by Adam Silvera
“Can I catch up with you in a few, Genevieve?”
She looks at me like I just punched her in the face and kicked her while she was down. “I’ll be outside,” she tells Thomas—not me—and punches his arm.
I’m dizzy again. The door practically slams behind her and there’s a ringing in my ears.
He paces back and forth and it hurts my neck but I keep my eyes on him.
I say, “So what’s new?”
“Heart stuff and insanity,” Thomas says. I feel something awful rising inside of me. He better not be talking about Genevieve. “I’ve been giving thought to my life chart and overheard something on the radio about love addiction. It’s a real thing. People who are in love with love. I think I’m a love addict. It explains why I always pull away from a girl when I’m not in that honeymoon phase anymore and start searching for someone new. It’s a cruel cycle, Stretch.”
“That’s where your mind has been while I was laid out here?”
It’s quiet except for the sound of my heart monitor beeping.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Thomas finally replies. “Okay, I know exactly what you want me to say, but those aren’t words I can tell you. I’m not even a hundred percent sure who I’m talking to right now.”
“The Stretch you’re talking to is a guy who didn’t want to like other guys so he tried changing that,” I say.
“Let me get this straight,” Thomas says. “Leteo made you forget you were gay?”
“Yeah. You thought I told you my story before—hell, I even thought I told you everything there is to know—but you have no idea what I’ve been through.”
Thomas sits down, his head hung low. “So who are you?”
“I don’t know. I’m sort of two people who want very different things, but even with all this confusion, I’m still pretty sure who you are and it kills me that you’re not.”
He almost looks at me, but his head drops again. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should be apologizing for something or going back to your block to fight those guys or if I should stay here and figure out who you are or if you’re better off without me being around. I just don’t know. What do you want?”
“You,” I say, and I actually say it, because I want him in the same way I wanted Genevieve when I was straight, and the same way I wanted Collin months ago. Except I want—no—need him more than the others. “And if that’s something you’re not ready for, I think I need a little space to try and forget these feelings.”
“Okay.” Thomas stands and gives my resting hand a fist bump. He looks at me—finally—and I know I’m punishing him just as much as I’m punishing myself. “I wasn’t just self-diagnosing myself while you were laid out. I was distracting myself however I could because thinking of you never waking up and being okay was fucking killing me. I missed you and I hope that’s okay to say.”
Then he leaves and I feel like the biggest idiot in the universe.
3
DEAD END
When Genevieve comes in, she sits down on the bed and holds my hand like we didn’t break up the last time we saw each other. She asks me how I’m feeling. I tell her I’m okay, when I’m really still struggling with Thomas walking out of my life, but it seems like too much to share that with her.
“Do you like the blue walls?” she asks. “I suggested a room this color might relax you when you woke up.”
Of course she did. I hold my aching arms up and she hugs me, resting her face against mine. “Remember that time I sort of told you that I liked guys and we were going to live happily ever after? And remember the time before that where I was the worst person ever and used you?”
Genevieve sits up and shushes me. “No, stop. You were confused and had every right to be nervous. This moment here proves that.” She lowers her head. “As for me, I should’ve pulled myself away. Even when I knew you were only mine because Leteo crossed your wires, I stayed with you. Wrong move.”
“I’m sorry we broke up.”
She cries a little. “You’re not for me to love, Aaron. It was a dead end and I kept trying to go forward.”
And we crashed because of me. “Can you be real with me about something? You never told Thomas why I got the procedure, right?”
“I thought maybe you told him yourself. I even thought the procedure started unwinding while I was in New Orleans because you two were so close when I got back. But later I realized he knew nothing. I would never tell your secrets, Aaron. Even the ones I know you’re hiding from me.”
I not only screwed her over; I never deserved her. “So you don’t hate me?”
“Of course I don’t hate you, but as your friend, I have to be real with you about something else. It’s about Thomas.” Genevieve pauses, and the heart monitor’s beeping elevates for a few seconds. “I’m worried you’re going to wait for him the way I was waiting for you. I think the sooner you realize he can’t like you, the happier you’ll be.”
“Wait. Do you think he likes you or something?”
“I already said no! Why are you repeating yourself?” Genevieve tilts her head, looking at me funny. “Are you okay?” She reaches across and grips my shoulder; I’m struck with flashbacks of all the times Thomas steered me somewhere from behind, and all the times Collin and I would bump into each other on purpose. “Aaron, should I get Evangeline or someone?” She’s tearing up.
“No, I’m fine. I zoned out,” I say, feeling a little short of breath. “Look, trust me, Thomas isn’t straight. I know him.”
“No one really knows who Thomas is,” Genevieve says.
I know she’s not being haughty about it, but I don’t like how matter-of-fact she is about someone no one knows better than I do. “Gen, you’re the one who falls for guys who won’t like you back, not me.”
“Whoa.” Genevieve stands up and I swear she’s about to punch me. “Just so you know, you apologized for the wrong thing, Aaron. I understood why you dated me, and I let it happen even though I shouldn’t have, but that doesn’t make it okay that you were seeing scratch out Collin behind my back. You made me feel like no one. You don’t get to keep ignoring the past because you don’t like it.”
My breaths are quick and uneven. My temper rises. “You’re right. I’m sorry I’m not straight. I’m sorry I went after someone I could feel real emotions over. I’m sorry I needed to hide so strangers wouldn’t try and beat me to death. I’m sorry my dad killed himself because of me. And I’m sorry my past is so terrible I couldn’t live in it anymore. But forget the past, okay? Forget our past.”
Genevieve doesn’t cry or flip me off or punch me. She just turns around and walks to the door. Her arm shakes as she holds the doorknob. She looks at the blue walls she personally requested for me and says, “You forget that I cried with you when all those bad things happened.”
And I think she has more she wants to say, but she finds the strength to turn the doorknob and leaves. Once the door closes, I’m hit with this fear that I may never see her again.
4
PSYCH ME OUT
I’m about to have my psych session with Evangeline. It’s been a while.
The first time I came into this office I didn’t actually think a memory-alteration procedure was possible. Even after I met Evangeline, I was sure she was going to turn me away because I was this kid who didn’t even know what to ask of Leteo. I definitely wanted to forget finding my father in the bathtub. But the more she and I chatted, the more I pieced together that my problems ran much deeper. It all came together like connect-the-dots, revealing a boy who understood the impossible things ahead of him.
Months later, I’m back in this office with its white walls, a tablet on a sleek desk, certificates I never bothered to read carefully enough, and my blueprint architect waiting for me to share why I need the procedure again.
Evangeline put on a goo
d show, for sure. I never suspected she was a Leteo specialist. The only people in my life who knew about her were my mom, Eric, and Genevieve. Brendan and the other guys on the block didn’t remember me having a babysitter as a kid but never questioned it beyond Family Day—who would think to suspect someone manipulated my memories to get close to me? It’s just clicking now, but it was no coincidence when Mom sent me to the post office at the same time Evangeline was there. And when Evangeline accompanied me to Leteo and ran off to speak to that woman from “Hunter College’s Department of Philosophy” it was probably some coworker or patient.
I even remember that Hannah chick at the info counter now. Hopefully this show comes with an encore of the forgettable variety.
Evangeline tries to warm me up with small talk, no doubt to gauge what kind of mood I’m in. So I just tell her: “I’m feeling a hundred things right now. Betrayed. Disappointed. Guilty. Desperate. You need me to go on?”
“You only listed four things. Hit me with the other ninety-six.”
“Regret. Love. Pissed off. Grief. Just trust me, there’s more.”
“I believe you, kiddo.”
I crack my knuckles, one finger at a time, and tug at my sleeve afterward. “You can make me better.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not up to me to sign off on the procedure. But let’s review what happened the past few months. We gave you a glimpse into what your life would look like if you were straight. Your true nature burst through our seams. I can’t elaborate much further than this, but many of our other clients who have undergone similar work remain as we left them. Is being gay really at fault here?”
I know the answer but I stay quiet.
I need the noise in my head to get loud again to drown out all the memories of rejection and heartache. So much has been left behind because of Leteo’s screwup, and she wants me to tell her how happy I was, so she feels better? No. No, I won’t do that. No, I wasn’t happy. I mean, sure, I thought I was, but I found happiness in the wrong person and that doesn’t count. It didn’t count with Collin, it didn’t count with Genevieve, and it doesn’t count with Thomas.
“I won’t survive this,” I say. “You all understood how hard this was for me the first time, but now I’m carrying extra weight. How is that not clicking with anyone?”
“As I said, kiddo, this isn’t up to me. I agree that the memories you’re carrying around are painful, especially for someone your age with your history . . .” Her eyes fall on my smiling scar. “The day we were here together, Hannah scheduled you for an appointment on the twelfth of August. It was for a consultation, but if your mother signs off on your procedure, we’ll take care of you . . .” She goes on about how she couldn’t talk me out of it the first time, but I tune her out.
August 12th. Two days before my birthday.
I’ll try to make it that long.
5
WINDING BACK THE CLOCK
I have to see him.
All my memories are so warped right now. I’m pushing my father’s suicide out of my head as best as possible because it hurts too much with everything else I’m suffering.
I want to turn back the clock, back to the days where being who I am didn’t get me thrown through glass doors; back to the days where he and I ran around laughing; back to the days where there was a chance of happiness despite our circumstances.
It’s against my better instinct, but I reach for my phone and dial his number like I never forgot it. I press call and don’t expect him to pick up.
“You’re okay,” he says.
“I’ve been cooler, Collin.”
6
ONCE MORE
I’m forgetting about Thomas and Genevieve without any help from Leteo.
Talking with Collin has made recovery pretty easy these past three days. There’s been zero reminiscing or any shit like that over the phone. We’re trying to keep everything cool and not gay between us, I guess. We talk about meaningless things like movies we’ve seen—he also hated The Final Chase—and how I need to catch up on The Dark Alternates because the last issue comes out this month and the story line has gotten crazy. The biggest taboo of all is his pregnant girlfriend; he never even hints at her.
I’m finally being released from Leteo today. Evangeline thinks I should stay for another couple of days as they run more tests, but I will hang myself with an IV if I have to spend another hour in this room. (Not really.) I promised to let her know if I have any dizzy spells, cases of vomiting, or the attention span of a goldfish.
The only time I speak to Mom on the way home is to ask if Mohad is firing me for missing work on account of getting my ass beat. But she’s already been in contact with him and he’s not. I have that going for me.
I’m a little on edge when we arrive on our block. Brendan, Skinny-Dave, and Nolan better not come at me again. Mom holds on to my arm, squeezing, and I bet she’s nervous too. I see Baby Freddy and Fat-Dave playing catch by the trash cans, and Baby Freddy drops the ball when he sees me and runs over.
“No!” Mom screams, guarding me with her body. “Stay away from my son, or I swear I will have you all thrown in jail.”
Baby Freddy backs up a little. He looks straight up embarrassed. “I just wanted to see if he’s okay. I’m sorry they did that, Aaron. It was messed up.” He leaves before my mom can threaten him again.
I swallow a deep and sharp breath when we get to our lobby entrance. I used to run through those doors as a kid when we played tag, and manhunt later as a teenager. I would race to hold the doors open for our neighbors, and they would tell my mom she raised such a well-mannered little boy. Now there’s nothing but a door frame and a little girl jumping back and forth over it, like someone wasn’t almost killed here.
Next thing I know, I’m riding up the elevator with Mom.
Once she crashes onto her own bed for the first time in a week, I change into different clothes and sneak out to meet Collin.
I get to Java Jack’s, this run-down diner on 142nd Street, in no time. Without thinking, I settle into the booth by the window Collin and I always opted for whenever we came here together; it’s a prime spot for people watching/mocking. Collin used to hate coffee, but I’m betting now he thinks drinking coffee proves you’re a man or something. It’s pretty dumb, but I know he struggles with this side of himself way more than I ever have in both of my lives, so I won’t call him out on it. I’ll also keep everything about our history airtight so we don’t tip anyone off.
I stop the waiter. “Can I bother you for another coffee?”
“Be back in a moment,” he says.
The door opens and I shoot up. It’s not Collin. It’s just some guy in baggy clothes and long surfer hair. If I had the power to snap my fingers and change him, I’m not convinced I would’ve dressed him in a basketball jersey or made him taller with Collin’s golden curls. Maybe I would’ve transformed him into Thomas, watching his skin turn a shade darker than the weak coffee this place serves, and his regular, boring eyebrows would’ve grown into the thicker eyebrows I had no business touching before I kissed him.
I just don’t know.
Snap, snap.
There’s a hand snapping a few inches from my nose.
“You cool?” Collin sits down across from me like we’ve spent no time apart. “You certainly don’t look it.”
My swollen eye is less swollen, but it’s still pretty much an eyesore everyone can’t help but stare at when I’m just walking down the street. “Yeah. I ran into a lot of wrong fists. How’d you find out?”
“Genevieve told a friend who told a friend who told Nicole,” Collin says. “What else is new?” He picks up the menu as if he doesn’t always order the same thing—omelet with a side of hash browns—and it’s a good tactic; I’ll give him that. Focus on what’s new and what’s next instead of what brought him here. “Hey! Can I get some coffee over h
ere?”
“Make that two!”
“Why do you need two?” Collin asks.
“I downed mine already.”
Collin points at the steaming mug in front of me. I could’ve sworn I drank mine already, especially because of how badly I have to pee now. Maybe the waiter refilled it while I was lost in my head.
The waiter looks confused too. And a little annoyed as he brings two steaming mugs. “What the . . . ? You still haven’t finished the second cup.”
“Uh, no. Sorry about that.”
“Great. I’ll just make another batch for the next time you want to waste some more.”
Collin pours sugar into his coffee and tells the waiter, “Don’t be a dick, dick.” The waiter curses under his breath and leaves. Collin always used to tell off the asshole waiters who never hang around Java Jack’s longer than a month. It started a game where I would draw something crude on the bill to make him laugh. Becoming that person again would be cold and distant, but safe.
“So you were about to tell me what’s new with you,” he says.
“Nothing besides getting thrown through doors.”
He stares at his coffee. “Where was Genevieve when all this went down?”
“I kind of quit her.” I lock eyes with him when he looks up. “What’s going on with you and Nicole? How’s her pregnancy coming along?”
Collin covers his mouth, coffee dribbling down his chin. “Uh, she’s about to enter her third trimester.”
