“How does ice cream get up here? This looks like strawberry,” I say.
“You don’t want to know what this looks like,” Harleigh says.
Jay comes out of the storeroom. “I think I finally got it back to normal,” he says. “I can’t believe she put the sugar next to the cherries because the package says cane sugar.”
Both Harleigh and I shake our heads. Luckily, Renée’s in-laws have left town and she’s mostly back to normal. Normal for Renée, that is.
“Sean, when you’re done with that, can you refill the napkin dispensers?”
“As you wish, my dearest Buttercup.”
“What?”
“The Princess Bride. It’s one of my favorite movies.”
“Never seen it.”
“Seriously?” I can’t believe what I am hearing. “What’s your favorite movie?”
Jay thinks for minute. “I don’t know. I like action movies. I liked Independence Day.”
“What about Indiana Jones?”
“Yeah, that was okay.”
“Okay? Okay?” Time for a real test. “Hey, after Becky goes back to New York, you want to plan a road trip down to visit her?”
“Definitely, ”Jay says. “They have great clubs in New York.”
“Yeah. Maybe we could see a show on Broadway. I’ve always wanted to see The Lion King.”
“Maybe,” Jay says. “If you’re into that.”
“You’re not?”
Harleigh speaks up. “Sean, weren’t you the lead in the spring musical?”
“I wasn’t the lead, but I did have a pretty important part.”
“My friend Stephanie was in it. I remember you. You were good.” Harleigh smiles.
“Thanks.” I turn back to Jay. “So you really don’t like musicals? ”
Jay just shrugs.
“What about art? If we go to New York, would you go to any of the museums with me?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
“I’m just curious.”
“Yeah. Just curious.” Jay goes back into the storeroom and comes out with some bundles of paper napkins. They are wrapped in brown paper, but the ends are open, showing the white paper insides. He tosses the bundles to me. “Here. Go be curious about the napkin dispensers.” He’s smiling, but I can tell I’ve annoyed him.
I’m just about finished with the napkins when Jay sticks his head through the window. “Hey, babe, wanna go home early?”
“How early?”
“Now.”
“Why don’t you send Harleigh home?” I say.
“I asked her, but her ride won’t be here till four.”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“Are you mad?”
“No. It’s just too bad. We could have had the afternoon together. ”
“I know.” He drums the counter with his hands. “Space is a good thing.” Jay pulls his head back through the window. I finish filling the last dispenser and head back around to the inside of the shop.
“Are you sure you don’t need me?”
“No. Get out of here. I’ll catch you online tonight.”
“Yeah. Later then.”
I head out the back door and unlock my bike from the metal railing on the steps. I swing my leg over the seat, but I don’t ride away. Jay is a different person to me today. He doesn’t like the same music as me. Not the same movies. He’s not into theater, and definitely not into art. I tell myself people can learn to like these things. I’m sure he would love The Princess Bride if he saw it. In fact, that would make a great date. But still. Lisa was right. Maybe I do like Jay for the wrong reasons.
But that’s just it. I do like Jay. When I’m with Jay I feel more alive, like I can do anything. I think back to the stars on his boat, and the night at Camp Aweelah, and the first day at the Pink Cone. I sit up on the bike seat and push down on the pedals. In a few moments, I’m heading home. Lisa might be right, but I know Becky was wrong. Jay does love me. And I love Jay.
I’m halfway home, when I realize I forgot to pick up my paycheck.
“Damn it!” I yell loud enough that I startle a squirrel and send it scurrying through the brush. I’m not scheduled tomorrow, so if I want my check, I need to get it now. I glance over my shoulder to check for traffic and make a wide U-turn back the way I came.
There are more uphills going back into town so it takes me more than twenty minutes to get back to the Cone, plus I’m not rushing. I pull in the driveway and ride around back. I leave my bike propped against the stairs; I don’t bother to lock it. I take the steps two at a time, and throw open the back door.
“I’m baaaaaaack! Did you miss—” I stop short. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I have no air left in me. Jay is standing just inside the doorway—with another guy. Kissing.
The guy is tall and thin with dark curly hair that hangs to his chin. He has an eyebrow piercing, and his eyes are very green. I don’t have to ask. I know this is the text messager.
“Sean.” Jay doesn’t say anything else. He just stares at me. Then, in slow motion, he raises a hand to his forehead and slides it back through his short, sun-streaked hair. Green-eyes leans against the break room doorway, his hands limp at his sides. He’s skinny, but his wife-beater is tight enough to show off well-defined abs. He looks a little older than Jay, nineteen or twenty. Probably a college kid from Manchester.
“Is this the kid you’re fucking?” He says it without inflection, no malice or irony. Just matter-of-fact.
Jay turns to look at him and whisper-yells, “Cody!” His eyes are back on me. He turns his palms upward and reaches them out, like a minister asking for a blessing at church. My eyes sting with tears, and I blink to hold them back. A sound is bubbling up inside of me; I can feel it rising unevenly inside my chest, an explosive, boiling heat I don’t think I can control. And then my knees are bending, collapsing beneath me; the raw surge of emotion pulsing from my lungs to my throat is draining me of everything else. I don’t have much time; I stagger back out the door and down the stone steps. I barely make it to the grass. Then I am doubled over, and my stomach heaves, and I vomit.
I throw up my lunch first. And then my breakfast. And then it’s my pride. My stomach is still pumping like an engine piston, but there’s not much left. Quick jump cuts of the summer skip through my brain: Lisa leaving for camp, Jay arriving in Bell Cove, Becky on a bench eating a Slim Jim, buying new clothes downtown, dinner with my dad, Jay’s boat at night, his lips on mine. And then there is nothing.
I end up on my knees with my eyes closed, too exhausted and too humiliated to move. I don’t know how long I’m there, but I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“You okay?” It’s Jay.
I want to sit up and scream, “No! Of course I’m not okay. I was in love with you!” but I can’t. I don’t have it in me, so I just shake my head. I rock back and sit on my heels, with my head between my knees. Jay leaves his hand on my back for a few more minutes, and then he kneels down beside me.
“I know it doesn’t mean much right now, but I am sorry.”
I can tell he means it. His voice is cracked and has the quality of a wounded animal. Maybe he really did love me, at least, a little.
“We had fun,” he says. “But ask yourself, did you really think this was going to be more than a summer fling?”
Finally, I gather my strength to lift my head, and I look him in the eyes. I don’t answer him. It seems so obvious now, and I don’t want to admit that I ever thought it might be more than it was. Finally, I shake my head.
“Listen. He went out the front. But he’s waiting for me.”
“Okay.” I barely manage a whisper, but when Jay starts to stand up, I catch his arm. “Why?”
“Why?”
I clear my throat. “Why him?”
“He goes to UNH. I’ll be there next month. I see him at the club all the time.” Jay lets out a sigh. “Sean, you’re sweet, cute, I mean . . . you’re the perfect guy for someone. Bu
t. We’re not made for each other. You’ve got to know that.”
I think back to what Lisa said last night, and what Becky said, and I know. I know. I nod my head.
“I’m going to go,”Jay says.
Chapter 37
I sit on the steps and try to catch my breath. I’m there for only a minute or two when Renée shows up.
As soon as she sees me, she’s next to me, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Oh, honey, what’s wrong? You sick?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“What happened?”
“Jay. ”
“Oh.” Renée takes her other hand and pulls my head onto her shoulder. “Did you two break up?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me what happened.” She rubs my back and doesn’t say anything else. She’s waiting for me whenever I’m ready.
Harleigh pops her head around the back door. “Renée?”
“Not now! Can’t you see I’m busy being a mom?” Harleigh opens her mouth to say something, but Renée stops her. “Go!”
I can’t help myself. A smile creeps to my lips. Before I know it, I have told her everything.
“Jay has worked for me for three summers now,” she says, “but there’s no excusing what he did.”
I look at Renée with wet eyes.
“But listen. Every guy has the potential to be a jerk, and if you don’t protect yourself, you’re going to get hurt again.”
“Protect myself”
“I mean don’t fall in love so quickly. Get to know a guy first. Ask questions. Talk to him.”
I’m reminded of a day when Renée asked me if I had talked to Jay. Now I think I understand what she meant. I was so excited to have a boyfriend, I didn’t stop to figure out if I had found the right boyfriend. I realize now that Jay and I had almost nothing in common. But finding Jay was hard enough. How am I going to find someone who shares my interests . . . and is gay?
Renée can read my mind because she pats my back lightly and says, “Don’t try so hard. You’d be surprised where guys’ll turn up. Sometimes they’re right in front of you.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I know it’s going to take some time to get over this. Broken hearts don’t heal overnight. Why don’t you take a couple of days off? I’ll see you next week.” Renée pats me on the back one more time and then gets up. When I look up to thank her again, she’s already through the door.
I can hear her talking to Harleigh. “Okay. Fabulous! What was it you wanted?”
When I get home, my mom is in the kitchen making dinner. Normally, this would be a golden opportunity to make fun of her for trying to be domestic, but I just don’t feel up to it. I head up to my room.
I stand in the doorway to my room. It’s nice that it’s clean, but there’s also something foreign and uncomfortable about the smooth surface of the neatly made bed and the vast expanse of blue carpet that is usually littered with clothes. Looking at all the order makes me tired, but I don’t have the heart to untuck the blankets to sleep under them. My grandmother’s quilt is folded across the foot of the bed. I unfold it. I lie back on my pillows and pull the blanket up to my chin. I’m asleep almost instantly.
My mother knocks on my door. “Honey, you want some dinner?”
“Huh?” How long have I been sleeping?
She cracks open the door. “You feeling okay?”
“Not really.”
“Can I come in?” She doesn’t wait for a response. Instead she enters the room and sits next to me on the bed. She strokes my forehead and then rests the back of her hand across it. “You don’t feel warm.”
“I’m not sick.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She’s quiet for a long time. She just sits and continues stroking my forehead. Finally, she says, “I made lasagna.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll wrap up a plate in the fridge in case you feel like eating later.” She gets up and moves to the door. She starts to leave, but then she turns back. “I’m here,” she says, “if you need to talk.”
I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to do anything.
I try to tell myself that I shouldn’t be so hurt. I was already coming to the realization that Jay and I might not be a perfect match, but to have it thrust in my face, it stings.
Two and a half months ago, everything was different. I was looking forward to summer vacation. I was going to lie around the house all summer, ride my bike, watch some movies, go swimming. I never got in fights with my mother. My father was way off in Georgia. I had a girlfriend.
How did I end up here, trying to smother myself in my own bed, unable to face the mirror, let alone the world? Becky almost had me convinced that being gay was okay, that I could be happy, that being myself wasn’t a death sentence. She was wrong. Jay was wrong. I was wrong.
Bright light wakes me up. I open my eyes to a sun-filled room. It looks like my room, only cleaner. Out of the window, the sky is so bright, it appears painted on, like a movie set. From my view, there are no clouds, only clear, perfect blue. Somehow, I have slept through the night—and much of the day. There’s a hollow feeling in my stomach, and I realize it’s more than just the understanding that Jay and I are over; I’m hungry. I’m not sure that eating will make me feel better, though.
I roll over to find my alarm clock: 11:37. I wonder how long I can stay in bed. How long before my mother comes to investigate? My answer comes sooner than expected. There’s a knock on my door, and it opens just a crack.
“Sean?”
“Yeah,” I mumble. No use pretending to be asleep.
“There’s someone here to see you.”
Jay? For a moment I think that maybe I’ve overreacted. There’s an explanation. Jay has come to apologize. I sit up. “Yeah?”
“Should I send her up, or are you coming down?”
“Huh?” It’s not Jay?
“Should I send Becky up, or ask her to wait downstairs?” My mother’s voice has an edge to it.
“I don’t want to talk to Becky.” What will she say? She told me so? That’s the last thing I need right now.
There’s a good five-second pause, but the door stays cracked open, and I know my mother hasn’t left. Eventually, I hear her sigh, and I think that will be the end of it, but the door opens and she walks in. Her jaw is set, and her lips are compressed into thin pink lines. I think she’s angry with me until I realize her eyes are shiny. She crosses to the foot of my bed and stands there. She wipes her eyes with the back of a hand, first one and then the other. Finally, she sits down on the end of the bed. She pulls one leg up so she can twist around to face me. She stretches out a hand and finds my foot under the quilt.
“Sean.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and it has a pinched, throaty quality, like if she tried to speak normally she might lose control and begin to cry. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. I’ve never seen you like this. You’ve been locked in here for a day. You won’t come out to eat; you’ll barely talk.” She takes a deep breath and holds it for a second before letting it out in a rush. Her eyes roll up to the ceiling. Is she saying a prayer? Then they’re back on me. “Becky has been your best friend all summer. Why won’t you talk to her?”
“Because.”
“Did you have a fight?”
“Sort of. ”
“What did you fight about? What could be so bad that you won’t talk to her?”
I just shake my head. I don’t think she would understand.
“I think she’s come to say good-bye.”
“Huh?”
“Her family is going back to New York.”
“Oh.” The thought of Becky leaving forever is like a slap in the face. I mean, we did fight and she was right, but that doesn’t mean I never want to see her again. “Maybe I’ll come d
own.”
“All right. I’ll ask her to wait.” She pats my foot again, but she doesn’t get up. She turns her body like she’s going to stand, but then, without looking at me, she says, “Does this have to do with Jay?”
When she says his name, it’s as if she’s unlocked a secret compartment inside me, and suddenly tears are pouring out of my eyes, the tears that I tried so hard to hold back last night. I can’t stop them, and my breaths start to come in staccato little huffs of emotion. There’s no use denying it. “Yes,” I force out between gasps.
As soon as she realizes I’m crying, my mother turns around again and climbs up on the bed. She holds me in her arms, and pulls my head onto her shoulder. Suddenly, my mother is psychic. She knows everything that’s happened without my saying anything. Since when did my mother know me so well?
“You and Jay broke up?” My mother’s voice coos in my ear. I nod. “Becky tried to warn you? Jay found someone else? But you didn’t believe her?”
“How did you . . . ? ”
“Because I’ve had my heart broken, too.” She holds me tighter in her arms until my tears have stopped. Finally, she says, “I know you don’t feel like it, but talking to Becky will help. Get yourself together, and we’ll be waiting downstairs when you’re ready.” She pushes up off the bed and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.
It takes me half an hour before I’m ready to venture downstairs, but Becky is still waiting for me. She and my mom have cups of tea at the kitchen table. A plate of cookies is between them. When my mother sees me, she stands up and takes her tea into the living room without saying anything.
“Hi,” I say to Becky.
“Don’t you know Jewish girls don’t like to wait?” Her smile is genuine, and it’s contagious.
“I thought that was New Yorkers.”
“I’m both. I can barely wait two minutes for a Hot Pocket in the microwave. What makes you think you’re so special?”
“I’m not.”
“Honey. Yes, you are.” She gets up from the table and pulls me into her. I put my arms around her, too, and we stand together for a long minute. Finally, I try to pull away.
If I Told You So Page 20