by Jude Sierra
Reid texts him sporadically throughout the day. They don’t acknowledge their fight. Joaquim has a sense that Reid is working to maintain a connection. Whether for his own comfort or because it’s the healthy thing to do, Joaquim doesn’t know. He needs the connection too.
* * *
Joaquim hasn’t minded having a roommate, for the most part. It’s irritating on nights like tonight, when Bobby seems to be coming down with a cold and is snoring.
It’s easier to blame sleeplessness on that and not on his argument with Reid replaying over and over. A defensive loop of arguments clutters his sleepless thoughts as he stares at the ceiling. He can barely make it out, smooth and white, in the absence of moonlight. Not everyone approaches life the way he does, with carefree willingness to uproot and land where circumstances lead him. Reid’s resistance, his anger, seem to go beyond a difference in attitudes, as if he doesn’t trust Joaquim. Perhaps Joaquim should have approached the situation differently. It’s a given that, no matter what happens, I’ll find a way to be with Reid, right?
While Joaquim understands that Reid has his own perspective on the fragile and tenuous nature of life, that doesn’t entitle him to use it as a trump card. Right? Joaquim sighs, flips his pillow over, and rolls onto his side. The well-worn cotton is cool against his skin. The longer he thinks about the day, from finding Reid on the chair to their walk through the shallow waters and his own frustrated trek over the boardwalk through the mangroves, Joaquim senses both the folly and shortsightedness of his actions, as well as a thread of legitimacy to his frustration. He is allowed to have a different philosophy and outlook. It doesn’t have to be like Reid’s.
That said, Joaquim has a lot to learn about Reid—how he ticks, what things might trigger anxiety—just as Reid has a lot to learn about him. Neither of them is responsible for each other, but Joaquim wants a relationship where both are willing to listen—listen to understand, not listen to respond. Bobby was definitely on the nose about Reid’s nature. And Joaquim’s life as an adult has been a series of happenstance and luck leading him to new adventures. Are we compatible enough to make a go of things?
It’s past one, but he slips his phone off his nightstand.
Joaquim: I miss you
Joaquim fires off the text before he can talk himself out of it. Reid responds before he can put the phone back down.
Reid: I miss you too.
Joaquim types Are you okay? and catches himself at the last second. He deletes the message and settles on wishing Reid a good night instead. They never got to the conversation about how they can communicate around particulars. An ache settles in Joaquim’s chest: the pain of missing Reid, and regret and frustration that will linger until things can be hashed out. The missing is the biggest part of it, though. Reid in his arms right now would be perfect.
* * *
In the morning, Joaquim settles at his laptop and begins to research places he might be able to find work and contacts that could help get him a job. It’s an imperfect plan, because it needs Reid’s input. It must account for what Reid wants to do with the next period of his life. But it’s a start, something he can take to Reid and begin a conversation that represents a compromise.
Joaquim: Hey
Reid: Hi there :)
Joaquim: Did you want to hang out later? Can we, I mean?
Reid: Of course.
Joaquim has an idea that’s either brilliant or horrible, and he needs Nina’s help. She’s not through until one, though.
Joaquim: I’m not free until afternoon, is that okay?
Reid: Yeah. I work until three, remember?
Fuck, yeah, he’d totally forgotten. It buys him more time.
Joaquim: How about I bring stuff to make dinner?
Joaquim isn’t a great cook, but he can cook.
Reid: I’d like that
Joaquim: k. ILY
Joaquim fires that off and then slips on shoes so he can walk to the shop to catch Nina.
Reid: Grown-up version: I love you. But for you… ILY2, you dork.
Joaquim smiles. Things will be all right. Love makes them so, right?
Joaquim arrives half an hour past when he’d planned. He grunts as he lifts all of the shopping bags out of the trunk of Nina’s car at once. Sweat rolls down his spine; it’s fucking hot today.
“Good luck,” Nina calls through the window.
“Thanks,” Joaquim calls back. Almost at the door, Joaquim tries to figure out how he’s going to open it when Reid does it for him. His expression alone eases tension in Joaquim’s chest. He drops the bags in the entry, pulls Reid toward him, and runs a hand over his hair. Reid smiles and leans into a kiss. Hot air rushes in through the open door, and when Joaquim steps closer he almost crushes a bag between them. Reid breaks away with a laugh.
“Let me help you,” he says. Joaquim grabs the one paper bag that’s not from Publix and puts it aside. “So, what are we making?”
Joaquim hands Reid vegetables from the bags they’ve hoisted onto the counter. “Stir fry.”
“Have you ever made a stir fry?” Reid asks. He roots through a bag. “What the hell is this?”
“A ginger root.” Joaquim takes it from him and puts it on the counter.
“I hope you know how to use that,” Reid says, eyeing it.
“It’s not going to bite. I promise. The Internet will tell us what to do with it. It was in the recipe.”
“I leave the strange roots in your capable hands, then.” Reid balls up the plastic bags and stores them under the sink in a holder. “What’s in here?”
“Oh.” Joaquim grabs the paper bag out of Reid’s hands. “I, um. I got you a thing.”
Reid’s eyes light up, ice-blue and sweet; lines of exhaustion around them ease.
“But, I don’t—”
“J?”
“I thought this might be a helpful thing. If it’s not, or it’s a bad thing, I’m sorry—hey!”
Reid grabs the bag out of his hand, “You need to calm down. You got something because you were thinking of me, right?”
“Yeah,” Joaquim says.
“Well, thank you.” Reid kisses his cheek. He pulls the paper-wrapped package out and opens it without tearing the paper, although he lets the paper fall to the floor. “This…” He pulls out a handprint impression toy, the kind with dulled metal pins.
“So, I definitely have a reason for this,” Joaquim starts.
“My dad used to have one of these on his desk when I was a kid,” Reid says, already playing with it. “This is cool. Um, but—”
“So, okay. Last night I was thinking about the way you like to feel things with your hands. The ceiling…” Reid winces, and Joaquim rushes to assure him. “…and the sand. And I thought maybe this could be helpful.”
Reid pushes his fingers against the small pegs and then lets them down. He pushes his whole hand against them and flips it over to look at the shape of his hand pushing through.
“I don’t know a lot about the sensory stuff you were telling me. Maybe you could tell me more? But this…” Joaquim takes it from him gently. “I thought maybe we could work on something to replicate the way the ceiling felt? Only, um, easier. So you’re not climbing furniture.”
Reid’s eyes flash up to him, a little wary perhaps, but not upset. He turns and sits on the couch. “It’s a cool feeling,” he says. “But not really the same.”
“What if you couldn’t push the pegs through?” Joaquim pushes his palm against the pegs and then holds it out to Reid. “Put your hand against it now.” He offers resistance against Reid’s hand, and Reid’s face clears.
“Oh!” Reid presses his index finger down and the pegs dig into Joaquim’s fingertip as a result. “I understand.”
“I don’t know if this feels like the ceiling exactly, but it’s maybe a start. I obviously did
n’t have time to shop around for anything else; this was hard to find. But we could look online. Or fiddle with this one.”
“Joaquim,” Reid says. He takes the toy from him and puts it on the coffee table. He turns away from Joaquim.
“God, I’m sorry; this was bad, wasn’t it?” Joaquim puts a hand between Reid’s shoulders and rubs them. Reid shakes his head, a tiny movement one could almost miss.
“It’s good,” Reid says. His voice is thick. Joaquim moves to kneel in front of him, a nearly impossible feat considering the lack of room between the sofa and the table. But he manages. Reid’s cheeks are streaked with tears he wipes away with the back of his hand. “Don’t—I’m a mess.” He covers his eyes.
“Reid, come on.” Joaquim, pulls at his wrists gently. “Why are you hiding?”
“I’m a mess,” Reid repeats, crackle-voiced and shaky.
“No, no you’re not.” Joaquim speaks with conviction that’s new to him. “You’re you. And I love you. And I want to help you.”
“Ugh.” Reid puts his damp face into Joaquim’s shoulder. “You could have anyone. You should.”
“Stop.” Joaquim kisses the top of his head. “Please.”
Mercifully, Reid does. He pulls Joaquim onto the couch and curls into him. How unbalanced their relationship must seem to Reid, for him to say such things. Joaquim had never heard of half the things Reid is handling. But Reid acts as if Joaquim being here is an act of mercy, as if he has no idea what he brings to Joaquim’s life, or the utter pricelessness of finding home in someone else.
“I’m sorry,” Joaquim says slowly. “For the other day.”
“What? No,” Reid says. He’s post-tears nasal and his eyes are slightly red. “That was me being hysterical.”
“No. Don’t dismiss yourself. Obviously there’s something that needs working out. I think I can understand some of what happened, and why you got so upset. But I didn’t really try to listen, did I?”
Reid moves away and curls his legs under himself. He props his head on his hand with his elbow on the back of the couch. He’s wearing old jeans, tight and fraying past intentional distress into acute distress. Acute Jean Distress. Joaquim smiles at the thought. It would make a cool band name.
“I’ll admit I was already stressed about what you said. And then I got flustered.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t listen. And I was… I didn’t even see that you were flustered. I should have—”
“Don’t should,” Reid says. His voice is soft. “Should is a banned word.”
Joaquim tilts his head and studies Reid. “Regardless, I’m sorry I didn’t see it. After I calmed down, and Bobby and Nina talked some sense into me, I think I understand. I came up with a semi-plan, thinking that you’d probably feel more comfortable with a plan, with something we can plan together?”
“You have wise friends.” Reid shifts, and, when he curls up again, his legs press against Joaquim’s.
Joaquim digs into his pants pocket for the list he made. “This isn’t final or anything. It’s more like ideas.” He spreads it out, and Reid leans forward to see. “A list of places where I could find work. And also, see here? Maybe you can come visit me when I’m with my family. Assuming you have a passport.”
“I don’t,” Reid says absently. His finger runs down the list. He sighs and closes his eyes.
Twenty-nine
“Reid?” Joaquim touches Reid’s knee. “You with me? This is a tentative list, just ideas.”
“I know,” Reid says. He wonders how to word what’s next, not only so that Joaquim will understand, but also because Reid himself isn’t sure. “I… Joaquim, there are some hard truths. Things I don’t know what to do about. I came here because I needed space from Felix and my family to try to heal and work on myself, to get stronger, healthier. And in a lot of ways I have.”
“Yeah,” Joaquim says. His face, with its light and lopsided smile, seems almost proud.
“But I had setbacks too. This tested a lot of things for me. I’m… I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of too much change, of more moving, of unsettling myself constantly or even just right now.” Reid covers Joaquim’s fingers with his. “Of being too far from home, even though I don’t necessarily want to be there.”
“It’s too much change?”
“Maybe. Fear is… I know my fears are totally irrational—”
“Reid, of course they aren’t,” Joaquim says.
“I’m starting to feel like I have a grip on recovery. I don’t know where I go from here. I don’t know the answer. Half of this list is overseas or in a time zone that will make it hard to connect with my group.”
Joaquim considers the list on his lap. He folds it and puts it on the table. “Okay.” He draws Reid into his arms. “So we’ll figure it out. I promise.”
“Wanna make dinner?” Reid says. They’ve been on the couch, drowsing in silence. Reid’s not used to comfortable silence with another person. Basking in it, despite the heaviness of their situation, has been lovely. Joaquim can’t be the sole reason for his happiness or health, but he can be a part of it. Reid is coming to understand that partnership doesn’t have to equal instability, that it can mean support—a different kind, too, from what he gets with his group or even his family, who try their best. This love is different and it could be so good for him.
“Yeah, definitely.” Joaquim untangles himself from Reid and rubs his stomach. “I’m starving.”
“All right. Let us stir and fry. Fire up the Internet.” Reid pulls out vegetables and chops them, figuring he doesn’t need the Internet to cut things up.
The kitchen fills with the smell of ginger, and Reid heats peanut oil in a pan, per Joaquim’s instructions. They take turns stirring vegetables while chopping and mixing a sauce. They speak only to communicate about the food; they speak through gentle touches and glances, through small smiles and, when Reid is pouring the sauce into the pan, a light kiss on the back of his neck.
Silence follows them through dinner and out onto the porch, where they soak in the night soundscape together. In bed, Joaquim undresses Reid. When he runs his fingers down Reid’s torso, he pauses. Reid lets him turn on the lamp. Joaquim has promised everything will be okay, that they are in this together. Trust, letting himself be laid bare, is vital. Reid’s not sure how he knows it, but it’s in his bones. It’s still scary; his heart beats fast, and his breath is shallow and quick. Joaquim’s fingers don’t stray to his scars. Rather, they trace the tattoo.
“What does this mean? Why would you want to suffer?”
“It’s my version of life is short,” Reid quips. Joaquim’s face is unreadable. “Sorry. I guess it’s a reminder of surrender.”
“Surrender to what?”
“This is my life. This is who I am. These things happened.”
Joaquim’s face doesn’t clear.
“At Sycamore Grove, they had different ‘jobs’ and I got to work with the animals. One day, when I was walking down to the barn, I was so angry. I’d been angry. Resistant. I didn’t belong there. That’s what I was telling myself. Spring was coming. I was thinking about how the crocuses must be blooming at home, and something shifted.”
“Crocuses?”
“They’re purple and white flowers that bloom first in the spring. But the point is, they can bloom through snow. It’s how you know spring is coming. I’ve always loved that. I couldn’t care less about flowers, generally. But I like when winter is over.”
“I can only imagine.”
“I can’t remember, have you ever seen snow?” Reid traces the ridge of Joaquim’s nose.
“No. But maybe one day.” They share a look.
“Anyway. I honestly cannot tell you what changed. But something clicked. I knew then that I had to surrender to the process. The only thing I could change
in that moment was letting go of my resistance. And I knew, right then, that would mean letting myself feel all the bad shit. Looking at it. Not pushing it away or pretending it wasn’t there. It’s a scary thing, J.”
“Yeah?”
Reid loves this about this man: He doesn’t say he understands things when he doesn’t.
“Something about that surrender… I knew that meant I’d suffer somehow. But it was the first time I ever felt hope. In my whole life, it was the first time I believed I could feel better, be better.”
“And now?”
“And I’ve experienced radical acceptance. Shit fucking sucks sometimes. Hope is hard. I have to fight for that. But I trust it more now, because of that willingness. I’m not always willing. But I’m capable of it.”
“I like that,” Joaquim says. “That idea.”
“I have to be honest. Things that go to shit and are hard, like… um. The cutting. Relapsing. Those are things I can examine, after a while. Other things, I’m not ready for. I haven’t been able to bring myself to think about—” He begins to cry. Joaquim catches a tear with a fingertip. “I don’t know why I tried to…” Reid forces a breath and the words. “…kill myself. And that is so fucking scary. I can’t get close to acceptance, because I can’t let myself think of it. I’m just not ready.”
There’s a long, painful silence. Joaquim closes his eyes. Eventually, he cups Reid’s cheek. “But you have hope now?”
“Sometimes. Most of the time. Life is so much better. I have hope that I can hold on to that. I don’t think that will ever happen again. There were mitigating factors when that happened; they think that new med I was trying added to it.”
“Okay,” Joaquim says.
“This is part of why I freaked out about what happens next. I can’t pin my happiness on you, and I know that. You aren’t responsible for it either. We can have happiness and make happiness and love each other, but I can’t make you the reason I survive.”