What Love Means

by F N Manning

  Cal

  During our last rendezvous, Max had sucked a hickey into the junction between my neck and shoulder. Paranoia made me feel like everyone at school could see it. I wore the uniform white shirt and blazer with a tie around my neck. It was very unlikely my attire would shift enough to reveal anything, especially while sitting and reading in the library, but that logic hadn’t quite resonated in my brain yet. One day I would grow into the bored, above it all wasp that sneered at common folk and kept the world at a polite distance. This jumpy, concerned about everything phase couldn’t last forever, could it? What if I was a Woody Allen type instead? No, I couldn’t go there, the thought was too abhorrent.

  I tried to focus on the history tome in front of me. No one could see the bruise on my neck, and even if they could, there was no way to tell it came from male teeth or whose teeth. There wasn’t anyone paying attention to me in the library, apart from the watchful librarian, but her gaze was always fixed desk level, making sure no one brought in food or committed a mortal book sin like dog-earring a book that didn’t belong to them. I fidgeted with my collar for the fourth time in five minutes, too preoccupied to notice Katie until she sat down across from me.

  “I was looking for you,” she said with an expression I couldn’t read.

  “You were?” That should make me happy, but I was trying to hold myself as still as a statue to avoid moving and revealing the purple mottled mark on my neck. Maybe I was supposed to show the hickey to her, accidentally on purpose, to show her I moved on or won the breakup or whatever nonsense popular culture dictated about relationships.

  “You weren’t at our usual table,” she said softly, forcing a smile. I hadn’t realized it myself, but it seemed to mean something to her.

  I shrugged, then my hands rushed up to make sure my shirt was still in place before I realized what my limbs were doing and stopped them in mid-air, clutching them together awkwardly and forcing them onto the desk. “Uh, well, we don’t really study together anymore.” I tried to sound like a normal, reasonable person while hoping she ignored my weird mannerisms.

  She frowned, and I thought I failed, before she spoke again. “We should. I really do want to be friends again.” She looked down to her nails, which were painted black, not her usual taste. Was she going through a rebellious stage? Or maybe she was in mourning for our relationship? Did it mean us as a couple was truly dead and buried?

  Should I be upset about that? All my energy was focused on reaching up and patting protectively at the mark hidden under my shirt. Was I supposed to respond? Probably better not to, in case I said something stupid like ‘there’s no hickie on my neck,’ and surely that wasn’t related to whatever she said. Oh, staying friends? I hadn’t seen much of her lately. One answer for that was how busy I was between helping Brendan and my other activities. The more honest answer was that it didn’t matter what I was doing. Most of the time, I focused on seeing Max, wanting to see Max and thinking about Max. I should probably be concerned about that.

  I couldn’t formulate the proper response to her or even figure out the honest answer. The best I could think was maybe. I might want to be friends with her but saying that seemed rude. Could I be rude to the person who dumped me? Maybe I was allowed reticence. There was an awkward silence while I tried to ponder several things at once and failed my end of the conversational burden. She eventually asked, “Did you send your Stanford application in yet?”

  If she was trying to segue to safer topics, she failed. “Well, it’s Princeton I applied to for early acceptance,” I responded, looking away from her. My idle gaze caught the librarian staring at me, or no, the woman’s gaze was laser focused on my hands wringing precariously close to the book I was pursuing for a research paper. I pushed the book away and she breathed a sigh of relief before she moved on to ensure no other books would be defaced on her watch.

  “Princeton,” Katie spoke softly but the note of concern in her voice still brought me back to the conversation. I sent her a sharp look but she plowed forward. “No more Stanford?”

  “No, I still want to go there,” I said politely but firmly, gazing at her steadily and trying to imply that she should just drop it.

  “But it’s not where you’re applying early.” She continued looking right back at me with a worried expression.

  I could still go wherever I wanted. I’d just find out later if I got into my top choice. Both schools were ridiculously expensive, and it seemed wise to meet the people footing the bill halfway. I didn’t want to explain it because I was too afraid it would sound weak saying it out loud instead of well-reasoned and practical. Katie kept looking at me with her patient, concerned expression. “Well, it seemed best—" I tried to start diplomatically.

  “To you or parents?” she asked. I must have looked surprised at her boldness. She added, “They’re kinda intense.”

  “So are yours,” I defended.

  She shook her head. “Yours are a whole another level.”

  I sent Katie a winning smile. “Don’t worry about me. I have lots of control over my life.”

  She laughed, then studied me. “Oh my god, the sad thing is I think you really believe that.”

  “They don’t interfere much.” So they tried to point me in the right direction from time to time. Didn’t all parents do that?

  At the beginning of this conversation, I was worried she’d somehow developed x-ray vision and would see the mark on my neck. I almost wanted to rip off my tie, tug down the collar of my shirt, and display the markings so that she’d have something else to focus on. This topic was too uncomfortable.

  She looked dubious. I certainly had more control than I used to. Just being around Max felt like something they wouldn’t approve of, not that I liked him because he signified rebellion. Maybe that was a bit appealing, but it was more that I had been feeling powerless but didn’t now. Having something in my life that was just my own made the rest bearable.

  We never talked about anything so serious when we were dating. Or we did discuss our futures and possible careers but nothing emotional and personal. Were these thoughts she’d had when we were dating, but she was scared I wouldn’t appreciate her honesty? Was she mad my parents had high standards and it interfered with our relationship and just saying shit she didn’t mean? “Is that why you broke up with me?” I asked.

  She shook her and opened her mouth to speak, then she seemed to stop and consider it. “I don’t know. You had time for everything else except for me. I don’t know if that was them or just you.”

  We could try again, I wanted to say, it would be different this time. No, I wanted to want to say that. Instead I just said, “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t make you a priority. I should have.”

  She blinked like she hadn’t been expecting an apology, then smiled a soft but genuine smile. Her hand reached across the table to grab my hand and squeeze it before letting it go. We’d held hands before but never as a simple gesture of comfort or acceptance. It was nice; maybe we should be friends.

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I don’t think it’s all your fault. We just weren’t right for each other, and either one of us could have realized that a lot sooner. It’s like you were an appointment not a boyfriend. We always had to fit time into our busy schedules for each other.”

  I frowned. “I guess it took a lot of effort.”

  “That’s not what I mean. If we were really meant to be together, I think finding the time would have been easier.” She paused to see if I understood and I guess I didn’t because she kept going, “Some of it shouldn’t have been work. There’s thing that are effortless, like always wanting to be around the person you’re with, thinking about them when they’re not there, that kind of thing.” She laughed and looked away self-consciously. “God, do you understand what I’m saying or am I just being a stupid girl who’s seen too many romantic comedies?”

  I stared at her, not having a response.

  “It’s just, you’d look at them a
nd think, ‘man, I wanna keep looking at them.’” She sighed wistfully, then laughed at herself. “You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said weakly. I was actually afraid of the opposite.

  ***

  The words didn’t leave me. I steadfastly refused to compare what she was saying with my... whatever with Max but being back in his presence made the words rattle around more strongly in my brain. We didn’t even sneak off together. We’d both nodded at each other when dropping off our respective siblings and leaving to do other things. Now, there was a few minutes before the club was dismissed for the day.

  There was no reason to engage him as he stood out in the later afternoon sun near the entrance to the school, shadows making his profile look striking and alluring, but I went over to him anyway.

  “What’s with the accessory?” I asked casually, tapping on the band around his wrist lightly, just because I wanted to talk to him for a few minutes. It wasn’t that new age religion, they wore red strings, and Max didn’t seem very enlightened anyway. He wasn’t a jewelry or accessories guy, just the jacket, but he always wore that bracelet around his wrist.

  “Friendship bracelet from Jeremy Lowry, we’re pen pals,” he replied easily.

  I sneered at that. “No, you’re not BFFs with the 2010 national champion.”

  He grinned. “Jealous?”

  “Actually, yes, I would be if that were true.” Jealous probably wasn’t the right word. Worried, maybe. Concerned that there was a trinket from some other boy still strapped to his wrist while he did things with me.

  His pursed his lips. “You know what? Me too.”

  I laughed “You’d be jealous of yourself?”

  “I mean, he was pretty cool.” He thought about what he said and added, “Well, cool for a –”

  “Spelling dork,” I finished.

  “Exactly.” He grinned at me, and I cursed myself for striking up a conversation when we couldn’t sneak off to my car. That damn smile made my knees weak. We spent a few minutes lightly teasing each other and talking about nothing in particular before the meeting was over and we went our separate ways with our siblings. I took one last look at him as he drove away with April because… dammit. Because I just wanted to look at him one more time. I looked at him and wanted to keep looking at him, just like Katie said. I was at least glad I got to spend a few minutes with him today. It was better than nothing.

  So maybe I liked Max a bit. It didn’t have to mean anything. What did Katie know anyway? She watched too many romcoms. I wanted to see Max all the time because he was hot. Through sheer will power I managed to not freak about this topic too much, possibly because I had some experience pushing it aside, not thinking about any looming sexuality crisis. Feelings for Max? Throw that in with the rest of it.

  It didn’t matter. It’s not like he felt the same. I was fairly sure of that.

  ***

  Katie was too smart for her own good. Or too smart for my own good. Perhaps it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. She filled my head with nonsense and now I saw it too but that didn’t mean it was accurate, just that my perception had been colored. How did I change it back?

  Feeling positive seemed impossible when I dropped off some papers for dad at his office. I didn’t want to spend any time in this building remembering what I lost. My latest disappointment. Good grades, water polo, debate, none of it made my father happy. It was never enough.

  I ran into Nicholas of course, who radiated smug superiority the entire time. He even attempted to give me a visitor’s badge, which I’d never seen used in my father’s business before, so he’d clearly made one himself just so that he could present it to me to further rub in how he got the position and I didn’t belong here. The worst part was that the juvenile trick worked and raised my hackles so that the last thing I wanted was a conversation with my father.

  What more could I do to be a good son? I didn’t deserve this treatment. Okay, maybe having a conversation with my father wasn’t cruel and unusual punishment.

  “Are you listening to me?” His sharp voice cut in. It wasn’t a great time either.

  I turned my focus from self-pitying musings as I stared out the window to him. “Yes, early applications.”

  “It’s not like you to put off things until the last minute.”

  I nearly snorted. Of course not because then I’d have to deal with constant questioning about it. No, that was uncharitable. I like turning things in early. But with this... “I’ve interviewed with both schools, done visits at both,” I reminded him. I hadn’t turned anything in yet because I didn’t want to apply early to Princeton. Putting it off meant I hadn’t lost yet, that there was still hope I could find some way to get through to him and apply where I wanted.

  “You’re applying to Princeton.” I didn’t imagine that was supposed to be a question. It was an order. Did I have any control?

  Princeton was a good school obviously, but when I considered its finer points, it sometimes felt like I was trying to convince myself. None of the selling points could quite eclipse that it was where my parents went to school and that I was expected to go there too. I felt like I’d started preparing for college in middle school yet was still clueless. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go to Stanford. Maybe I just set my sights on it because it was prestigious and on another coast.

  “Well—” Why, why part of me scolded while the other part felt I needed to try one more time.

  I had both applications ready, there was just one I was more interested in sending. Princeton was just so close to home. Wasn’t college about expanding horizons? Being your own person? It seemed difficult to do that so close to home.

  “The time to discuss other alternatives has passed.”

  I hadn’t been aware that time had existed at all. “I don’t need to apply early at all.” It was unlikely I wouldn’t get in, I really did have a godfather on the board, not that he’d be the one reviewing my application. Why did I have to lock into it now?

  “You could just apply for early decision,” he countered. Early acceptance had more wiggle room than early decision, and my parents had allowed me to apply for the former instead. That meant they had given my input some consideration, right?

  “But I don’t have to go to an early acceptance school, so I could apply to Stanford early and still go to Princeton,” I said reasonably, though the argument sounded weak to my own ears.

  My father raised an eyebrow. “Are we having a debate?” At least his voice was wry and amused instead of foreboding. “You might have won a few debate trinkets, but actual negotiations are different.”

  My father treated disagreements as negotiations. Ideally, that meant there was a chance for me to win if I could talk him into it and had the right strategy and leverage. He said it was preparing me for the future. Sometimes, it felt less like negotiating and more like him telling me what to do and that any autonomy on my part was an illusion. He’d argued that illustrated his point even better, that people would walk all over me if I let them. But when he did it, that was teaching me a lesson.

  “Father,” I tried. I didn’t want to ‘negotiate.’

  “What leverage do you have?” he asked, talking over me. “Money? Experience? Connections? I trump you there.” He considered me. “Maybe you could appeal me to on the basis of your track record.” He made a pitying noise. “Too bad that’s slipped lately.”

  “My college prospects aren’t a negotiation,” I reminded him.

  “I’d say something trite about life being a negotiation, but it would be lost on you anyway.” I sighed and slumped back into my seat. “You don’t have a case,” he continued. We agreed to let you apply early acceptance and now you want more? Do you really think your recent behavior should be rewarded?”

  I sighed again. “I’ll do better,” I promised.

  He scoffed. “Am I supposed to accept your word for it? You already gave me your word you’d apply to Princeton an
d now you’re ready to go back on that.” I guess he had a point there.

  “Well, it’s just---

  “It’s simple. Can I trust you or not?”

  I swallowed before nodding. “You can, sir.”

  “Good, then do what you said you would.” He dismissed me.

  Every teen rankled under their parent’s authority at times and I was no different. Still, whether I wanted to or not, I had agreed about applying to Princeton early. I still wanted to go to Stanford. I wanted to believe I had convictions that remained solid despite my father’s influence. I thought my mind never changed, but my attitude did. Or did I only want to believe that I wasn’t swayed? I normally fell in line, and this time would be no different. Did it matter what my mind thought if I never acted on it?

  The thoughts weren’t enough to spur me into action, into doing anything other than what he said. I rankled against them but could feel my protests wavering. Whatever was happening with Max, I had a future to think about. One he likely didn’t factor into. How had he shown up and distracted me from everything so easily just because he had a pretty face?

  No. I was drawn to him but part of me said I’d wanted to be distracted, needed to be, needed a moment to breath. He was the only part of my life that I felt I had a least a little control over. It was my decision to be with him and I didn’t get to make many decisions. I let myself have something fun but that didn’t mean it overshadowed everything else. If I wanted to keep doing whatever with Max, and I did, I had to fit him into my life, not push other things out to accommodate him. This was a good reminder to get serious.

  si-sə-ˈfē-ən, adjective

  Difficult and futile

  Getting along with Cal could be just as much of a si-sə-ˈfē-ən task as staying away from him.

  Chapter 9

  S-I-S-Y-P-H-E-A-N

  Max

  Cal was a pain in the ass. I couldn’t tell if something had changed or my tolerance for it was just wearing off. Fooling around together hadn’t solved our problems or magically made us get along but had made everything else seem insignificant.