Five Dares

by Eli Easton

  “I’m sorry. Just . . . will you stop putting so much pressure on yourself? There are other things in life besides big degrees and money. Even if you did make fifteen dollars an hour, you’d be fine. Hell, come out and live with me in California and surf! Give yourself time to figure out what you want to do. I’ve got a job. I can take care of us for a while. But if you do something stupid right now, like ride your goddamn skateboard off that roof drunk, or take a header, you’ll be dead. Do you hear me? The end. And then we’ll never have the chance to work it out. Andy, please.”

  I heard him breathing hard on the other end of the phone. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “Miss you so much. Miss being with you. God, Jake. Feels like someone ripped my guts out.” His teeth chattered, like he was shaking apart.

  A sob caught in my throat. I swallowed it. Crying would be completely useless right now. I sank down so I was sitting at the base of the sink. “I know. Me too. God, Andy. I swear, I miss you so much it feels like I’m dying sometimes.”

  “Everything, everything, everything is wrong, and it’s all so tangled up, and I don’t know how to change it or what else I’d do even if I could!”

  “That’s fine! You don’t have to know that right now. Okay? We’ll look at one issue at a time. I’ll help you. Just . . . please, Andy.” My heart pulsed raw and open, right there. I had nothing left with which to hold on to him, so I had no choice. “I love you. God help me, I love you so much. If something happened to you, it would kill me too. So please, don’t. Go inside and we’ll work it out. You and me. The Andy and Jake Show.”

  I heard him sniffling. “You’ll help me figure it out?”

  “I will, yes, absolutely.” I nodded adamantly, as if he could see me.

  There was a soft noise on the other end of the phone, maybe a sigh, but I couldn’t make it out over the wind. I could sense, though, that something had shifted. “Prob’bly is too far,” he muttered. I heard the scraping sound of footsteps over tile. He was walking across the roof. Oh, thank God. Just please don’t let him fall.

  “I need you,” Andy said quietly. His voice sounded less frenzied, more in control.

  “I can be there.” I sat up straighter and wiped at my eyes. “Let me book a flight. I should be able to get there by tomorrow.”

  “No. Hang on.”

  There was a sound that must have been a stiff window closing. And then the wind was gone. I shuddered with relief. Oh my God. I was covered in sweat. Maybe the situation over there hadn’t been as dire as it’d sounded. But I could swear I saw headlines like Student jumps to his death. And if that student had been Andy Tyler, would anyone really be surprised?

  “Andy?” I prompted when he didn’t speak.

  “Don’t book a flight. Maybe . . . maybe I’ll come out there. I dunno. Have to figure it out. But meanwhile, we can talk? You don’t hate me?”

  “No! I don’t hate you. Of course we can talk,” I assured him. “As much as you want.”

  “Only not now, because I’m going to be sick.” He moaned. I wondered what the hell he’d been drinking.

  “Are you near your room?”

  Over the phone, I heard the sound of sirens and footsteps on stairs. Andy panted, “Did you . . . call someone?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, you crazy bastard. You about scared me to death. I swear to God, Andy, if you hurt yourself before I get my hands on you again, I will kill you.”

  “Glad you still care, Jake,” Andy said quietly.

  Then there were voices and the magical soundtrack of Andy puking his guts out.

  Andy

  When I arrived at Abe & Louie’s in downtown Boston, my mom was already seated and waiting for me. I’d called her to ask if we could meet for lunch and talk, and it had been her choice of venue.

  Abe & Louie’s was an upscale Boston classic with dark-mahogany booths and waiters dressed in tan coats, white shirts, and ties. Their uniforms looked like they hadn’t changed since the 1950s. The place cooked a mean steak, but I was too nervous to care about food. I was dreading the conversation, but it had to happen. It might be dramatic to say my life depended on it, but it really did.

  I slipped into the booth, and my mom kissed my cheek hello.

  “There’s my beautiful son. Are you feeling all right?” She looked me over and placed the back of her cool hand on my cheek to check for fever. As if the only reason I’d ask her to lunch were if I were terminally ill.

  Then again, maybe that was the reason I’d invited her to lunch.

  “I’m fine,” I insisted.

  My mom’s brown eyes looked worried. She was a tiny woman, five foot two and petite all over. Her hair, black with a few silver strands, was kept short, but it was curly and sometimes frizzy, despite lots of product. She was on the plain side, an überintellectual. Her large-framed gold glasses were on the table. I swore, she carried them more than she wore them. She had on a fitted gray business suit with a skirt and jacket and a purple blouse underneath. Her only jewelry consisted of her wedding rings and two small gold balls in her ears. She was not the high-heels-and-diamonds type of woman.

  “Is this about Harvard? Your classes? How are you getting along with your professors?” she queried. Her gaze was far too observant. It was intimidating having my mom’s full attention, especially given what I had to say.

  “Classes are fine.” I drummed my fingers on the table nervously. “Well. Not really. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I need your advice.”

  “Advice about what?”

  I forced a smile. “My area of study. Life. Love. The universe and everything.” I tried to make it sound lighthearted. Not sure I succeeded.

  She rubbed her lip and regarded me with more interest now—and more worry. “I thought you and your dad had your curriculum all figured out. You’re no longer sure about it?”

  I shook my head. “Very much not sure. In fact, I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be where I am.” It was harder to say out loud than I’d expected. But I meant every word.

  “You’re no longer interested in corporate law?”

  “I wasn’t ever that interested in corporate law,” I admitted. “But I thought it would give me a secure future. You know how dad is about all that.”

  She nodded. “He is. That’s not a bad thing, Andy.”

  “No, it’s not,” I agreed hurriedly. “And I appreciate everything he’s done for me. Only now that I’m in the classes, well . . . right now is the time to pick my schedule for next term. I just wanted to . . .” I took a heavy breath. “Wanted to talk to you. About how can you stand it, doing contracts all day, every day? I know you have your pro bono work, but doesn’t it get difficult to stay motivated at your regular job when you’re doing something you hate?”

  The waiter came just then, naturally, and took our order. I ordered the petite fillet with a side salad instead of fries since my mother was watching. She ordered an entrée salad with salmon.

  After the waiter left, my mom leaned toward me over the booth, her hands folded at the edge of the table. “Andy, first of all, where did you get the idea that I hate writing contracts?”

  “Well . . . I just assumed. It’s pretty boring stuff.”

  She shook her head. “I went into corporate law because it interests me. Protecting my clients, looking for language or clauses that are potentially harmful, foreseeing contingencies and providing for them . . . it’s a puzzle, a challenge. I enjoy my work. If contract law doesn’t interest you that way, then no, you shouldn’t be planning a career in it.”

  I looked at her in surprise. The way she talked, she sounded honestly passionate.

  “But . . . I always thought your heart was in your pro bono work. I thought your work for A. A. & Young was just for money.”

  She gave me a funny look. “I am passionate about my pro bono work. And, of course, I wouldn’t be with A. A. & Young if I wasn’t paid very, very well. Because I’m worth it, and I save my clients millions. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my jo
b.”

  “Oh.” Well there went one long-term assumption. Now I felt idiotic. What was wrong with me that I didn’t enjoy it like that?

  “Let me ask you this,” she said briskly. “If you didn’t get a degree in corporate law, what would you do?”

  That was the hundred-thousand-dollar question. “I’m not sure. Harvard is a fantastic school, obviously. I’d like to get a law degree from there. But I’m not sure of the area yet. Maybe criminal justice?” I gave a sigh of frustration. “I know Dad says it’s way overcrowded and doesn’t pay well, and I get that. It’s not like I feel a strong calling. I wanted to get your thoughts about it.”

  So we talked. My mother didn’t really have new information, but she asked a lot of questions, and she didn’t seem upset at the idea of my changing degrees. At some point I realized that this was the first time I’d ever discussed my future with just my mother alone. She was a lot more open-minded than my dad. Which I pointed out.

  “I’m afraid Dad will freak if I change my area of study though.” Among other things. I sounded like a whiny teenager, so I added, “That is, I’m prepared to stand up to him. But I feel like I need to be absolutely sure what I want before I can do that. I haven’t been able to find that kind of clarity.”

  My mom pushed around the salad in the bowl, looking thoughtful. “Andy, I’m sorry I haven’t been more involved in all this. You and your father have always had a very special relationship, and I knew he was good at working with you when it came to your education. So I let him do it. I should have paid more attention.”

  I blinked in surprise. “It’s fine. I know you have a lot on your plate.”

  A strange expression crossed her face. Guilt maybe? She pressed her lips together. “What about your personal life? If you’re thinking about changing your career path, that’s something you should discuss with your future partner as well. Are you seeing anyone? Wasn’t there a girl named Amber?”

  “We broke up at the beginning of summer.”

  “Oh. Well, there, see. I should have known that.” She looked genuinely regretful.

  This was the perfect opening for the other thing I’d wanted to talk to her about. My throat went dry. “Speaking of significant others . . . how would you feel if I told you the person I’m interested in is . . .” I took a deep breath “. . . a guy? Jake, in fact.”

  For the first time, possibly ever, I’d managed to shock my mother. She stared at me, mouth hanging open. She finally raised an eyebrow, picked up her glass, and took a big swig of sparkling water. “Okay. That’s interesting. How long have the two of you been together?”

  “It happened over the summer. When we were at the cottage.”

  “But the feelings have been going on longer than that? On your side? His side?” She was impersonal now, collecting facts. And I didn’t mind. I really wanted her professional opinion.

  “He told me he’s been in love with me for years.”

  “And you?”

  What I felt about Jake was so big and so raw and so all over the place, it was hard to put into coherent sentences. But I tried to be honest. “Jake has always been my best friend. I guess now and then I’d have a brief, uh, thought about being . . . more with him. But it wasn’t a serious consideration until recently. I know that being with Jake would change everything. But . . . I don’t know if I can live without him.”

  I thought of Friday night, when my misery had gotten so bad I’d drunk a half a bottle of vodka and nearly taken a header off the roof of Hastings. I felt better now, having talked to Jake over the weekend on the phone. We both agreed that we wanted to be together if and when that became possible. But nothing had been settled, and I had to get my act together quickly.

  My mom was looking at me with an unhappy frown.

  “Are you angry?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “Andy, I don’t care if you’re gay—”

  “Bisexual.”

  “Bisexual, then. But in our current political climate, you’ll face difficulty, and I am sorry for that.” She sighed. “Then again, I suppose being Jewish has its challenges as well.”

  “But we don’t have a choice about being Jewish. Since I’m bisexual, most people will assume I have a choice who I end up with. Dad will.”

  She gave me an odd look. Then she put down her fork and leaned back in the booth, her face serious. “Have I ever told you the story about how I met your father?”

  “No.”

  “I was twenty-one. There was a party at Vassar, and your dad crashed it. We met and talked for a long time, and by the end of the night he’d asked for my number. Everyone told me that he was bad news, a gold digger, only interested in me because of my family’s money.”

  “Are you serious?” I laughed.

  Mom smiled sadly. “Oh yes. You know your dad came from a very poor family, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I realized I didn’t know very much about his childhood. “How come we never visit his side of the family? Dad always makes excuses.”

  “He doesn’t get along with his parents. We went to see them in West Virginia shortly after we were married.”

  “Really? What were they like?”

  She made a half-bemused, half-sad face. “They were . . . rednecks, I guess. Really very poor. His dad was on disability, some sort of back injury, and his mother didn’t work. Your dad paid his own way through college. It wasn’t a comfortable visit.” She pursed her lips. “They thought he was ‘too big for his britches,’ as his dad put it. And they were not happy that he’d brought home this plain little Jewish girl.”

  “Are you serious? They were anti-Semitic?”

  “Oh, yes. His dad had a Confederate flag in the yard. It didn’t make any sense to try to carry on a relationship with them, so we didn’t. It’s a shame but . . . Anyway. I was telling you how all my friends and family warned me about your dad. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. And, well, I’d had very little male attention up until then.”

  Her eyes grew fond. “You take after him. Tall, blond, blue-eyed. Lord. He could charm the skin off a snake. He certainly charmed me. Your dad always knew what he wanted.”

  There was something in her voice, a tension. Had my dad been a gold digger? My mom’s great-grandfather had started a chain of department stores on the East Coast called Derringer’s and had made millions. Her father wasn’t in the direct line of succession for the main fortune, but he’d owned a few airlines in his day before they’d been bought out and merged with United. Knowing my dad, it wouldn’t surprise me if all of that had figured into his decision to court my mom. He was so practical. And that made me feel kind of awful for her.

  “He loved you though, right?” I asked.

  She gave me a surprised look. “Of course! Well. Not the same way I loved him, I suppose. But we built a life together. We had you. I have no regrets.”

  “That’s good.”

  But was it? It would suck to be crazy about someone and then figure out they viewed you more as an investment. Come to think of it, I’d never seen my parents be overtly affectionate. Was that why my mom worked so many hours?

  “So! Advice about Jake. I could sit here and treat you like a client, Andy.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She gave me a sad little smile. “I can tell you what I’ve learned from having years’ worth of clients. When there’s a conflict between what’s practical and what the heart wants, the heart usually wins. And when it doesn’t, there’s regret. A lot of regret.” She shook her head. “I guess what I’m trying to say is: you can make yourself a list of rules to follow. But if your heart isn’t in it, you won’t be happy. It’s as simple as that.”

  She was right. I’d faced some harsh schooling to that effect lately.

  “As a lawyer, what I’d recommend is that you do your homework. What would life with Jake look like? Where would you live? How would it affect your schooling, your job, your social circle, your bank account? Th
ink of it as a business plan. What’s the best-case scenario? The worst-case? Follow your heart, but at least put your head through its paces.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “That’s good advice.”

  She bit her lip and frowned. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I want to ask you something, and I’d appreciate it if you’d hear me out.”

  I nodded, my apprehension rising.

  “These . . . stunts you’ve engaged in from time to time. Like the firecracker trick that nearly disabled you for life.”

  “Mom—”

  “No, listen. I know Jake has usually been involved in those stunts. Is he the instigator?”

  “No. It’s usually me.” I felt a need to defend Jake. And, anyway, it was true.

  “Are you sure? What about that time you jumped a cliff at the quarry on your motorbike?”

  I stared at her. “You knew about that?”

  She gave me her don’t be foolish look. “Andrew, it’s on your YouTube channel.”

  “You watch my YouTube channel?” I was horrified. What the fuck? Parental intrusion. Was that even legal?

  “Do you want to discuss that right now, or do you want to focus on what’s actually relevant today?”

  “Fine. So you saw the quarry video.”

  “I saw the quarry video. And thank God I had no idea you were doing it at the time or I would have had a heart attack.”

  “Well the quarry was definitely my idea.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Was there a reason? Were you acting out or . . . rebelling against your father and me? Was it about your schooling? I’m just trying to understand. Because I know these stunts involve Jake, and I’m wondering if there’s some message there that should be part of your thought process on this.”

  I was about to deny it. Of course it wasn’t Jake’s fault! But then I thought better of it. I thought back to the quarry jump. Senior year. I remembered that panicky, itchy feeling, that need to do something, something daring and crazy. I’d been upset about something . . .