Better Than People

by Roan Parrish

  “Fine, pick me up I guess,” he interrupted.

  Jack grinned. His boyfriend was brave as hell.

  “Great. I’ll be there at seven.”

  “Don’t forget my boutonniere.”

  Jack could tell from his tone that this was snark, but he didn’t know which particular kind.

  “The hell’s a boutonniere?”

  “The flower thing that—never mind. I’m making fun of you.”

  Jack considered letting it go. He knew Simon was joking and he knew he was joking because he was nervous.

  “This matters to me,” Jack said, making sure his voice was gentle. “I know it’s not your thing, but since you offered, I want to take you out. I want to... I don’t know, treat you.”

  This time he did hear Simon’s sigh.

  “Okay. Sorry. I know.”

  “How freaked are you?”

  “Not freaked exactly. Just...spinning a little.”

  “Worst-case scenario it for me.”

  “Um.” He gave a nervous laugh that made Jack wish he could reach out and wrap Simon in his arms. “I’m a bad, boring date and make everything awkward because I get shy and you finally realize that d-dating me is more t-trouble than it’s worth?”

  “Okay, got it,” Jack said, because he’d also learned that telling Simon his fears weren’t going to come true wasn’t helpful. “Well, if I decide I’m done with you I promise I’ll still drive you home, how’s that?”

  Simon huffed.

  “Fine, I’ll see you at seven. I’ll be the one without a boutonniere.”

  * * *

  Simon opened the door, looking harassed, and peeked over his shoulder before hissing, “She wants to take our picture.”

  Jack smiled. “Sure.”

  “Why are you both acting like this is the prom?” Simon mumbled.

  “Well, maybe this isn’t the best moment,” Jack said, and held out the boutonniere he’d drawn on scraps of tracing paper and attached with a safety pin.

  “Oh my god.”

  “And before you ask, yes, I googled it.”

  Simon’s expression went soft and he looked closer at the flowers Jack had drawn: peonies and thistles. Lush and soft; strong and sharp. They reminded Jack of Simon.

  “You’re such a geek,” Simon said, but he wound his arms around Jack’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “You’re welcome. You don’t have to actually wear it.”

  Jack figured he wouldn’t want to attract any added attention.

  Simon ducked his head.

  “Well. Pin it on me, anyway.”

  Jack heard the unspoken sentence that followed: I want to know how it feels.

  Simon was wearing a navy wool sweater, soft and worn, and Jack pinned the paper flowers over his heart, then leaned in and kissed his cheek. Simon’s eyelashes fluttered.

  Jean snapped a picture of them, winked conspiratorially at Jack, and ushered them out the door.

  “Have him home by eleven,” she called.

  Jack saluted and Simon huffed as he got in the truck.

  “Let me guess,” Simon said, rather accusingly. “You went to prom with the prettiest girl in your class.”

  “Nope. I didn’t go.”

  “Oh. How come?”

  “Well, the boy I had a crush on wasn’t gay, and there wasn’t anyone else I’d’ve wanted to go with. Besides, dances...not really my thing. I went to Big Sal’s Diner with Vanessa, Sarah, and Ed, and Sarah’s boyfriend of the moment, I don’t remember his name. We ate a lot of fries and pancakes and got coffee-drunk.”

  Jack remembered getting home at two in the morning, wired and giggly, to find Charlie sitting at the kitchen table, account books from the hardware store spread out, a calculator by his elbow, and his eyes red-rimmed.

  “Who’d you have a crush on?”

  Jack told him about Mason.

  Mason had been a skinny, angry streak of energy who stalked through the hallways like he resented the very building itself. He’d moved to town at the end of their junior year and Jack hadn’t known much about him except that his father was a mechanic and Mason had driven a car that seemed to be Frankensteined together out of bits and pieces from other cars. Jack wasn’t even sure why he’d been so taken with him. They’d never interacted beyond a nod or a borrowed pencil, but something about him had been magnetic.

  “What about you?” Jack asked. “Any high school crushes?”

  They pulled into the parking lot and Simon stiffened.

  Jack parked and turned to face Simon, taking in his slow breaths and taut shoulders.

  “You don’t have to talk to anyone but me if you don’t want to, okay?” Simon nodded. “I’ll even order for you if you want.”

  Simon glared.

  “Okay, then. Wanna give me that?” He pointed to the boutonniere.

  Simon let him unpin it, but when Jack went to put it on the dashboard, Simon took it and slid it into his pocket.

  “You okay?”

  Simon nodded.

  “Don’t...don’t ask me anymore, all right? I’ll get annoyed even if I know you’re just being nice.”

  “Okay.” Jack kissed his cheek. “Let’s go, I’m starved.”

  Once they were seated, Jack said, “So about those high school crushes?”

  Simon blushed and shook his head.

  “I don’t know if they were even crushes, just...boys I thought were...whatever,” he said.

  Jack thought that was pretty much the definition of a high school crush, but he nodded.

  Simon blushed even harder.

  “There was this guy. Tom. He, uh...”

  Simon was saved by the arrival of their waiter, and stumbled through ordering a drink. He stared at the tablecloth when she ran through the specials. Jack ordered them an appetizer to share.

  “Tom,” he prompted.

  “Nothing,” Simon said, squirming. “Just. He looked kind of like you.”

  Jack couldn’t have predicted the warmth that would stoke in his belly.

  “I didn’t really think of it until now,” Simon said.

  Jack took his hand under the table and squeezed it.

  “I’m honored to fulfill your high school desires,” he teased.

  Simon grinned.

  “He was a dick, though. So don’t fulfill them too thoroughly.”

  “Did he fuck with you? I’ll kick his ass.”

  Jack said it lightly but the truth was he sometimes fantasized about going back in time to when Simon was younger and being the friend Simon had needed and never had. He would have gladly protected him from the whole world if he’d only been there.

  Yet here Simon sat, battered by the waves of the world, but so beautiful, so strong, so kind he took Jack’s breath away.

  They were smiling at each other when the waiter came to take their order. Simon pointed at what he wanted on the menu and smiled at her.

  “So, I did something kinda weird,” Jack said once they’d ordered. “You know that book I like?”

  Simon shot him a look that said, Of course I know it, you talk about it constantly.

  “Okay, so... I emailed him. Corbin Wale. I’m not sure what made me do it, but I wrote him...a fan letter I guess. Told him how much I loved Two Moons Over and asked him a couple questions about writing it. I’ve never contacted any artist like that. I dunno what I was thinking.”

  Simon’s smile was soft.

  “You emailed him because you’re ready to write your own Two Moons Over.”

  He said it so simply, and with such certainty, that Jack just stared at him.

  He hadn’t told anyone about what he’d been working on the last few weeks. He hadn’t even quite acknowledged it to himself. He’d told himself the pages and pages of
drawings were just playing around, just getting back into the habit of drawing. He hadn’t even used his sketchbook, just done them on the back of scrap printer paper and then stuffed them in a drawer.

  But he supposed the project was emerging whether he’d admitted it to himself or not. That morning he’d woken before dawn and hadn’t been able to fall back asleep, not—for the first time in a long time—because of insomnia, but because the ideas were coming so fast he had to stumble to his desk to get them down before waking life swept them away. He’d need to start keeping a sketchbook on the bedside table like he used to.

  “I think maybe you’re right,” Jack said slowly, mind on the stack of papers in his drawer and how later he would spread them out and see—really see—what he had.

  “You can tell me when you’re ready,” Simon said. His hot blue gaze was steady and Jack felt like he was glimpsing the steel that lived inside Simon but rarely showed.

  “I will. I just need to...think about it a little more.”

  Simon reached for his hand when a shadow fell over the table.

  “Jack!” Vanessa said. “Christ, it’s been an age. I thought maybe you perished of a rare broken-leg complication that also impaired one’s ability to operate a mobile telephone.”

  She said it as lightly as she said everything, but Jack knew she was hurt by his withdrawal over the last year. He owed her an explanation and an apology. But not right now.

  “Hey, Van. Nope, I’m miraculously healed.”

  He stood to show her his un-casted leg, and gave her a hug.

  “This is Simon. My boyfriend.”

  He reached out a hand to Simon, but it was awkward with the table in the way and Simon gave an abortive rise, then sat back down, cheeks flushing.

  “This is Vanessa, one of my oldest friends. She’s one of the ones I was just telling you I skipped prom with,” Jack said, hoping Van would take the bait.

  She shot him a look that said she one hundred percent knew what he was doing and would capitulate for the sake of his poor, shy boyfriend but expected a full explanation stat.

  “Psh, prom,” Van said. “Prom’s for losers. We ate pancakes. Pancakes are for winners.” She winked at Simon. “Right, babe?” she asked Rachel, who’d come up beside her.

  “That pancakes are for winners? Absolutely right. Hey, Jack. Good to see you drag yourself down from the castle to mingle with the commoners.”

  Jack introduced Rachel and Simon and saw the glance Rachel and Van exchanged. Yeah, he’d definitely be getting a phone call soon.

  “So what do you do, Simon?” Van asked.

  “He’s a graphic designer,” Jack said. “And he’s amazing.”

  “That’s really cool, Simon,” Van said, glaring at Jack.

  Jack gave Simon an apologetic look.

  Simon glanced at Van and Jack could see he’d slid his hand into the pocket where he’d put the boutonniere. Jack pledged to make him any number of talismans if they helped him feel grounded. Loved.

  “Jack’s trying to p-protect me,” Simon said, voice shaky but there. “I get all w-w-weird with new p-people.”

  Van and Rachel instantly softened.

  “People are the worst,” Rachel pledged. Simon smiled.

  “Well, we should hang out, the four of us,” Van said. “Then we won’t be new people anymore.”

  She smiled warmly at Simon and Jack felt a rush of gratitude for her friendship. He hadn’t been a good friend the last year, but he wanted to be better.

  “I’d really like that,” Jack told her.

  Simon nodded and smiled, even though he was looking at the table.

  “Okay, we’re leaving. I’m so glad I got to meet you, Simon,” Van said. “I’ll talk to you later.” She pointed at Jack and Rachel winked at him.

  They swept out and Simon closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. Jack slid a hand to his knee and left it there.

  “You o—” He cut himself off, remembering what Simon had said in the car. “Sorry.”

  “I’m okay.” He took another deep breath. “No, really, I am.” He opened his eyes and gave Jack a weak but genuine smile. “They seem really nice.”

  “They’re great. I wouldn’t call Rachel nice exactly, but she’s awesome. She teaches third grade. Her students all live in fear and worship her.”

  “I should’ve asked what she did. I should’ve asked more questions.”

  Simon’s should haves were usually the push he needed to slide down the ramp of bad feeling, so Jack kissed his cheek and said, “You can ask them questions when we all hang out. Rachel will tell you stories that will make you wonder how children ever make it to adulthood and why adults ever have children.”

  Simon smiled.

  “Dogs are way better than children. So are cats. And, like, pikas.”

  “Softer too,” Jack added.

  The food was good, but Jack only had eyes for Simon. They both turned down dessert and walked outside hand in hand.

  The moon was full and the stars shone overhead. Halfway to the truck, Jack felt a spot of cold on his cheek and looked up to see the first snowfall of the season drifting down.

  “Snow,” he said, and pulled Simon close.

  They looked up, white snow falling from a blue-black sky, promising the peace and silence of winter.

  “I love the snow,” Simon murmured.

  Jack turned him and lifted his chin. Simon’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed with cold, and his lips red from the wine he drank with dinner. He was the most beautiful thing Jack had ever seen.

  “I love you,” Jack said, stroking Simon’s cheek.

  It was cheesy and geeky and Jack had never meant anything more in his life.

  “I love you too,” Simon said. “I never thought I’d... I didn’t...” He shook his head. “Kiss me,” he murmured.

  And Jack pressed Simon to his chest so their hearts could pound in conversation, and kissed him as the snow collected in their hair.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Simon

  Simon had always had a thing about Christmas. It would be simplest to say he didn’t like it. But the truth was that he’d always longed for a Christmas that would feel, well, Christmassy.

  Instead, Christmas was spent at his parents’ house and consisted of a marathon session of dodging his family’s well-meaning suggestions about his life, meeting his sister’s boyfriend of the moment, each of whom was treated like a part of the family, and wondering why he came year after year when he always left miserable, feeling like a disappointment, and lugging a stack of flashy clothes and gift certificates to social activities, all of which he donated, like clockwork, the week after Christmas.

  So when he and Jack were lying in bed a few weeks before Christmas and Jack asked him what his favorite Christmas had been, Simon didn’t have to think at all, because there was only one Christmas in memory that hadn’t sucked.

  “When I was nine I slept under the tree. My parents didn’t want me to because they didn’t want to leave the lights on all night, but all I wanted was to be able to look up and see it all lit up like stars in the dark.”

  Jack made a sound of satisfaction against his neck. Jack loved to look up at the stars.

  “Maybe Kylie was sick or something and they were distracted, but they let me and it was magical. I took my duvet and pillows and made a little nest so my head was by the trunk and I could look up through the branches.”

  That night he’d dreamt that Santa was tiny—the size of an ornament—and that when he’d come down the chimney Simon had put him in his pocket and carried him around like a comforting friend.

  It was also the year that Simon had realized other kids had grown out of their shyness while he was beginning to feel like his brain was wiped clean when someone spoke to him.

  “What about you?” he a
sked Jack.

  “I used to like it a lot. As a kid. After my parents died Charlie and I didn’t really do much. It seemed too weird. Sad. Then I was off at school. When I moved back here we just never quite picked it up again. Usually we have dinner and watch shitty movies or something.”

  Simon said, “Hmm,” and tightened his arms around Jack, but his mind was working double-time.

  * * *

  He got Charlie’s number out of Jack’s phone and sent the text with trembling fingers. Charlie wrote back right away to say that, yes, he wanted to come to the cabin for Christmas Eve. He also offered to help with whatever Simon might need.

  What Simon needed first was the perfect gift. He started looking over Jack’s shoulder when he was on the computer and peering at him while he went about his day, wondering what was lacking in his life that Simon could find for him and wrap in brightly colored paper.

  After two days of this detective work, Jack pinned him against a wall and said, “What’s wrong with you?”

  “N-nothing?”

  Jack peered at him.

  “You’re being weird.”

  Simon took this as a signal to stop looking for the perfect gift and turned his attention to planning the perfect celebration.

  He could make dinner but all he could think of when he pictured a tree and lights and decorations was what if Jack didn’t want Simon doing that in his home. So that put an end to the decorations.

  “What should I do?” he asked his grandma over dinner. “I don’t know what to get him, I can’t surprise him with a whole house of decorations because it’s his house, and I don’t even know if he’d want to cut down a tree? No, he’d never kill a tree just for decoration. Ugh.”

  Jean smiled at him knowingly.

  “Surprises are lovely, dear. But when you surprise someone you do all the work by yourself for the enjoyment of the one moment when they see what you did. When you plan something together, you get to enjoy the whole thing with them.”

  And hell if that wasn’t the wisest and most sensible goddamn thing that Simon had ever heard.

  He was all set to broach the topic with Jack the next day, when Jack said, casual as can be, as he fed the animals, “Do you wanna have Christmas with me?”