Learned Reactions

by Jayce Ellis

  Also available from Jayce Ellis

  and Carina Press

  High Rise

  Jeremiah

  André

  Higher Education

  Learned Behaviors

  Content Warning

  Learned Reactions includes brief references to death, grief and the grieving process.

  Learned Reactions

  Jayce Ellis

  To my best friend turned lover turned husband, Jason. Thank you for your unwavering support, for the late nights, early mornings and cooking for me so I didn’t starve. You make every moment better, and I still Olive Juicicals Miviest.

  Author Note

  Please note that I took some liberties with the adoption process, in both length of the process and the complexity thereof, and I know it can be significantly more complicated than described here.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Jeremiah by Jayce Ellis

  Chapter One

  Deion sucked in a deep breath, smoothed a hand over his shirt in a useless attempt to wipe the moisture away, then yanked the door a little too vigorously. He pasted a smile on his face and nodded at the few colleagues who turned their heads at the noise and soldiered on, determined to reach his target.

  Beverly Carter, her gray hair in a twistout, wearing a sash and crown announcing her retirement over the sheath dress he’d come to recognize as her uniform, her laugh rich and slightly raspy and just what he needed to hear.

  The people surrounding her had to be family. A tall, thin man who looked as out of place as Deion felt. Folks around Deion’s age who had to be her children, teenagers far more interested in their phones than in the party, and younger kids staring longingly at the punch table.

  Deion was struck for a moment at the happiness she exuded, blanketed by family. Something he’d always wanted and somehow never got around to. With a sigh, he shook his head, one loc thwapping him in the face. He needed to get inside before he went maudlin.

  Deion quieted his steps, tiptoeing up behind her and putting a finger to his lips so the person Bev was talking to wouldn’t give the game away. They widened their eyes briefly, but otherwise didn’t miss a beat. Bev’s husband eyed him, grinned, and dipped his head to hide his laugh. Deion reached her, then covered her eyes with his hands.

  “Boo.”

  Bev didn’t even flinch. She laughed and slapped his forearm, but didn’t try to pull his hands away. “About time you showed up. You promised you’d be on time.”

  Deion let his hands fall and she turned. “I know, I’m sorry. I was finishing an email and—”

  Bev pressed a finger over his mouth and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” She gave him a tight hug, and Deion hovered next to her, gently edging her daughter out of the way, while she discussed her post-retirement plans: rest, travel, and the thirty-year backlog of quilts she’d said she’d “get to later.” Later was finally now.

  It sounded magical, especially compared to the nothing Deion had planned. He’d sought and received a sabbatical, which he assumed he’d use to get his mind right before seeking tenure, but actual plans? What were those?

  People continued to file into the lounge, and Deion kept his smile bright. At some point, Bev nudged him and whispered, “You don’t have to babysit me. My husband and daughter will do that.”

  He chuckled. If anything, it was the other way around. “Sorry. You know how I feel about these things.”

  “I do. That’s why I made you promise to come. You see Cheryl and the girls over there? Go on over and talk to them.”

  Good idea. Deion gave Bev another squeeze, nodded at her family, letting her daughter retake residence at her side, and walked in that direction. He engaged in the obligatory small talk with the professors who stopped to chat, grateful when he finally made it over to the other staff members and took a seat. He didn’t speak, just plopped into a chair next to Cheryl at one of the numerous folding tables lined up like Sunday school breakfast. She shook her head, her fresh relaxer making her hair swing, the faintest smell of chemical that always seemed to take a few weeks to come out wafting over him. She ran a hand over the top of his head and pushed the rogue loc back into his ponytail, and Deion exhaled fully for the first time since he’d arrived.

  For decades, all Deion’d wanted was to teach. He’d sworn he couldn’t handle parents, so he needed to work with college students, but he’d severely underestimated the one-upmanship that pervaded the job. Naivety at its best, and he knew it.

  Bev had been his mentor, the only tenured Black professor in the philosophy department, and she was leaving him to his own devices. The new department chair, Ken Sorenson, seemed to have a hard-on for him. Not the good kind—the kind that said he’d do everything in his power to keep Deion from getting tenure. And since he was one year away from applying for exactly that, the feeling he’d be following Bev out the door sooner rather than later loomed large.

  “Okay,” Bev said, startling Deion. He hadn’t seen her come over. She sat next to him at the head of the table and straightened her sash primly. “What’s gotten into you?”

  Deion scanned the room behind him. People still wandered in and out, but the crowd had formed clusters as groups broke off into their own factions, ignoring the person they were allegedly there to celebrate.

  “Shouldn’t you be mingling?” he asked, sidestepping the query.

  She waved off the question. “You know I don’t like these things any more than you do. I’m talked out for a bit.” Bev patted his knee. “Now tell me, what’s got you so clingy?”

  Clingy? He couldn’t argue, even when Cheryl snorted next to him. Deion slunk farther in the chair and ran a hand over his face. “I’m applying for tenure next year.”

  Bev nodded. “Yes, though I don’t know why you bother.”

  “See, that,” he said, pointing at her. “That’s what I’m talking about. Tenure is what we’re supposed to want, but from the time I showed up, you’ve been telling me not to waste my time. Why?”

  “Did you think I was unicorning this thing?”

  Deion raised a brow and straightened. “What?”

  “Unicorning. Highlandering. There can be only one, or something.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “That never occurred to me. It was clear from jump you were doing it to take care of me, but I can’t help but wonder why you think tenure is such a bad thing.”

  Beverly was wagging her finger at him before he finished. She paused, shifted, adjusted her crown, and Deion snickered. “I never said it’s bad. I just don’t think it’s for you. At least not here.”

  If anyone else had told him that, he’d be offended. Even with Bev, who he affectionately referred to as Auntie when it was just them and staff, Deion struggled to tamp that fe
eling down. “What makes you think that?”

  She sighed and accepted a drink from one of her grandbabies, then crinkled her nose like she wished it were alcohol instead of fruit punch. He understood. A shot of Malibu would set it off. “You don’t have the spoons for the bullshit. For the bureaucracy and backstabbing. You’re too straightforward and don’t want to play the game. You’ll cuss everyone the hell out.”

  “Welp.” Cheryl drew the word out and Deion stared pointedly at her. She raised a brow, like she dared him to argue. He couldn’t. All he really wanted was to do his job and move on. Why he thought he’d ever be able to do that as an associate philosophy professor was beyond him.

  “But Bev,” he said, turning her words over in his mind, “if I don’t seek tenure, what are my next steps? What do I do? How’d you do it?” That was the real question. How’d she make tenure and do this fuck job for well over thirty years, including a stint as department chair, before deciding she was done with it and retiring?

  She patted his leg. “Honey, I’ve made a life here. You haven’t.”

  Deion’s heart spasmed and he flexed his fingers to keep from clenching them. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice rougher than he meant.

  Bev snorted and accepted another cup of punch from another grandchild. At her pointed eyebrow raise, the kid scampered off and returned with two more drinks for himself and Cheryl. He was sure they were sneaking sips before passing it on, and said a silent prayer for their parents. The sugar high they were sure to be on tonight would be no joke. He smiled and took the drink, ready to hear Bev’s analysis, when his phone buzzed. He didn’t need to look at it. Only two people reached out to him during the day, and he had a standing appointment with his mother. She wouldn’t call unless he missed their appointed time. This was Carlton, probably texting to make sure Deion’s sabbatical had started, and to urge him to come visit in DC.

  “You sure you don’t need to check that?” Bev asked, laughter evident in her voice. She’d met Carlton a few times and simply adored him, something he constantly gloated about.

  Deion shook his head. “No, it’s not urgent.”

  “How do you know?” Cheryl asked.

  “If it were, he’d call.” Cheryl hummed, exchanged a glance with Bev, then went back to pretending she wasn’t listening in.

  Beverly smiled, a benevolent thing that made him think he was about to be gently scolded for his obvious lack of understanding, then went back to the topic at hand. “Deion, I’m married, with children, grandchildren, friends, and family who all live here,” she started. “You’re a hermit who has no ties, refuses to make friends other than the one you’re conveniently ignoring, and with your parents moving, you have nothing tethering you to this place.” She paused and winked. “I respect this more than you know. But the point is,” she said, over his surprised laugh, “that you don’t have to settle for this job, not when there are other better opportunities for you.”

  “Like what?” How the hell could starting from scratch at thirty-eight be better than continuing the path he’d been working on for almost fifteen years?

  “I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “That’s for you to decide. My quilting class starts on Monday and that’s all I’m worried about. I have another grandbaby on the way, you know.” She looked around the lounge, nearly empty now except for her family and close friends, and smiled.

  “I didn’t.” Deion pulled her into an over-the-chair hug. He was not jealous of her good fortune and loving family. He was not. “Congrats. That makes, what, five?”

  Bev nodded and sipped her drink. “Yep. So I have a reason to stick around. You don’t. Cut your losses now, get away from this nonsense, and start over.” Deion’s phone vibrated again and she pointed to it. “Like maybe with your friend there. DC has a ton of universities. I’m sure you could find a position there. And Carlton would love to have you.” She winked and Deion huffed before shaking his head.

  The idea had rattled around in his brain for months. Scratch that, years. When they’d graduated from DePaul sixteen years ago, Deion had known he couldn’t spend his life following Carlton everywhere, even though it’d been tempting. But Carlton was from DC and he’d been adamant about going home. So Deion had done the same and stayed home. But his parents had up and moved to London five years ago, and had been on him to come visit—preferably forever—ever since.

  Deion didn’t have any real interest in moving to London, but DC was also a non-option. He had three years of practice in knowing what living with Carlton was like, and he couldn’t go there again. Not if he wanted to maintain his sanity.

  Bev insisted Carlton felt more for Deion than he let on. Deion had been so adamant in his denial that she’d let it go, but she raised her brows every time Carlton texted. Which was daily. Something about needing to speak to each other every day pinged her alarm bells, and none of Deion’s protestations that it was just Carlton’s nature could convince her it didn’t mean more.

  He looked at his watch. It was pushing on four. He needed to get home and call his parents before he had to hear Ma complain about his lack of timeliness too.

  He finished the last of his drink in one gulp, then leaned over and pecked a kiss on Bev’s cheek. “Thank you for everything, Auntie,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

  She touched her forehead to his. “Yes, you would’ve. But it’s time for you to move on, too. Now, before you get stuck.”

  Before you get stuck. That was an excellent cue to leave, but another two grandbabies popped up, three cups of punch in their hands, and what the hell? Five more minutes wouldn’t kill him.

  * * *

  Deion stayed and chatted with Bev and Cheryl and the family for fifteen minutes too long. He nearly sprinted to his car for the drive home, grateful classes weren’t back in session, which would easily add another thirty to forty-five minutes to his commute. He pulled up to his row house with less than five minutes to spare, sprinted up the stairs, and was wholly unsurprised when the phone rang with a FaceTime request before he got inside.

  He punched the button and tried to grin. “Hey Ma,” he said, dropping his keys in the bowl he kept by the door, then kicking off his shoes and flopping on his couch.

  Ma waited until he was done, then beamed. “Hello, son. How are you?” Looking at her was like looking in the mirror, except this one was decked in white and yellow. Daisies, which came as a surprise to no one who knew her.

  Deion snorted. In college, he’d hated her insistence on calling him son every time they spoke. He couldn’t even explain why, probably something to do with wanting desperately to feel like an adult. Now, with her thousands of miles and an ocean away, he loved the familiarity it brought.

  “I’m good,” he replied. “Excited to do a whole bunch of nothing for a while.” Except date. That was one of the random thoughts that had sprung to mind on the way home, and he was going for it. He’d try his hand, see if he could establish a genuine connection with someone. It had to be better than pining for his best friend and wishing for a family he’d never have.

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that,” Ma said, interrupting his musings. “You should come visit.”

  Deion’d been stunned when his parents had moved to London, before the political upheaval in both countries had gone buck wild. Still, they seemed to truly enjoy living there, and the pressure to come see them had steadily increased. The cost was more than his carefully planned budget allowed, and the thought of asking his parents to pay still made him cringe.

  “Ma, you know I have to wait for airfare to come down. And find somewhere to stay.” Because his parents had gone from the three-bedroom home he’d grown up in to a single-bedroom flat, and his back was too old to be couch crashing.

  Ma huffed. “Nonsense. Your father and I can pay the airfare or the hotel. Pick one.”

  He
sighed. They offered this every time, but even after his mandatory shudder at his parents paying for anything at his big age, for the first time, he was tempted to accept. Of course, since he’d just told himself he’d try dating, it was a natural next step to fly across the ocean to escape any notion of it.

  God, he was a mess. Dating had always been a no-go, because he’d rather spend time with Carlton, even if it was only telephonically. He wasn’t especially interested in it now either, which was maybe why letting his parents pay for him to visit held an appeal now it hadn’t before.

  “I’ll think about it,” he finally said, hoping to placate her long enough to get his head on straight.

  It didn’t work. “You’ve said that for five years now, and you’ll never do it. You don’t have to weigh the pros and cons of every decision before you make it. Sometimes you have to go on a little faith.”

  One of Ma’s favorite refrains. She was right, they both knew it. For better or for worse, analyzing every decision to death was part of his makeup. His parents weren’t the only ones it annoyed.

  As if on cue, his phone buzzed with a text message, the notification briefly obscuring Ma’s face. Carlton, of course. Honestly, Deion was surprised Carlton wasn’t blowing his phone up. He’d forgotten to respond before Ma called, and Carlton was a worrier, no matter how much he played at nonchalance. Deion frowned as he read the available snippet, asking him to come out to DC for Howard’s homecoming.

  “What’s got that look on your face?” Ma asked, her expression mirroring his.

  Fuck. No way he could get away from telling her. He smiled and tried to play it off. “Carlton,” he said. “Wants to know if I’m coming for homecoming.”

  Ma paused for a split second before sucking her teeth and nodding. “And of course you’ll go. That’s one thing you don’t have to think about.”

  Deion pinched the bridge of his nose. Today wasn’t the day to rehash Ma’s decades-old dislike of his best friend. “Ma, I haven’t said yes to him any more than I’ve said yes to you.”