by Lisa Henry
She slid her feet off the coffee table and stood. Walked by Nate, reaching out to stroke his hair as she passed. “I’ll leave you two alone now. Sorry to interrupt. Jason, I’ll be by your aunt’s on Tuesday.”
“Thank you,” he said, flushing with embarrassment. And maybe, if he was being completely honest, a genuine warmth. “For everything you’ve done.”
She stopped in the doorway and turned. Gave him a fraction of a smile. “It’s no trouble. Happy to.”
Jason couldn’t tell if she was sincere or not. He felt a moment of indecision, drawn out like a wavering string, before he forced himself to clamp down on his mistrust, and to smother it. He held Kristen’s gaze, and nodded, and made a conscious choice to believe she was telling the truth. That Kristen Tull, like most people sharing this crowded, chaotic planet, was in her heart a good person.
Nate squeezed his hand as Kristen moved away, her robe swirling behind her.
Something small shifted inside Jason, like a piece of clockwork falling to place. So it wasn’t as dramatic as writhing on the ground and talking in tongues, but Jason’s discovery that there were things he could trust that had no words to them, no clear shape, felt just as profound.
The two of them alone again in the room, Jason steeled himself, then asked the question that scared him the most.
“Can you forgive me?”
The words hung in the utter stillness between them.
“I’m not asking you to,” Jason amended. “Not now. And I’m not saying I deserve it. I just mean, do you think you can, ever? Like, do you think you can reach a point where it’s not the first thing you think about when you look at me?”
Nate was silent a long while. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I really don’t. It’s already better. When I look at you, I see so many good things. But yeah, Jason, what you did was, like… I always wondered if you knew how bad. You didn’t seem very...sorry.”
“I know.” Jason swallowed. “I can’t even explain why. I mean, I was pissed at your father. But that plan was so stupid. So pointless and cruel. And so obviously going to backfire.”
“Self-destructive,” Nate murmured, stroking Jason’s arm.
Jason bristled. Then sighed. It was true enough. “I’m not making excuses. I just want to try to explain. I was so arrogant. I knew there’d be people who hated my methods, but I literally thought it would help to have some notoriety.”
Nate shook his head. “I get that we all make mistakes. That we all do stupid things. And—and have regrets. But that wasn’t just stupid. That was...calculated.”
Jason’s spine felt like it was made of ice, like that frozen column was cracking and collapsing, piecing his insides with its splinters. “I know.”
“I’m not gonna lie. It makes me feel, like, really fucking weak. To want you. Not because I’m—I’m gay or whatever, but because of what you did. Like, I feel like if I had a shred of self-respect, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
Jason swallowed, unsure what to say.
Nathan looked at him. “I think about...what kind of example it’ll set for the kids that have come through here. For gay kids all over. Because the media is probably gonna get wind of this, and it is gonna be a thing. And what does it tell young people, if I let myself be in a relationship with someone who abused me like that?”
Jason flinched. “I know.” He couldn’t meet Nathan’s gaze. He focused on his folded hands. On his damaged nail beds, warped from years of chewing his nails—in the wake of the exposé, and during his tenure in Afghanistan. He was going to lose Nate. And that was right. That was the only way things could be made right. Nathan had the power now, and the only correct thing to do was to reject Jason.
“But I also think that this has to be about me now. It can’t be about what other people think of me. And can’t be about some...like, social definition of right and wrong. I believe that God’s the only one who can decide right and wrong. And people have to do what’s in their hearts. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. If I’m making a mistake with you— If, if it is a sin to be gay, or if it’s a sickness to want someone who’s hurt you… Then I’ll answer to God. And only God. Not my father. Not the media. Not even to the kids.”
Jason was barely breathing. Was Nate saying what he thought he was saying?
“I believe in forgiveness,” Nate said firmly. “The possibility of forgiveness is all that’s kept me alive. I don’t want to live with hate in my heart. I don’t want to be angry.”
“I don’t deserve forgiveness,” Jason said hoarsely. The last of the barriers were coming down. And the guilt and the shame hurt too fucking much for him to bear.
“Shut up.”
Silence.
Silence for so long that Jason finally risked a glance at Nathan.
“I could always see something good in you. I see it now. And I care about you.”
“Don’t—” Jason started to turn away. Nathan caught his jaw, turned him back, and kissed him. Drew back, looking at Jason with a quiet fire in his eyes.
“There.” He smiled softly. “I wanted that.”
Jason’s eyes tracked Nate’s.
“I wanted it. It’s my decision. I’m not scared, and I’m not fucking weak. Not brainwashed or traumatized or whatever. So it’s up to you now. I made my choice.”
Jason stared at the wall clock. At the gold hands and rim. There was no second hand. The minute hand just jumped silently when it was time.
“What do you think?” Nate asked, after Jason had watched the minute hand jump twice more in the dim light.
Jason’s lower lip had a raw spot where he’s been gnawing on it. It stung with the memory of Nate’s kiss. “I choose…this. If...like, you’re sure you can forgive me.”
“It’s not magic. It might take a while. It’s not something I can forget.”
“I understand.”
“But I do forgive you.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, Nate.”
“Shh.” Nate rubbed between his shoulders. “You don’t need to do that anymore.”
Jason turned with an inhale that was almost a sob and placed his head on Nate’s shoulder. “I can’t lose…” He stopped himself. You? Rose? My fucking mind?
“Shh,” Nate repeated. “It’ll be okay.”
“Do you ever pray for me?” Jason asked.
He felt Nate’s surprise. “Back when...when it happened, my dad and I prayed for you. Quite a bit.”
“Because you thought I was a soulless heathen?” Jason asked dully.
“Because we thought you seemed lost.”
Lost. What did that mean, exactly? If everyone was searching, if everyone was suffering. If nobody had the answers. Then wasn’t the word “lost” redundant, if you were human? Wasn’t it like saying “a greasy fast food joint”, or “an added bonus”? “A lost human.” “A suffering person.”
Nate went on, “And I prayed for you a few more times over the years. That you’d find peace.”
Jason swallowed. Tilted his head so his face was buried in the sleeve of Nate’s T-shirt. “You’re such a...good person.”
“Don’t get too excited. I also prayed a couple of times for you to fall down a sewer. Or drive off a cliff.”
Jason huffed a laugh. “Is that what Jesus would do?”
“I’m not Jesus.”
“Thank God.”
They both laughed. Jason looked out at the room again, head still resting on Nate.
“I hurt Isaac,” Nate whispered against his hair. “And Marissa. I’m not a good person.”
Jason lifted his head. Studied Nate. He didn’t know if Nate would want his comfort or validation. Maybe Jason’s opinions on the subject of causing harm didn’t carry much weight. But he spoke anyway.
“The courage it must take,” he said quietly. “To survive years of hiding. To survive what I did to you.” He took Nate’s hand. Ran his thumb along the scar. “To believe in love and forgiveness even when it’s hard to believe in those thin
gs. To support those kids along a...confusing path. To be there for Isaac. To come out to your father.” He gently turned Nate’s hand over and rubbed his knuckles. Thought about the things Nate might never have heard anyone say to him. “You’re beautiful, Nate. Exactly as you are. Inside and out. You don’t need to be fixed. Your life is not a test.” He smiled ruefully. Nate wasn’t quite looking at him, and he swallowed when Jason squeezed his hand. “I’m a fucking asshole. And there’s a lot you probably don’t trust me on. But trust me on this.”
Nate’s next breath was unsteady.
“I’m with you.” Jason’s voice was calm. Firm. “We all hurt people. Sometimes on purpose. Sometimes unintentionally. And it’s hard to..to sort through that. But I’m with you, okay? For as long as you want me. No matter how scared you get. No matter how much pain you’re in, or how much pain you cause. I’m with you.”
It was true. He didn’t have a hell of a lot to offer. But maybe this would be enough for now.
He watched Nate swallow again. “You…” Nate cut off with a small, quick breath. “I’m with you too.”
“That forgiveness,” Jason said. “It’s gotta extend to yourself too.”
Nathan glanced up and met his gaze. His eyes were dry, but it still took him a moment to speak. “I know you’ve been— You’ve had a hard time too. Your parents. And now Rose. So I’m here too. If you—if you want.”
Jason gazed out the window. His heart was beating hard. It didn’t seem right to ask anything of Nate, ever again. But if their relationship was going to survive, they had to be able to lean on each other. Nate wrapped an arm around his shoulders, as though in wordless affirmation.
After a while, Jason made himself speak. “It’s hard to think about never seeing Rose again. Sometimes I almost wish I believed.”
Nate was quiet for a moment, stroking Jason’s hair. “Well. Whatever you believe, you’ll see her again, won’t you? Memories. Dreams.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Of course not.” His arm tightened around Jason as he shifted so he could rest his head against Jason’s. “‘Everyone must leave something behind when he dies.’” He spoke slowly. “A tree or a garden or…. And when people see that tree or that flower, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what happens, as long as you change something from the way it was before into something that’s like you after you take your hands away.”
“That’s a good prayer,” Jason said after several long seconds.
“It’s not a prayer. It’s some sloppy paraphrasing from Fahrenheit 451. What, do you think all I ever read was the Bible and the Left Behind series?”
Jason laughed again. “I did notice all the Jane Austen.”
“My dad. He can’t get enough.”
There was something so absurd about the Reverend Tull kicking back with a copy of Emma that Jason snorted.
After a while, he said, “She’ll leave a lot behind. She’s...something.”
“An amazing woman,” Nate agreed.
“I hope I wasn’t a disappointment to her.”
“Jason.” Nate’s finger traced behind his ear. Smoothed the short bristles of hair near his temple. “Gotta forgive yourself too. Remember?”
Let go of the bitterness. Put his anger toward something productive. Trust Nate, trust this choice. Allow himself to touch the things around him again, and trust that when he took his hands away, he’d have changed them for better, not worse.
Chapter Sixteen
The lake glittered in the weak sunlight. It was chilly for August, the silver clouds and hush of the pines already hinting at fall. Not the best day for swimming, Nate thought, shivering, but his mom had wanted to take Isaac, and she’d invited Nate. How could he say no?
“Get in!” his mom called.
“I’m good here.” Nate grinned from the shore, wearing his beach towel like a cape to keep himself warmer. His mom looked almost like a stranger in a black two-piece bathing suit that showed several inches of stomach, her blond hair held messily back in an elastic, damp from the lake water even though she hadn’t ventured in past her waist yet. When he was younger, it wasn’t so uncommon to see his mother in a sundress. Skimpy tank top. Bikini. But after Jason had outed Nate, and Nate had started on the Moving Forward program, she’d taken extra care to dress modestly. As though Nate’s fall from grace had reminded everyone in the family to be aware of their own phantoms, lurking in the shadows.
“You chicken?” Isaac called. He was in to his shoulders, the ends of his long hair drifting on the surface.
Nate laughed. “Yeah! I am.”
He watched his mom and Isaac swim out past the dock. It hurt a little, that his mom seemed able to reach Isaac when Nate couldn’t. He still struggled with his fear that he’d driven Isaac to the suicide attempt. With his rejection—though, what else could he have done? With his teachings. He thought of Steven and Tyler and Richie’s sneering faces. Their anger and accusations. Did Isaac feel the same way? Could Nathan have saved him if he’d been more honest?
The splash caught him off guard. His mom had glided up to the rocky shore on her belly, like a carpet shark, and surfaced with a dramatic whirl of her arms, spraying Nate. “Hey!” he yelped.
She got unsteadily to her feet, gasping and shaking the cold water from her eyes. She looked at him, blinking rapidly, fighting a laugh. “Get in before I drag you.”
He stood reluctantly, shrugging off his towel cape. “Fine. But it’s your fault if I die of hypothermia.”
She slung a goose-pimpled arm around his bare shoulders. He started, but immediately felt warmer, despite the chill of their skin, the awkwardness of the embrace. He felt like he could breathe, out here with just his mom. Which made him feel like a traitor to his dad, but…
But sometimes his dad’s optimism was smothering.
He’d missed his mother’s world-weariness. Her shrewdness, and the way her history seemed like both an open book and a mesmerizing secret.
“Your mother has struggled,” his dad had told him when he was a kid. And while Nate was fairly sure his father hadn’t intended it, the words had drawn a line between the two of them and his mother. Had felt almost conspiratorial: You and I, son. We’re on the path of the light. Always have been. But your mother...goodness doesn’t come as naturally to her.
It had bred a guilty sense of superiority in Nate. He might have these...urges, that he couldn’t tell his parents about, but at least he would never act on them. At least he wasn’t weak like his mother.
And that was what religion preyed on. Those divisions. The chosen versus the unenlightened. The righteous versus the sinners. The promise that you too, yes you, you can join us here in the light, if you do as we say. But there always had to be people on the bottom. In the darkness. Without the darkness, the light meant nothing. And so the “righteous” had devised systems, interpretations of the Word that ensured there would always be souls floundering in the dark.
Nate could see it through Jason’s eyes. The hypocrisy. The...calculatedness of it. The way cruelty got wrapped in a cloak of good. I only want to help these heathens. I’m only thinking of their souls.
The wretched.
The poor.
The pitiful.
Faith, though. That was different. Private. Nathan’s faith didn’t have to hurt anyone else.
His father…
Maybe his father couldn’t separate faith from religion.
What if Nate’s dad had intended for Nate to take sides? To stand by him in the light, pitying his mom, who was still fighting her way through a web of shadows. Righteous, but haunted by her former disgrace.
Now he and his mother shared that stain. They were among those to whom goodness didn’t come as easily. Held up as heroes because they’d worked for it; their true purpose to serve as foils for those who didn’t need to be saved. Who had never strayed from the path in the first place.
But it hadn’t necessarily brought them closer together. His mother still seemed, in m
any ways, unknowable. Was she as bemused by him? His secrets, his phantoms? Or did she know him, deeply, through some special mom-power?
He hesitated at the shock of cold against his feet. “Hell no,” he said. And his mom laughed.
She gave him a nudge. “Go on.”
He waded out, shivering, his breath catching several times as the water came up to his knees, his hips, his chest. “I’m dying,” he moaned.
“Oh please.” His mom arced past him like a dolphin, dipping down then resurfacing. She turned to face him, treading water. “Put your head under.”
Hard to resist the imagery there. Head under the water. Emerging with a gasp, cleansed of all sin.
Stupid.
This was just a trip to the lake.
He would never abandon his faith. But he would attempt to see and embrace the cracks in it. He would let it become his. Not his father’s.
When he lingered too long, his mom swam up to him, placed a hand on his head, and dunked him. He didn’t resist, just let the gentle weight of her hand push him down, into the cold murk of the lake. Let his circling limbs create a current that fanned his hair and made him release a jet of bubbles.
Then he went still.
For just a moment, it was perfect. The cold disappeared. His mother’s hand still rested on his head. He felt safe. Peaceful.
He let out another tentative burst of breath that shivered toward the surface.
Then he came up.
He shook the hair from his eyes, panting. “Oh God. It’s so cold!”
Isaac was beside them. “You’re fighting too hard. Just, like, grow a pair of balls and accept it.”
If Nate’s mom was offended by the language, she didn’t show it. In fact, she smiled like she agreed with Isaac.
“I had a pair,” Nate muttered. “But they seem to have disappeared into my body.”