  He woke the next day dehydrated with a head that felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, long after the clock had ticked past noon.

  §

  THEN

  “EMERSON.” Mrs. Cherneski hadn’t looked terribly surprised to see him standing on her doorstep. “We still haven’t heard from Jonah yet.”

  Her eyes were red and rimmed in black bruises. She had come home two days ago to find her son gone. Obviously she had slept no better than Emerson had these past two nights.

  “Uh.” Emerson stared at his feet. Then looked back up at her. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I….” He trailed off, looking away from her face. “I don’t even know why… it won’t help, but—can I… go up to his room?” Emerson didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish, just knew he needed to see the room for himself. He needed to see the space, to see if it held any answers for him.

  Mrs. Cherneski must have read this on his face, or maybe she had felt something like it herself, because she just opened the door and let him in.

  It was weird to be alone in Jonah’s room. A dozen memories competed for space in his conscious mind as he looked around the room. This place was as familiar to Emerson as his own bedroom. He and Jonah had wasted away hundreds of afternoons in this
room over the years. But now Jonah was gone, and Emerson was left alone.

  And Emerson really was alone. There was no one else, no other friends to help bear the loss.

  Emerson had always been a worrier. Even as a child he had been prone to anxiety. At three he had been terrified of the vacuum cleaner, even when it was dormant. At six he had worried about being separated from his parents while out in public. At fourteen, it had been that others would discover what he had so recently learned himself: he was gay. A homosexual. A fag.

  Emerson had heard them say those words. Kids he had grown up with and known for ten years used “fag” as a weapon. They had tossed it around in the cafeteria, in the locker rooms and classrooms and in the halls. Emerson had loathed hearing it. He had had to school himself so he wouldn’t flinch every time he did. So Emerson had pulled away from the other boys whom he had spent his childhood with, all the boys who said that word or who had laughed at it. Jonah never had, and so it had been just Jonah for a long time.

  Away from school, things had been more peaceful for Emerson, easier. High school had remained difficult.

  It hadn’t helped that Emerson was increasingly shy as time passed, and he still had the same lithe body and delicate features of his childhood. He didn’t look like a girl, despite his wide eyes and long lashes, but others had still accused him of being one on a few occasions when Emerson had caught their attention.

  Not that Emerson had been bullied. He had just been the quiet and reserved shadow to Jonah’s popular, shining star. Jonah was the type of teen everyone liked, much as Emerson had been as a child, and so few people had bothered to hate Emerson.

  Emerson shook off the memories of high school and looked around the room. It was cluttered, bordering on messy, though there was no trash or dirty clothes lying around. There were, however, various treasures and relics from Jonah’s past strewn over the dresser and across bookshelves, pinned to the walls, and a few items even hung on the headboard.