Not Today

by MC Lee

  “I know what I’m doing—”

  “Wrong,” Noah said harshly. “You don’t have any idea what you’re doing. You can’t go on like this. It isn’t fair to him, and it isn’t fair to you. You’ve got to let me get help.”

  For one moment I actually considered caving. I pictured myself nodding silently. I imagined the look of relief on Noah’s face as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called his parents. I could envision them dropping everything immediately to jump into their car and drive straight here because their son asked them. They would take this burden off my shoulders and get me the help I so desperately needed. Dad would be taken care of.

  Taken off my hands.

  Taken away.

  I squared my shoulders as the reality of the situation hit. “I can’t, Noah. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  Noah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he reopened them, he looked directly into my eyes. “Emmett, he isn’t going to get any better. I’m sorry if this sounds harsh, but you have to face the truth. The only thing that’s going to change is that he’ll get worse.”

  “I know.” I threw my hands into the air. “But I can’t think about that right now, Noah. All I can do is take it one day at a time. All I can do is deal with what’s right in front of me, right now.”

  Noah’s whole face seemed to sag. He turned on his heel and stalked to the top of the stairs. I thought he was going to keep on walking, right out of my life, but he stopped and hung his head, his shoulders hunched and tense. He kept his back to me when he said, “If you won’t get help for his sake, will you do it for yourself? For us?”

  “You’re asking me to choose you over my dad.”

  He spun around. “No. I’m asking you, just once, to put yourself first.”

  “What do you think will happen to him if I let you do this?” I cried.

  He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t say the words.

  “I could ask my parents for money….” He trailed off hopelessly. We both knew he was reaching. It wasn’t just the immediate cost of proper medical care, which could be crippling; it was that this could go on for years. I recognized the moment he realized that even with the best intentions in the world, he couldn’t save me.

  “I don’t know what else to say,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to help you.”

  Over Noah’s shoulder, I noticed a taxi slow down as it passed the house. It stopped just up the street and when the back door opened, I saw Mrs. Sweeney’s head turn toward me, and our eyes locked.

  Noah stepped forward, and I almost flinched when he cupped my face in his warm hands.

  “Okay, Emmett,” he said quietly. “We’ll work something out. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  By now Mrs. Sweeney had struggled out of the cab. She was standing at the bottom of the steps to her house but she didn’t make any move to walk up them. She stared fixedly at Noah, and even from where I stood, I could read bewilderment on her face. Before it could change to comprehension, I shook Noah’s hands off me and took a step back.

  His expression turned to confusion at the same time hers cleared. My gaze darted between the two of them. Her eyes met mine, and her lips drew together in a thin, tight line. When I looked into Noah’s face, I recognized his unshakable determination to do the right thing.

  I wanted him, but I needed her.

  I’d dragged him down into my mess while pretending he was pulling me out, and now I realized there was only one way forward. Noah had lied for me, sacrificed for me, he’d lost his job, skipped social events, and jeopardized friendships. I’d asked him to hide who he was, and deliberately denied the truth about his life. He was decent and kind and the best person I’d ever known. I couldn’t send him away with his heart intact, but I could, at least, send him away with his conscience clear and his integrity unblemished.

  I waited until I was sure I could control my shaking voice and then said the words I knew he would never, ever say. “I think we’d better call time on this, Noah. It isn’t going to work.”

  His eyes widened in shock. “Emmett, you don’t mean that!”

  I nodded woodenly. “I thought you understood my life. But having to work around your expectations makes everything harder for me.”

  I don’t know which of us felt the blow most. Noah actually seemed to stagger under the horrible weight of the accusation.

  “Please don’t do this, Emmett,” he pleaded. “I know I pushed too hard—”

  “It just won’t work,” I repeated dully.

  His face distorted—dread and foreboding as plain as the carefree optimism that had once sat there, that belonged there. He took a step forward, but I threw up a hand and he froze. “I need to focus on my dad right now,” I said stonily. “Nothing else matters.”

  Noah closed his eyes for the briefest moment, and when he opened them again I saw that some of the light had been extinguished.

  “Is this really what you want?” His voice sounded distant.

  “You say you want to help me. This is the only way you can do that.”

  A host of emotions tracked across his expressive face, and I recognized every one because I felt them too. His heartbreak was obvious, as was sorrow at the hopelessness of the situation. I’m sure he didn’t know that his expression betrayed something else too, something that until then, I doubt he even knew existed. Because, just for a second, I saw a fleeting flash of anguished relief, gone almost as soon as it registered. In that moment of raw honesty I loved him, and I knew I’d done the right thing in setting him free.

  He let out a shaky breath, and then he drew himself upright. “Okay, Emmett, I’ll do what you want,” he said slowly. “Just so you know. Nothing has changed for me. I’ll always be there for you. Whatever you want, if it’s legal, if it’s possible, it’s yours.”

  The words, an echo of his previous promise, cut like a knife. I nodded, because speaking wasn’t an option, and when he turned to go, I let him, even though my heart shattered into a hundred jagged pieces.

  When he had climbed back into his Jeep and driven away, Mrs. Sweeney walked slowly down the street until she was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me.

  “He’s gone,” I said. “I sent him away.”

  “Does your father know?” she asked. I didn’t insult her by pretending I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Only Jamie knew.”

  She considered it for a moment and then nodded. “We’ll say no more about it, then. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll bring dinner.”

  “Mrs. Sweeney—”

  “No! I won’t hear another word,” she cut in sharply.

  Her eyes flashed, and I closed my mouth with an audible snap and joined her in complicit silence.

  I DRAGGED myself back to the kitchen to find Dad still seated. He was frowning down at his hand as though he had no idea what had happened. He looked up when I walked in.

  “Where’s your mother,” he said sullenly. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’ll get you something to eat,” I said.

  “I hope that faggot friend of yours has gone,” he snarled.

  I flinched as though he’d punched me. And then I began to shake, anger and frustration boiling up inside me until I couldn’t contain it any longer. I could feel the cruel words forming in my mouth as I strode across the room, all the ugly recriminations, all the accusations I’d been storing up for months.

  I looked into his face, reddened with exertion and fury, and something inside me snapped. This was the man I’d sacrificed everything for—this petulant tyrant who’d driven his son to a bloody death and forced his wife to walk out the door and never look back. Who resented my existence even as he took everything I did for him for granted. Who’d ruined the only decent thing left in my life.

  “She’s gone, you stupid asshole,” I shouted. I leaned down until our faces were only inches apart. “She left because she fucking hated you. Because you bullied and intimidated her,
because you made her life a living hell. Jamie came home in a body bag, and it broke her fucking heart. And you did nothing to help her, you selfish, heartless bastard!”

  The air between us crackled with the poison I had just spewed. I braced myself for the catharsis of violence, knowing that this time I’d retaliate. That this time I’d strike back with everything I had. Every part of me ached to empty it all out, to let loose everything I’d bottled up for months, maybe even years.

  I twitched when he struggled to his feet, but instead of fury, I saw only shock. The color drained from his face, leaving it a pale, wintery white. I watched as my putrid words sank in and the pain he’d held in check, the horror that his broken mind had lost over and over again, all rushed back in.

  “Jamie’s dead?”

  His eyes misted and then filled, and great fat tears trembled on his lashes and rolled down his sunken cheeks. I had never seen my dad cry before. Not the day we got word of Jamie’s death, nor any of the dozen times he’d relived the devastating news when the muddled mess in his brain momentarily cleared.

  “Dad,” I whispered.

  “Jamie’s dead?” His voice cracked on the last word, and his breath hitched on a sob, and I saw the depth of his sorrow for the first time ever as deep lines replaced the smooth blankness I had never tried to look beyond.

  “This will destroy your mother,” he gasped.

  He leaned forward, and I cupped a hand around his neck and let him cry on my shoulder. His tears soaked through my T-shirt, and his thin body shook. I realized with horror just how shriveled he had become, how his muscle had atrophied and become soft, how the skin hung off him in folds. I had noticed before, but been too stubbornly blind to admit how far it had gone. I’d let him slip away, all the time believing I was protecting him.

  His sobbing gradually became quieter until, quite suddenly, it stopped. When I eased him back, he looked dazed and entirely confused.

  “What happened?” he asked, his gaze darting wildly around the wrecked room.

  “Come on, Dad,” I said, sidestepping the question he’d never remember asking. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  I guided him gently into the living room and into his favorite chair.

  “Let me get you some water,” I whispered.

  His gaze never lost any of its confusion as he nodded silently.

  My stomach curdled to see the blood still spattering the sink. It was a shock to realize I’d wanted to hurt him. That inside me lurked the seeds of what drove him. I’d forgotten for a moment that he was helpless, that none of this was his fault. I’d lost myself and turned into the bully I’d always accused him of being.

  After I’d filled a glass with cold water, I returned to the living room. He looked up, frightened and lost. I dropped into a crouch beside his chair, sickened at myself when he recoiled.

  “It’s okay, Dad. Everything is going to be all right.”

  “Do you think Jamie will be back soon?” The plaintive note tore at my heart.

  I patted his back and forced a smile. “I’m sure of it, Dad.” Then I leaned down and pressed a kiss against the warm, dry skin of his cheek.

  He looked momentarily startled, and then he returned my smile, shy and timid, but brighter than I’d seen for months.

  MY FACE looked pale in the bathroom mirror, or maybe it was just the light thrown by the weak bulb. My eyes traveled the room until they found what they were looking for, and I reached out and took the familiar weight in my hand.

  The faint buzz when I switched it on was somehow reassuring. I raised it, hesitated for just a moment, and then I pulled the electric razor across my scalp in one long, even swipe, front to back. A hank of hair fell into the sink, and the exposed skin tingled and felt immediately cold.

  I hadn’t expected to feel anything, but I had to close my eyes when I made the next swipe, feeling stray hairs fall onto my suddenly damp cheeks and tickle my parched lips. I paused to brush them away, raised my hand to hover above my half-shaved head, and then let it drop hopelessly. The next three strokes were strong and sure, and after that it only took a moment to tidy up the edges and sculpt around my ears and neck.

  When I was finished, I took a long, hard look at myself and nodded. It was the right thing to do. Somebody in this family deserved some happiness, some peace. Why shouldn’t it be Dad?

  I cleaned the hair out of the sink and threw great handfuls into the waste bin, and then I washed my hands and face and straightened up. One of Jamie’s long-sleeved shirts hung in my closet, smelling faintly of his aftershave, and I pulled it on and buttoned it up, leaving the top button open. I slipped the earrings out of my ears and finally turned to face the full-length mirror. My heart jumped when I saw a copy of my brother looking back at me.

  With a final glance at my reflection, I grabbed Jamie’s kit bag, stole down the stairs, and slipped outside. I pulled in a deep breath and rapped loudly on the door. My head felt light and cool, even as beads of sweat began to trickle down my back. I heard the shuffling of feet, and a moment later, the door opened tentatively.

  Dad shaded his eyes from the sun and looked up into my face. For a long, painful minute there was no reaction, and then his whole face crumpled, and tears sprang into his eyes.

  “Jamie?” he said tremulously. “Jamie! You’re home.”

  I stepped forward, into his outstretched arms. “Yeah, Dad. I’m home.”

  Epilogue

  MAYBE IT shouldn’t have hurt, but when I found out several weeks later that Noah and his family were moving on, my stomach cramped into a sudden knot.

  He had maintained his grace, even in the face of my inexplicable rejection, and had continued to extend invitations, to encourage me to get out, even to invite me to his house. I’d refused him each time, though each time it had been painful.

  Hannah hadn’t been quite so forgiving. She didn’t know the reason Noah and I had broken up. She only knew I had pushed her brother away, and she called me out every time I saw her until finally Noah told her to back off.

  “But he was an asshole to you, Noah. When you were always his friend.”

  “He had his reasons,” Noah said kindly.

  “There isn’t any reason good enough for what he did to you,” she said stubbornly.

  I couldn’t argue with her on that score; what I’d done was unforgiveable. After that, true to her word, she stopped harassing me. In fact, she stopped speaking to me altogether and acted as if I didn’t exist.

  “Sorry about that,” Noah said, when she silently, but pointedly, turned her head as she passed me in the hallway.

  “I don’t blame her.”

  “How are things at home?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  I didn’t tell him how much Dad had rallied, how thrilled he was to have the right son back beside him, how he barely mentioned Emmett’s absence, as though, just like Mom, he only had room in his heart for one son.

  I didn’t tell him about the fragile peace I’d established with Mrs. Sweeney; how hard we both pretended not to know who I was.

  “I’m really digging the new look,” Noah said.

  I couldn’t stop myself rubbing at my shorn head. “So, where are you off to next?”

  “Dad took an eighteen-month contract with an NGO in Mali. The kind of work he was doing here isn’t really where his heart is.”

  I wanted to ask how he’d fit in there, what he felt about leaving, if he’d miss me as much as I’d miss him, but I didn’t feel I had the right.

  On his final day in class, my heart broke every time I caught his glance and realized it would be the last time I saw his smiling face. He made a point of sitting next to me in every class we shared, which was so bittersweet that I wasn’t sure I’d make it through the day without choking on regret and sorrow. I knew it was my own fault; that I’d let these lonely weeks slip away when I could have been with him. But I couldn’t change the past, no matter how much I wanted to.

  His friends had planned a
last night of fun, and though he’d made sure I was invited, I’d refused—to nobody’s surprise. But twenty minutes before our last lesson, he leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Wanna ditch one last time?”

  I glanced sidelong and nodded wordlessly.

  I followed him to the empty library and closed the door behind us, then trailed him as he led the way to the stacks hidden away at the back. He turned and leaned up against a table, and I stopped in front of him and smiled.

  “Tell me how you are. Really,” he said.

  I shrugged and lowered my gaze. “It’s all good. Dad’s a lot calmer these days.”

  “Anything to do with that?”

  Not surprisingly, when I looked up, he nodded toward my shaved head.

  “When are you leaving for Mali?” I asked.

  He smiled at my obvious attempt to change the subject. “Next week. We’re driving to Chicago to spend some time with my grandparents first. Will you stay in touch?”

  “If you want,” I said.

  “I’d really like that, Emmett.” He paused for a moment, and I swallowed hard when his expression softened. “I’d like to think you’d tell me if things get too hard for you. I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing, I’ll find a way to help you.”

  I forced a smile. “I promise, Noah.”

  “If it’s legal. If it’s possible….” The echo of his previous promise raised a sudden lump in my throat. I was struggling to fight down my emotions when he threw up his hands. “Fuck it. If you need the impossible, I’ll be there too.”

  I gave a shaky laugh. “Thanks. It means a lot to know I can always count on you.”

  He nodded solemnly before inclining his head. “You think we would have made it? If things had been different.”

  I ran my hand through what was left of my hair. “I think we’d have had a fighting chance. If pretty much everything in my life had been different. Listen, you know I didn’t mean those things I said—”

  “I know,” he cut in. “Even at the time, I realized you were doing it for me. I appreciate it. Even though I didn’t need you to protect me.”