by Max Henry
“People struggle to understand what they can’t see.” I walk my fingertips across his T-shirt, stopping where the hem of his sleeve meets his bicep. “The same goes for Autism, for example. Everyone points their fingers at the parent because how else does the kid get that way, right? But that’s not the case. And for some reason, outsiders to the situation struggle to reconcile that something can just be without reason or by consequence.”
Toby tilts his chin down, and his soft gaze finds mine, a lop-sided smile feathering across his lips. “You get it.”
I shrug, neck craned to see him better. “I figure it’s just logic.”
“Why did you ask me about our parents, then?” he queries.
“I did?”
“At my place. When I assumed you were from a good family because your parents are still together.”
“Oh. Right.” I frown and stare across the room at the window. “I just wanted to throw the assumption back at you.”
He doesn’t say anything, just smirks.
“You know,” I test, pushing myself up on one elbow. “You talk a lot about Rey. Especially for a guy who told me his brother was strictly off-limits.” I keep my gaze trained on him, reading all the cues I can get.
“Habit,” he says simply. Toby pauses, the furrow in his brow deepening. “I realize I do it.”
I don’t say anything, allowing him the space to sort through what is so clearly on his mind.
“Ever since he was born, Rey has felt like my responsibility. It’s my role as a big brother, you know?”
I lean my head against the seat and smile. “No. I don’t.” His gaze shifts to mine. “I’m the youngest,” I explain. “Two older sisters. I don’t get along with our big sister. Neither does Kelly.”
“Why?”
“Difference of opinion about what I should be doing with myself.”
Toby lifts his furthest hand to prop it behind his head. “How is that any different to your father? He disapproves, but you get along with him, don’t you?”
“Eh.” I tip my head. “Better. But it’s strained.” I tap my fingertips on his nose. “I see your point, though. The difference is, Dad only disproves my chosen field of journalism. He supports my passion for music and creativity. He likes who I am as a person.”
“And she doesn’t?”
I take a deep breath, thinking back to the last time we spoke. “I don’t know.”
Awkward silence ensues, both of us seemingly lost for what to say. Toby watches me in my periphery. I try to smile, but he’s unearthed something I’ve kept buried under an insatiable passion for music these past years. The pain spills free, filling the void I’d happily harbored in my chest.
“You okay?” His question is quiet, respectful.
“Not really, but I’ll come around.”
He sighs out his nose, guiding my face until I stare straight at him. “I don’t want you upset, Jeanie.”
“Well, unfortunately, you have about as much control over that as I do, which isn’t much.” I learned a long time ago it’s best not to fight the discomfort. The resulting tension only adds a layer to the pain.
“See.” He runs his fingertips down the side of my face as though tracing the lines. “I think you’re wrong.”
I don’t know what it is about the moment, what tells me kissing him is the right thing to do, but I just know it is. I lean down, rolling myself more on top of him in the process, and place a tentative kiss on his lips. Our eyes lock, his breaths long and deep. Nothing is said, but so much passes between us.
So much connects.
I tilt my head and steal another, Toby crunching a little to rise and meet me halfway. I didn’t have much in mind for today when I woke. A little game time to clear the head, maybe a walk downtown later to get a few essentials. I didn’t put any expectation on what I wanted from his visit—if he did come as he said—and perhaps that’s why what I get feels so amazing. Or maybe it’s the guy who places a firm hand under the swell of my ass and pulls me closer, as though the physical distance between us causes him pain?
Whatever the fucking reason for heaven in my lounge room, I don’t care. As long as the euphoria doesn’t wear off too soon.
“As much as I want to continue what we’ve started,” Toby strains through a thick throat. “I don’t want to rush.” He fists his hand in my hair, holding me firmly in place. “I want today to last as close to forever as actually possible.”
I rest my forehead against his and whisper, “When do you go back?”
“Tomorrow.” He steals another quick taste. “We’ve got to get together before the weekend.”
My exhale seems loud in our little bubble; my whole world condensed to what I can see, what I can hear, and the man I can feel. “I’ll take what I can get.”
His warm lips dot a path across my left cheek and then my right, the grip he has on my jaw tilting my head so that he has better access. Toby literally kisses away my tears. And it’s in the incredible intimacy of it that I find what I’ve missed so far in my adult life—a soulmate.
I’ve longed for boys. I’ve lusted for men. I’ve found myself caught in the daydream of what a relationship with a guy I’ve crushed on might be like. But nothing compares to the soul-deep need I harbor right now. I want every one of his quiet seconds and all of his loud minutes. I want to be there when the lights are bright and when it’s just the two of us beneath the pale glow of the moon. I’d enjoy nothing more than to lose my hours deep in conversation with him about the things that speak to his heart and what the future holds.
For once, I crave what’s inside the person and not just the outer package.
I want all of what and who Toby is—even if he doesn’t know what that is yet. I know I can love it. That maybe, I already do a little.
“What you thinking?” His whispered word feathers across my cheek and tickles my ear.
“That I want today to be as close to forever as possible, too.”
Because tomorrow with this man can’t be guaranteed.
THIRTY-NINE
Toby
“Soap” - Badflower
Jeanie places her fingertips against mine, stretching her small hand to try and match the span. “You’ve got such long fingers.”
“It makes it hard to balance the stick.”
“Really?” She turns her head where it rests in the crook of my arm.
“Yeah. I can’t curl my fingers too much because then I hold it in a tight fist, so I have to keep them a little loose, but it gives the stick more room to roll away from the optimal position.” We moved to her floor after lunch, curled up under the blanket with a mound of cushions behind us while she attempted to teach me how to play her game.
“That sounds way harder than it looks. I mean, you hold a stick and bang it down. I would have thought keeping the rhythm would have been trickier.”
“All parts of the working machine.” I lift a section of her hair and let it glide through my fingers. “I thought you would have known all this?”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “I know a little bit of a lot of things. Not all the technicalities.”
“Fulcrum,” I say. “That’s what the point is called where you control the stick between your forefinger and thumb.” I repeat the motion with her hair, enjoying the sensation. “A pivot point. There are multiple fulcrums on a drummer’s body, depending on how they play: wrist, elbow, shoulder. It’s up to the individual to take the basic skill and find what method works for them.”
“There’s so much science behind it.”
“Not really.” I roll to my back better and stare up at the ceiling while I continue to play with her hair. “It’s a learned skill, just like anything else. Driving, reading, writing—they’re all just as hard when you don’t know how to do them.”
“What are you saying?” Jeanie rolls to her side, pushing up on one arm to look down at me. “I could be just as good at playing drums as you if I bothered to learn.”
I chuckle. “N
ah, babe. It takes talent, as well.”
“Which you’re born with.”
I frown. “I don’t know. Are people born with talents?”
“Isn’t this the same conversation as before?” She rests her chin on her hand, her palm across my heart.
“Not really. That was character, personality. This is knowing what you’re destined for.”
“Deep.” She drums her fingers on my chest. “Following that line of thought, then, you’d believe that we all have a special talent, something we could be great at. But most of us don’t bother to, or don’t manage to, discover what it is.”
“Not so weird to imagine, is it?”
“I guess not.” She falls quiet, seemingly into contemplation.
Her lashes aren’t fake or too long. They accent her eyes in that they don’t hide them. I’m drawn to the warm molasses of her irises, the tiny golden flecks, as she stares absently across the room. Once I stop to take notice, there’s a lot about Jeanie I didn’t appreciate before.
“I like this time with you.” I reach up and run the backs of my fingers along her cheekbone. “Talking about everything, but nothing important, if that makes sense?”
“I think so.” She shifts her attention to me. “It’s conversation. But real conversation.” Her eyes narrow a little. “No polite questions or talking about things you have in common just because. No set expectations. Just… conversation.” She speaks almost dreamily, as though in awe that she could feel so at ease.
I know I am.
I’ve spent years operating like a coiled spring, ready to blow apart at any moment. The energy I withheld is what kept me going when my body wanted to give out. I’ve operated from a fundamental need to just do shit for no other reason than if I stopped, I had nothing to stop for.
Now I do.
I prop my hand behind my head, so I see Jeanie better. “What do you want from this?”
She snaps her attention back to me. “How do you mean?”
I shrug, making her move as well. “Exactly that. What do you want from this? Us?” I gesture between her and me before placing my hand back under my head. “How do you see this progressing?”
“Do I have to define it?” She seems aggravated by my question.
I don’t want any surprises—for either of us. “It would make it better if we did, don’t you think?”
“Then what do you want?” Her left undereye twitches. “You answer first.”
“Chicken shit.” I smirk and then let my head fall back. “I want honesty. I think that’s the most important part.”
“You sound as though you lament that you won’t ever get it.” Jeanie’s weight shifts away.
Why the fuck did I bring this up? “I didn’t say that. That’s what you chose to read out of what I said.”
“Great.” She stands. “Blame me.”
I’ve hit a fucking vein here. Just wish I knew which one it was. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?” I snap. “Because that’s sort of why I brought this subject up, Jeanie. So that we can get the fucking shit out in the open before we waste too much time.”
“Oh, so now I’m a waste of time.” She storms to the kitchen.
The woman has to be on her period or some shit because no way did I say anything to warrant this outburst. “Would you stop making connections where there are none?” I push up, seated with my weight back on my arms. “I just asked how you saw us continuing.”
“Maybe I don’t!” She slams both palms to the counter and takes a few deep breaths.
My fucking heart stalls.
“Not that I don’t want to.” Her tone is softer, apologetic, but the damage is done. “It just seems impossible, don’t you think?”
“Clearly not.” I rise to my feet, the blanket falling away. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t fuckin’ be here.”
“Toby…”
“No.” Now I’m pissed. “What the fuck is the issue? Tell me what the fuck is more important because you make me feel undervalued right now.”
“It’s not more important,” she starts.
“It has to be.” I stride toward her. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t let it get in the way.”
Her pained gaze lifts to mine. “You’re a goddamn musician. A career artist.” Her tone shifts as though she speaks through a thick throat. “And I’m a fucking journalist.”
“Rey plays rock music, and Tabitha is a classical violinist. They work.”
“They’re both musos,” she hollers, tossing her hands to her sides. “You can’t draw a comparison to your brother, Toby.”
“It’s not that different. You just want it to be.” I act like a scorned child; I fucking know it. But this woman has my heart in her goddamn grip, and she doesn’t care. All she’s concerned with is how much blood will be left on her hands.
“You should see Rey,” Jeanie states, walking around me. “He probably needs you more after where he’s been.”
“No.” Fuck her for changing the subject. “All he needs is for me to keep the band together.”
“You can’t do that while you’re here. Can you?” Hair shielding her face, she stares down at the blanket and controller at her feet.
I miss where we were just minutes before, too. “Why do you want me to leave?”
“I want you to do what’s best for you,” she counters.
“And I thought I was.” I follow her across the room.
She drops to the floor, positioning the blanket over her legs. “Your band comes first, Toby. You might not like that fact, but you need to make peace with it.” She knifes me with her sad gaze. “I have.”
“I don’t want to go see Rey.” I huff a half-laugh out my nose. “He has Tabby. At least, I think he does.” That was where he went when he left Mom and Dad’s, but I haven’t heard the outcome.
“Take it from somebody with an outside point of view.” Jeanie leans back, head tipped on the cushions to look up at me. “They all look up to you and what you say. You motivate that band, and if you four have issues to sort out before you record, that’s where you should be.”
“I never said we have issues.” I narrow my gaze and fold my arms. Who’s she talked to now? “I said we needed to get together.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.” She gives a lazy smile.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Why have you changed the subject?” I drop to my haunches to level our gaze. “I want to talk about us.”
“And this is the reason why I struggle to see an us,” she stresses. “I’m a conflict of interest, Toby. How are we supposed to be open with the details of our lives when yours are what I make a living from?”
“We do it because we’re loyal.” I frown. “That’s not a hard thing to be when you care about someone.”
Brow furrowed, and hands winding non-stop in her lap, she huffs before speaking. “I didn’t do this, you know.”
“Do what?” My hands flex where they hang between my knees. Desire still courses through me and, although it feels like an unwanted visitor, I relish how alive it makes me feel to want something this bad. Fuck knows it’s been long enough.
“Set you up.” Her chin dives. So unsure of herself. “I didn’t phone you that day with the intention to…” Her words fail her as she winds her hand between us.
“Seduce me?” I chuckle. “Baby, nobody makes me do anything I don’t want to.”
“Jesus.” She mutters the word under her breath—one hand tugs at the neck of her sweater to cool the heated flesh beneath. “You’re mistaken, Toby. I’m not the woman you need.”
“And you’re in denial.”
“You can’t say that. You don’t know me,” Jeanie hollers, throwing the blanket off. “I went to your house and asked you questions to try and salvage my fuck up. Christ, Toby. I went there to write a story about you in the hopes it made me rich or famous as a journalist. Preferably both. Why the fuck would you want that in your life?”
&nb
sp; “You felt it,” I snap. Fuck her for denying this. “In front of the fire. At the airport.” I throw one arm behind me to gesture to her door. “Today. You felt that between us.”
“I felt something, sure.” She seems frustrated at admitting so. “But how do you know what it was?”
“I don’t.” My words echo around the apartment, louder than intended. “Fuck.” My palm smacks the floor, weight toppling forward. “I don’t know what this is, but I know I like it, and I want more of it.”
“And what about me?” Jeanie folds her arms. “What about what I want?”
“You told me you don’t want any of it.”
“I told you I couldn’t see it working, not that I don’t want it.”
“Christ, Jeanie!” I can’t believe she throws this shit at me. What the fuck? “What do you want, then?”
The woman falls silent, facing forward. She doesn’t know. That’s what this all comes down to—she doesn’t fucking know. I rock back and land on my ass beside her, looping my arms around my bent knees. She chews the inside of her cheek while she thinks, gaze focused on the frozen screen across from her. I count to ten to calm myself. I do it again, and still, she doesn’t speak.
“Say something.” I move toward her, noting the stiff set of her jaw, the way her nostrils flare with each breath. “Tell me what you want from this.”
“I told you!” She erupts. “I wanted to use you to make myself known as a journalist.” She turns on me, eyes narrowed. “I wanted to use and abuse you to benefit myself.”
“I call bullshit.” I close the gap between us, braced for whatever rage she might throw my way. “You might have thought that’s what you wanted. If that were true, though, you would have found a way to sell your bullshit story, not used it as blackmail.”
“I thought about it.” She laughs bitterly. “I honestly considered it, but my sister was the one who nudged my conscience into play.”
“I guess I owe her thanks, then.”
Jeanie snorts. “She’d love that.” Her shoulders drop, relaxed. “I’m not a good person, Toby.”