by F N Manning
“Maybe he’s changed,” Cal offered gently.
Yeah, maybe that was what I couldn’t understand. Or didn’t want to. It was easier to keep him at a distance if he was just the jerk who left. I spent so long hating him. I wanted to be him now because at least it didn’t hit till his late 20’s. Will I get that much time? No, that was just how it looked to me.
I remembered the clink of beer cans. The weird smell on dad’s breath. In hindsight, it was pretty easy to put that one together. I thought that had been the problem. And god, it must have been fucking obvious if even Cal’s dad picked up on it. Only it wasn’t that. Well, no the alcohol had almost definitely been a problem. Just not the problem. It had been when he started using it to manage the other problem that mom knew she had to act. She’d tried patience, gentle urging, trying to get him to accept a psych consultation. Then the drinking got bad and she told him it was time to get real help or get out. He got out.
Mom’s personal theory was that it had started earlier. She said something about hypomania and how he managed without treatment for years. Until his marriage started falling apart and he tried to self-medicate with alcohol and that made the mental stuff worse. So maybe I wouldn’t get that long. Maybe I had it now and just didn’t know it. Or maybe that would happen to April in a few years.
I couldn’t do a big explanation anymore. “He’s bipolar,” I said softly. “Now I just keep. Worrying about it.”
There. I let another person in, told him what was going on. What was the big deal about that? Why was sharing supposed to make it easier? It wasn’t like Cal could solve anything or that he knew what to say. He just muttered something about, “Worrying? Oh, I have some experience about that.” He took my hand.
This was so dumb. Big fucking deal, letting someone in. I felt raw, exposed. I hated it. What was the point?
I slumped into Cal eventually. He didn’t let go of my hand. His arm wrapped around my shoulders while he whispered comforting nonsense. After a while, he stopped talking and just sat with me. And I felt- wanted, seen, cared for.
Oh. I guess that was the point.
***
Cal
Max being so guarded used to make me want to scream. Until I realized that wasn’t in response to our relationship. He had always been that way. just wasn’t so obvious about it. He seemed so tough and confident. Maybe that was part of the disguise. He had walls, fortresses with barbed wire, all of it saying, ‘keep out, stay away.’ That meant there was something there behind those walls that he was protecting. Himself, his heart, his secrets. He shared one of them with me.
I wanted this to work. For as long as it could. I couldn’t commit to a future with him or try to lock him in. What security and stability I needed I would have to find in myself. I couldn’t ask for more of Max than this: him being my boyfriend, him trying.
I wasn’t going to Princeton. I wasn’t going anywhere. At first my thoughts tended to halt and skitter away from that. Now I was finding the freedom in it. I’d been so close to crossing the finish line only to start the next race and now there was no next hurdle, no new sprint. I could breath and relax.
I was still me though. “I really do have a godfather with Princeton ties,” I told Max. I could put the offer out there one more time. If he still thought it was unfair or whatever, well, he would be stupid, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that. He was my stupid, stubborn bastard.
“I don’t doubt it.” That was all he offered. We sat on the couch in Max’s apartment. April and Brendan were around here somewhere. I’d cut back on my afterschool activities, but Brendan and I spent as little time at home as possible. We hadn’t talked about why or the frostiness at home. When I first suggested we do something other than head home after school, he’d agreed before I could explain further.
“I would like to point out how much of a struggle it’s been to not introduce the two of you.” I wanted to help. This was one of the ways I could. I’d also done copious amounts of research and had numerous talking points prepared about another subject. I could give a presentation on the symptoms of bipolar disorder and when and how it presented that would make people in the medical profession proud. That was my way of confronting something though, to plan and conquer. It wasn’t the Max way. I had the facts and figures and could share them with him if he wished. I couldn’t force him to take help, but I could let him know it was there.
“You don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’m not going to Princeton.” I couldn’t make that choice for him. I couldn’t force him. But still. I could tell him what a colossal moron he was, couldn’t I?
“Max, college is, you could do so much,” I said in a rush before composing myself and starting again. “It’s your choice, but I think you could excel there.”
His lips quirked up. Oh, was this amusing? “Idiot,” he muttered but took my hand before I could be offended. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to college. Just not Princeton.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh.” I could barely handle that I wasn’t attending college yet. I would hate both of us to waste our potential. There could only be one slacker in the relationship and apparently that role was switching from him to me. Speaking of that. “Well, Princeton will be less stuffy and pretentious than you’re expecting. I won’t be there after all.” Aside from wanting to discuss his own college prospects, I needed to tell him my own decision.
“What? You picked Stanford?” He smiled and squeezed my hand. “Good for you.” The words sounded genuine, but he looked away after speaking. He seemed hesitant. Was that because he expected us to be on different coasts shortly? Would he be relieved when he found out we wouldn’t? Or Would it spook him and shatter our temporary peace?
I braced myself. “No, actually. I didn’t want to go where my parents wanted, so Stanford was as good a choice as any—"
“I support that,” he said wryly, “even if that makes it sound like a temper tantrum.”
“Oh, then you might not like what I decided instead.” I couldn’t get my way, so I wasn’t going at all. Not that it was as simple as that. Didn’t I deserve to have my say in my own life? I still feared how he would see it suddenly.
“Don’t tell me you want a job at Tony’s?” he joked, cutting through my panic.
“No.” I couldn’t keep a frown off my face from imagining how working with engines and grease and whatever else cars were made of would ruin the skin of my hands. Max looked amused like he knew what I was thinking, so I continued. “I already have a job.”
“What?” He didn’t sound like he believed me.
“I really think you’d make a better teacher than me, but I’ll be working at Brendan’s school.” I briefly outlined the position.
“What? No way.” I still couldn’t tell what he thought.
“Yes, I. I needed my parents to know I was serious.” Quietly, I admitted, “I needed to know I was serious.”
“Wow, so no college. And you’re just okay with that?” The words were thoughtful and neutral.
Screw it, I thought. There were so many things I didn’t know about my future, why should how Max felt about this be any different? I would have to get used to not knowing. I answered his question. “I wanted to have a plan in place in case my parents and I couldn’t work something out.”
“And you couldn’t?” he assumed.
“No, actually. I didn’t try.” He frowned at that, but I wasn’t finished. “That was actually a condition of my employment.” Professor Vincent said the job was mine if I wanted it. As long as I accepted it then. It was weird. Should it feel like I didn’t have a choice? Either take the job or have no other options. Except it didn’t feel like I was being pressured. I understood why that was condition.
This possibility was supposed to give me a chance to take a break and figure things out. To get some distance from my parents and decide what I wanted. Of course, there was a chance I’d never get that far. My parents and I could work something out. I could have
a moment of uncertainty and cave. To make the most of this opportunity, I needed to accept the job and not use it as a fallback or a negotiating point. I had to commit. I was committing to being my own person.
Max’s words drew me out of my reverie. “I can’t believe you did it.”
I laughed. “Neither can I.”
“Are you okay?”
I had no idea. “I’m sure of very little. It seems pointless to battle with them when I barely know what I’m fighting for. I hope that by doing this I can figure stuff out.”
Max made a sound of agreement. “Sounds good I guess.”
“There are a few things I know though.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I like you.” Who knew what he thought? Who cared? Well, me. Still, I wanted him to know. There were few things I was certain of, but my feelings for Max were vibrant and clear.
“Well, great. Cause I like you too.”
“So, I’ll be around. You’ll be around. We’ll be around together,” I prompted. I’d made peace with not knowing for a few moments at least. That was progress. He’d gotten so weird every time I tried to discuss this. I was ready for the ‘we’re high school boyfriends’ comment.’ Well, were we even still boyfriends anymore? I wasn’t trying to force things, but I wanted to know where we stood.
Instead, he smiled. “Good. I want that.”
“Really?” I was learning that Max couldn’t always do things on the first try. It was my way to panic and jump to conclusions. Instead, I just had to give him more opportunities and wait for him to take them. As long as I wasn’t trying to force or pressure, he came around in his own time. We’d both work on it. I hoped.
“Yes. I mean, I didn’t want you to stick around because of me—”
“I’m not,” I interrupted. “It’s because of me.”
He nodded. “Cool.”
Still. He tried my patience sometimes. Yet I was crazy about the stupid emotionally stunted jerk. “Cool?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Max told me.
Okay. “Are we going to do that now?” I asked hopefully.
He brushed his side into mine. “You’ll be around and I’ll be around. We’ll be around together.”
With the changing future ahead, perhaps that was as much as we could say definitively. It annoyed me, sure, but I didn’t think he was saying that to hedge or evade. We were in the same boat, that was enough. Besides… “I suppose there are other things that need sorting out first,” I admitted.
Max nodded. “Yeah, what’s yours?”
“I should probably tell Brendan. You?” With all the changes coming up and me barely speaking to my parents, I figured Brendan needed the whole story.
“I have to decide whether or not I want my dad in my life.” The words were serious, so I felt stupid for feeling a bit giddy at hearing them. He’d confided in me, he was opening up, and he liked me. Our relationship may be currently undefined, but we were making progress.
It was proved when I said. “Oh, we should work on yours first.”
He grimaced but didn’t refuse the offer to talk about it. Well, he didn’t get up and leave. He tried to defer, saying, “No, that’s okay, you go first,” I insist.
“We could make pros and cons lists,” I suggested slyly.
He sighed dramatically. “Or I could man up and freaking discuss this.”
I smiled. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
***
Max
People filtered in and out of the coffee shop. Half were tired and sluggish while the rest rushed in and out, ready to start their morning after acquiring a caffeine fix. No one paid attention to the awkward pair seated across from each other, but I still felt on edge and too exposed. I could barely look at my dad for two seconds without looking away.
I didn’t want to be here. I initiated this meeting anyway. I didn’t want to be controlled by the past. Still, I fought the urge to follow April’s example for tricky social situations by saying ‘this is awkward, bye’ and just leaving. I stayed seated. I held a warm coffee cup in my hands without drinking it, just letting the heat comfort me. I prayed that I stayed numb for this whole encounter. I could get through that way. We painstakingly made our way through normal conversation.
“Probably Drew or Seton Hall,” I replied when asked if I decided where I was going to college. A short but accurate answer, better than the reflexive ‘why do you care’ that I bit back.
He met my eyes timidly. “If- if I can help…”
I made a dismissive noise. “You already did the financial aid stuff.”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “That’s probably as much help as I’ll be in that department, but I could lift boxes when you move into your dorm.”
I shook my head. “Let’s not go that far.”
Dad frowned. “I thought we were trying here.”
“No, that’s not why we’re here.” I looked him in the eye.
“Max,” he said softly, a plea.
“You said you would let me decide.” He stopped protesting so I took a breath and continued. “I’m not saying never. Just not now.” Letting go of the past and facing the future, what big strides for Max Keller.
But just because I was finally ready to process the stuff with dad and wanted to put the past behind me, that didn’t mean dad was in my future. The only reason I wanted to let him in was because I was afraid he’d leave again. I just couldn’t do it. At least I’d get his contact information this time. I’d know where to find him when I was ready. And I could admit I wanted that to be a when. I wanted to be ready, someday. I just wasn’t now.
My mouth pressed together tightly while I sat there feeling like the worst person in the world for putting that sad look on my dad’s face. I almost thought Cal was right that we should have roleplayed this scenario so I’d be prepared, but if Cal and I were going to engage in roleplay, it wasn’t going to be the kind where he pretended to be my actual father. I held onto my mug tighter and dad schooled his expression after a moment or two.
“Okay, if that’s what you want.” He shook his head, opened his mouth, and then shook his head again. “Okay.” He slumped in his seat, looking like he’d just gone three rounds with a heavyweight but didn’t protest. I was almost proud of him. He eyed me. “Am I supposed to leave now?” He sounded torn between following my request and staying put. “I- I ordered breakfast.”
I smiled faintly. “No, we can finish talking.”
“Oh, there’s more?”
I took my hands off the cup, rested them on the table, and looked him in the eye. “I need you to be completely certain you want back in and that you’re in it for the long haul.” He started to nod and I stopped him when he began to speak. “No, I’m not asking for reassurance. I just want you to think about it some more.” I took a deep breath before continuing. “Because there is no way in hell you’re seeing April if you’re just going to flake out again.”
His eyes widened. “You’re okay with me seeing April?”
No. I don’t know. “I’m not going to stop her if she wants to see you.” April had been changing her mind every five minutes since we told her, but she’d started drifting more towards yes than no.
“Your mom said you were pretty adamant on me not reaching out to April yet,” he said hesitantly.
“It’s her choice.” I was proud my voice sounded so steady and sure.
However, the reluctance on his end didn’t lessen. I took my hands off the table as they curled reflexively and fought the urge to snap at him. Was he having second thoughts already?
“Can I level with you?” he asked like he already thought he knew the answer.
I nodded tightly. “I guess.” I could at least try to hear him out before yelling; it would seem more justified after I sat through whatever bullshit excuses he’d pull out.
With impeccable timing, his name was called and he went to get his food. My foot bounced up and down impatiently as he sat back down and got settled. He chanced a glance at m
e before looking down and starting to cut his omelet. I made a frustrated noise and he stopped.
“Your mom and I have been talking about how this would work,” he told the omelet. “All of this is on the condition that I keep up with my prescribed meds, stay away from the alcohol and self-medicating, and stuff like that.” Well, that sounded like a damn good plan. I opened my mouth to tell him what I thought of his hesitance about the good damn plan. “No, I’m not complaining about that,” he rushed to add.
“What are you saying? I ground out through clenched teeth.
It looked like he wanted to bolt. The small, annoyed jiggle of my foot was nothing compared to his nervous energy; his leg kept rocking into the table and shaking it slightly. He kept going though. “I’m saying... realistically, it is possible, there may be a time when…” He spoke quietly now, so I leaned forward to hear him as he finally managed to say it. “Things can go wrong even if I’m doing things right.”
He sighed, forcibly stilled his leg. “Something could happen. You or your mom might have to step in and say I can’t be around April if I don’t even fucking realize it.” He looked up at me finally with wide eyes. Whatever expression he found made what little color was left on his face drain away. “Shit. I’m sorry.” He winced. “Oh shit, should I not swear around you?
“I don’t really give a fuck,” I managed to say. I wasn’t even trying to be clever with my response as I was too rattled.
“You look angry.”
Part of me was livid. Irrationally, pointlessly irate. I wanted to hang onto my grudges. With him at least, they were deserved. The trust issues were well earned when it came to him, so I didn’t have to be the bigger man or swallow my pride. I could be petty and hurt as I wanted to be. I didn’t want to be to like that anymore, but I wanted to have the option. You know, for bad days.
Except Mom’s told enough stories over the years for me to understand that things do go wrong. Medication errors, lifestyle changes, insurance bullshit, unknown things in a family history, whatever. Shit happened and that’s why mom had employment. The hospital was the place people went to when stuff suddenly went wrong. Of course the mental side would be similar.