by Mason Deaver
I don’t think it’s actually my turn, but if he insists. “Do you want to write one day?”
“Maybe? I don’t care for fiction, writing it anyway. I like writing papers and things like that, the research. It’s fun.”
“Really?”
“I just like it. I always learn something new when I have to write a paper” is all he says about that. “What do you like to do? I mean besides draw.”
I turn on my side so I can lie down beside him. “That’s pretty much it.”
“You don’t have any other hobbies?”
“Not really.” I stop myself. “Dad and I didn’t do much together.” I think this might be the first time I’ve properly discussed my parents with Nathan. “Mom likes to cook, and I’d help her sometimes.”
I wait for him to ask about Mom and Dad, but he doesn’t. Nathan just keeps looking forward. “Your turn,” he says quietly.
“Do you have any secrets?”
He doesn’t answer right away, which scares me. Clearly this isn’t the easiest question, but it’s out there before I realize it. “That sounds ominous,” he finally says. “I can promise you I’m not an axe murderer or anything.” Nathan turns over on his side, using his arm as a pillow.
“I didn’t mean like that. Like nothing bad.”
“So what do you mean?”
“Just like … Is there a secret you have, that shouldn’t be a big deal? That you should be able to tell people, but you just can’t? Like, it isn’t even a bad thing, but it feels like people will think it is.”
I expect him to laugh in my face, call me some sort of freak. Or prod and poke at me until I tell him the truth. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” His words surprise me. He speaks slowly, his brown eyes staring right into mine. “And it’s terrifying.”
“Sorry.” I try to laugh. “Didn’t mean to get so deep.”
“No, it’s cool. Just a little unexpected.” He takes in a heavy breath, his chest rising and falling. “I put my milk in my cereal first.”
It’s so random I can’t help but laugh at him. “What?”
“When I make cereal, I put the milk in first. It’s just always tasted better that way.”
“How can it taste different?”
He shrugs. “Just does.”
“Is that your big, deep dark secret?”
“Not even close, but I can’t totally give away all my mystery. I do have to save some things.” He winks, and the temperature around me definitely rises.
I try to think about something I can share, but nothing as random as putting milk in a bowl before cereal comes to mind. “I put my socks and shoes on one at a time.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I do that thing where I put on one sock, then the shoe. Then the other sock, and the other shoe. One at a time.”
“Why?”
“Why do you put milk first?” I ask again.
“You got me there, De Backer.” He lets out this long sigh and smiles.
Watching a movie in a park is a totally different experience. For one thing, people sneak in drinks. No one gets wasted, but it makes the crowd rowdier. And there’s applause at famous lines, and when the Death Star blows up. There’s some sniffling at Leia’s hologram message, and people full-on bawling at the award ceremony, which probably has more to do with the alcohol than anything else.
But I’ll happily admit that it is a lot more fun with other people. Definitely a lot more fun with Nathan. At a point about halfway through, I catch him mouthing along to the lines, staring wide-eyed at the screen.
“Leia was always my favorite,” he says when he catches me looking. “I cried for two weeks when Carrie Fisher died.”
“I was always more partial to Luke.” He wasn’t my “gay-wakening,” as Mariam so graciously put it, but he was close. In fact, Star Wars is entirely unfair when it comes to attractive leads. Mark Hamill, Carrie Fisher, and Harrison Ford? Totally and completely uncalled for.
We stay around for the credits, waiting and watching for everyone else to pack up their things and head out. Nathan balls up the blanket and tosses it into the empty basket, discarding our half-eaten sandwiches in the trash can by the entrance.
“Did you want to grab dinner or something?” he asks. “I know the sandwiches weren’t much.”
My appetite is long gone, the bread weighing heavily on my stomach even though I only ate about half of it. “If you want to. I’m not that hungry.”
“Nah, we’ll go some other time.”
I check my phone. “It’s only eight thirty. Seems early to head back home.”
“Up for a little stroll?”
“Sure.”
“Come on.” We walk back to the car and Nathan leaves the basket in the back seat.
“So where to?”
“Want to see the lake?”
“There’s a lake?”
“Well, it’s more of a glorified pond, but they put these string lights over the bridge and it’s really pretty at night.”
“Sounds nice.”
“The pond it is.”
I’m not sure exactly how far away this pond is, but I definitely don’t see any bridges or ponds around me. At least it’s nice out, and maybe this is just what I need.
“So, did you like the movie?” he asks as we start down the trail.
“I don’t know, the twenty other times I’ve seen it were great, but this last time … The magic’s gone, you know?”
“Okay, Mr. Sarcasm, that’s enough.” He bumps into me with his shoulder.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “It was great, thank you.”
“Next month is Empire. We can go if you want.”
“That’d be nice,” I say.
I follow Nathan closely. At least it isn’t too crowded anymore. I guess most people were ready to go home after the movie.
“Hey.” Nathan stops short, so I nearly run into him. “You okay?”
“What? Yeah,” I say quickly, trying to remember where I am. “Sure.”
“You seemed a little spacey there. I said your name like five times.”
“Oh, sorry. Got lost in my own head, I guess.”
“I know the feeling. What were you thinking about?” he asks me.
“Oh, um. Nothing,” I tell him.
“Really?”
I nod.
“Want to know what I was thinking about?”
I feel this tiny flare of panic, like he’s going to pick now to drop some bomb on me. I have to tell myself to stop it. He isn’t going to do that, especially now. It’s not going to happen.
But I don’t quite believe myself.
“Sure.”
“I was thinking about Ryder,” Nathan says. “Specifically this one time when we went to this specialty pet store downtown and bought him these chocolate things that were supposed to be safe for him to eat.”
“What happened?”
“The little punk wouldn’t eat them. I spent twenty dollars on treats just for him, and he turns his nose up at me.”
I snort. “What a jerk.”
“I told him that too. He just gave me those big eyes, and I couldn’t stay mad at him.”
“How old is he?” I ask.
“Nine. Mom got him for me when we first moved here, thought it might help the transition to a new place.”
“That’s cool. I’ve always wanted a cat.” Mom and Dad were strictly no mammalian or reptilian pets. They did let me have a fish when I was ten though. A little goldfish that I named Goldie. Because I was definitely creative with my name choices.
“It’s just up here.” He points, and I can just barely make out the lights along the railing. “Come on!” He grabs my hand, and we race down the trail and toward the bridge. Not slowing down until we’re a yard or two away.
I wait for him to give me back my hand, but he doesn’t. It’s nice. As nice as that night on the roof. Even better now, because it’s getting colder and he’s so impossibly warm. I try not to t
hink about how this is what it would be like. If we could be together, if we could hold hands and walk around town without having to hide ourselves.
No. I push the thoughts away. I can’t. That’ll only make all of this worse.
“You should see this place on the Fourth of July. They have fireworks over the water and everything.” It’s dark, the streetlights along the walkway and the string lights on the railing only doing so much.
I let Nathan lead us right to the edge, and he finally lets go of my hand.
I don’t have the courage to tell him to take it back.
He wasn’t wrong, it’s pretty. It’s small, but it’s enough, with this little beachy area on the other side of the water, and a dock filled with those plastic paddleboats people love to rent for some reason.
“The water creeps me out,” I say, peering over the wood railing, staring at the way the water moves as the fish swim.
“You’re scared of a pond?”
I shrug. “Just never been a fan of water. One time my parents took me to the beach, and I cut myself on a shell. That wasn’t fun.” I still have the pale white scar along the bottom of my foot. That was also my first time in an emergency room. Apparently, it had cut so deep that it wouldn’t clot, and Mom got scared.
“Yikes.”
“Another time I was going swimming, and a bunch of fish kept going by me and it creeped me out. So, I started crying.” Dad told me to “man up,” but I just spent the rest of the day under the umbrella, the sand sticking to my legs like some tight second skin.
Nathan starts laughing uncontrollably, trying to hide his face in his hands. “You’ve been traumatized by the ocean, oh my God.”
“I was five, leave me alone.” I shove him. “Besides, you’ve seen half the things those marine biologists find down there. The ocean’s creepy as hell.”
Nathan does this thing between a scoff and a laugh. “Can’t argue with you.”
I lean against the railing alongside him. “I hate the beach too.”
“Why?”
“I hate sand. It’s coarse, and it gets everywhere.” I wonder if he’ll catch on.
Nathan groans so loud the people jogging at the other end of the park turn to look at us. “Please tell me you didn’t just quote the worst movie of the saga.”
“Thought you might like that.”
“I hate you,” he says with a smile.
We both laugh until we can’t anymore, until the night air is filled with nothing but the sounds of the water. It’s hard to know that just beyond those walls we walked past is an entire city of people. This place is too quiet for that.
“Tonight was fun,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Thanks for inviting me. I know … I know I haven’t been the easiest person to get along with.”
“It’s okay.” He waits a beat. “Easy people are boring.”
Maybe now is my moment. The moment I tell him the truth, or the moment that I reach over and kiss him. Something. I feel like I owe him that much at least. I weigh it all in my head, but the answer is obvious.
“Hey, Ben.”
“Yeah?” I look up at him. And that makes the decision for me. I can’t tell him; I can’t ruin this. And I don’t even want to think about how he’ll think of me after. I don’t want a world where Nathan Allan hates me, even if the chances of that happening are so very, very slim. I just can’t.
“Tonight was the first time you’ve talked about your parents.” He waits. “Like really talked about them.”
“Huh.” I guess he’s right. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s cool, I just noticed.” He takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. “I can’t imagine what that feels like, to just be left behind like that. Especially by people who are supposed to love you.”
“I think they did love me,” I say. “And maybe they still do. I know a part of me still does. I just … I really thought it’d be okay.”
“This is the secret, isn’t it? The big one?”
I nod. Because I owe him that.
“Do you really think you’d ever speak to them again? After they did that.”
“Now who’s asking the heavy questions?”
“Oh.” Nathan’s eyes widen. “Sorry … I didn’t even …” he stammers. “Don’t answer that.”
“No, it’s … fine,” I say. Truthfully, that’s another question I don’t know the answer to. I’d like to be able to give Nathan a firm no. They left me, punished me for just trying to be myself. They don’t deserve to ever see me again. I’ve imagined a dozen scenarios. Going back to their house and telling them off. Sometimes I’m with Hannah, or Thomas. Other times I’m alone.
But they’re my parents, and I can’t imagine never seeing them again. I don’t really want to think how our last real conversation was them yelling and shouting for me to get out of their home. Our home.
“I don’t know,” I finally say.
“Hey.” He takes my hand. “They don’t deserve you. You’re ten times the person they are, combined, even.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Whatever happens”—his grip tightens a little—“I wish you all the best, Benjamin De Backer.” He says it with a smile. “You deserve it.”
I get home later than I mean to. All the lights downstairs are off, and the garage is closed, so I have to go in through the back door. Nathan’s waiting for me to pop out the front door and let him know I’m safe inside. I climb the stairs, let Hannah and Thomas know that I’m home, and crawl under the sheets of my bed.
Except I can’t sleep.
For at least an hour and a half, I toss and turn, closing my eyes and trying to will my body to rest. The thing is, I don’t think this is my anxiety. This feels different, like my mind is too busy to shut down like it’s supposed to. Which maybe means this is anxiety, but it doesn’t feel like it normally does. It’s working overtime, and it’s thinking too much about what Nathan said.
About Mom and Dad.
I pull off my sheets and head back downstairs, careful not to be too loud. Not that there’s really anything wrong with what I’m doing.
If Thomas or Hannah wake up I’ll just say I was getting a glass of water, or trying to get in touch with Mariam, or something. I grab the laptop from its space on the coffee table, and log in to Facebook, something I haven’t done in months. I never even wanted the damn thing, but Mom wanted to be able to tag me in things, and all my classmates who hadn’t yet discovered Twitter or Tumblr talked about Facebook like it was the “new” thing. Seriously, we were always so behind in Goldsboro, even on social media.
The first thing I see is my own profile. A weirdly angled selfie I probably thought looked good a year ago when I took it. Then I see the little red icons in the corner. A few notifications, photos I’ve been tagged in for some reason. But my eyes go right to the message icon, the little red button hanging over it.
There’s just one.
And it’s from Mom.
I freeze, staring at the little preview Facebook gives me.
Brenda De Backer has sent you a message: Ben… I don’t know what to even say to you—
And it just cuts off, waiting for me to actually open it to read the rest. But I can’t.
My stomach clenches up, and I’m stuck here, staring at her name, the miniaturized version of her profile picture. One of her and me at the beach. I would almost believe it was some kind of insult, but it’s been that way forever now. I look so different. My hair’s shorter; I’m smiling. That picture has to be at least two years old now. Back when I was just starting to question everything, when I thought that maybe I was gay, and that would be all I had to hide.
It’s almost like someone else is controlling my hand, and I sit helpless as the cursor moves over to her name. Mom’s profile comes up, the last statuses she’s posted. Nothing too major. Mom was never huge on Facebook, but there are some new photos. Some of her and Dad at the house, out in the yard, at dinners. And after some scrolling, I
get to the pictures with me.
“Day out with my baby boy!” one says.
I actually miss them.
The cursor hovers over Mom’s message again, and this time, I open it. It’s dated over three months ago. And there’s nothing before it except one telling her my phone had died at school and that I wanted to stay late for a little extra tutoring.
Ben… I don’t know what to even say to you. Your father and I… we’ve realized what we’ve done, and we’re hoping we can make it right with you. I’m not sure what else I can say besides we’re sorry, and that we were just confused about what was happening. We know you’re staying with Hannah, and we’re hoping you won’t tell her about this message. Maybe we could meet one day, in the city or something, and just talk? Please, Ben? You’re our child, and while we may not understand this part of you, your father and I would like to try and make amends.
I hate the way things were left, and I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if the last times I spoke to both my children were fights. Please, Ben, just consider it?
I read the message again, and then a third time, this numb feeling washing over me as I try to take in the words all over again. But they eventually lose their meaning, and I click on the little box to type my reply.
The words never come though, and after another half an hour, I log out of my account and close the laptop.
I can’t get Mom’s message out of my head for the rest of my break. I even download the Facebook app on my phone so I can keep reading it, which probably isn’t healthy, but I can’t help myself. I just keep rereading it and rereading it, over and over, wondering what changed.
Since it took me so long to find the message, I also decided to check my email accounts. There’s my actual, personal email that doesn’t get anything other than Michaels coupons. I doubt Mom even knows that address. Then my old email for Wayne, which I guess Mom does know because the exact same message is sitting there too.
The message that would’ve been sent almost a month after I left.
After they made me leave.
I try to fill most of the nights with some kind of noise. When Mariam can’t FaceTime or text, I go down to the living room with Hannah and Thomas. I actually think about telling Hannah, but that would probably end with disaster. Part of me wants to talk to Nathan too, but really, I feel like the only person with the right answer would be Dr. Taylor.