by M. A. Hinkle
“So, do you want to talk about it?” I asked, when it became clear Felix was not going to dump a bunch of words on me without prompting.
Felix twisted his fingers together. “I did talk to my friends. Not this afternoon, because we were trying to get Sarah to tell us stuff. But before. They were all nice about it. Alex said he’s glad there’s not any inter-band relationships because it could be bad, but then Zach pointed out Fleetwood Mac put out their best album after some messy inter-band breakups, so it works out sometimes.”
“And I’m saying you can talk some more. It’s not a zero-sum game. You can talk to your friends, and you can also talk to me. If you want.” I sounded like I said this all the time. And I supposed I did with Morgan.
Felix kept twisting his fingers together. I was tempted to touch him to get him to stop, but. Yeah. “I guess—I guess I do want to talk about it. Because it’s—”
He broke off, and when he spoke again, his words tumbled out. “I’ve talked to my uncle about Morgan this whole time, and he’s given me good advice, but him and my dad have been trying to help me figure out how to get Morgan’s attention and I don’t know how to tell them he’s turned me down. And that I’m okay. When I told my friends, they were nice, but they didn’t know what to say. None of them had trouble figuring out who they were, so they couldn’t relate to how much having a crush rattled me in the first place. I never thought I was aro, but I always assumed it meant something that I hadn’t met anybody who felt special.”
He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. “And it just—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “It made me realize how much I miss my mom. It hurt so bad when she died, but she never lied to me about what was going on, so I thought I had time to get used to the idea. And by the time she actually—went, she hadn’t been herself for a while because she was too sick.” His voice broke, and he pressed his hands harder against his face.
After a few deep breaths, he continued, talking faster than ever. “And I missed her because she was my mom and I love her, but I didn’t realize until this happened—my mom knew everything. She always knew how to help me, and nobody’s ever gonna be as good at it as she was, and I just…I never get to see her again.”
He crumpled in on himself, crying without making any noise.
I stared for a second, partly because I had to process what he said and partly because—
Shit, I never wanted to see him this way. I knew he must have felt the same way I did when I realized I was never going to see my mother again. But it was one thing to know something and another to see it. And to know you couldn’t help, because nobody could ever help you.
But I could let him know I was there for him. I put my arm around his shoulders—carefully, in case he startled. But he turned to me and let me pull him against my chest, his hands still covering his face. I tightened my arms around him, rubbing his back.
Slowly, he calmed, his breathing evening out. He pushed away, but only so he could wipe his eyes.
“Here, hang on.” I went over to Morgan’s bedside table, which, unlike mine, was not covered in junk. He kept a tissue box and spares in the drawer, because he didn’t go anywhere without Kleenex. I grabbed a box and Morgan’s wastebasket and set the box in Felix’s lap.
When he finished cleaning his face, I said, “Close your eyes. You’ve still got glitter everywhere.” He did. I think he was too shell-shocked to argue. I took more tissues and wiped him clean of makeup remnants and tears, resisting the urge to cup his face in my hand when I finished. “Better?”
He nodded, brushing his fingers over the places I’d touched him. “Thanks.” His voice was hoarse, although now I knew it wasn’t the reason he’d avoided singing. He stared at Morgan’s side of the room again, but vacantly. “Sorry. I wouldn’t— I thought I was gonna be okay, or I wouldn’t have come up here with you.”
I shrugged, lacing my hands together so I wouldn’t touch him. “It’s okay. Morgan breaks down sometimes. Or he used to, anyway. Hasn’t been happening as much anymore. It’s nice.” I was on the verge of babbling worse than he did, so I made myself stop.
Felix twisted an unused tissue between his fingers. “Here’s what I don’t get.” And he turned to me. “You can dress however you want—you’re cool, and it’s nice to be able to tell you and Morgan apart. It’s a costume. But I don’t understand the rest of it. Why do you pretend you don’t care? What do you have to be scared of? I mean—you’re good at this.” He gestured vaguely at himself. “You’re really nice to your brother. And me, even if you try to hide it. What’s your deal?”
I crossed my arms, scowling up at the posters I kept over my bed. This—this would make all the difference. If I walked away, I could pretend holding Felix while he cried was nothing more than a friendly gesture. And he’d let me. He’d never know any better.
Or I could tell him the truth—part of it, anyway—and be honest with him in a way I’d never been with anyone else. Not even Morgan.
I sighed. “I never told you what happened to my mom, did I?”
Felix shook his head, watching me in his guileless way.
I stared at my hands; eye contact was hard for more than the usual reasons. “She killed herself. When I was thirteen.” Felix took in a sharp breath. “They said it was an accident, but even as a kid, I knew that was horseshit. My mom was too careful with her medicine. But…yeah. We were close, and it sucked, and somewhere along the line, I realized nobody would ask you about your feelings if you were a giant asshole. So I assholed it up, and it got to be a habit, and now I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. And—and Morgan—”
I swallowed, leaning forward over my knees. “Morgan wasn’t always this way. It got so much worse after our mom. And it scares me. Thinking—” I shook my head. I couldn’t finish the thought. Not ever.
Felix was still watching me, but I wasn’t ready to face him yet. I breathed in and out through my nose until my voice came steadily again. “It doesn’t excuse me. But I was headed down the road anyway. Mom just sped up the process.”
Felix touched my hand—lightly, to get me to look at him. When I did, he snaked his hand into mine and squeezed. “I know you’re not cuddly.” His eyes were fixed on my face. “But I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t pull away, even though it would be the smart thing to do. His hand fit well in mine. “It’s a thing. But you wanted the explanation. Or maybe I would’ve been this way anyway. Morgan was always anxious, but not ‘puke in the bathroom at a dinner party’ anxious.”
Felix’s mouth twisted. “I don’t want to talk about Morgan, if that’s okay.” He hadn’t taken his hand away, but I didn’t read much into it.
“Still stings, huh?” I wanted to get up and walk around, because spitting out the truth had left me jittery. I’d given him no good reason to put up with me. But he didn’t seem to notice I’d put my heart in his hands, the way he’d always given me his.
Felix shook his head, his expression turning thoughtful. “It did. But…I’m mostly glad he still wants to be friends. I really didn’t understand what I felt about him. And—” He frowned.
“And?” I said, raising my eyebrows at him.
Felix gave me a Look—the first time he ever seemed tired of my shit, which made me smile. “I’m not upset about it.” His eyes narrowed, and he considered my face as though he was seeing it again after a long time apart. “It’s weird, but…I think I was pretending to be somebody else around him. When my dad and my uncle found out—it took their minds off my mom, so I went with it, but… I don’t know how much of it was me and how much of it was running away from stuff I didn’t want to feel.” His frown deepened. “Crap, when I say it out loud, it sounds horrible. Maybe I should apologize…”
I almost laughed. “Felix.” He glanced up at me again, startled out of his thoughts. “You don’t need to apologize to Morgan. It’ll be so awkward he might die, and then you’ll have to go to court for manslaughter, and I’m not going to law school to get your ass
out of jail. He understands. And he does want to be your friend. He’s just got his own shit going on.”
“What about you?” Felix asked, still guilelessly. I raised an eyebrow again, expecting him to squeak, but he kept watching me like he was on the verge of solving a riddle. Like he needed to know what I was going to say. “We’ve been hanging out for a while now, but I don’t know why. I guess you wanted to make sure your brother was okay, but sometimes you’re having a good time, and sometimes you’re five million miles away.”
“I never know what’s going on in my own head either. I was only hanging out with you to make good with Morgan, and then…” I said the next words dully, trying to make them into a joke even though I was still holding Felix’s hand. “Then your gift of true friendship melted my frozen heart, and I punched Prince Hans in the face, and we all sang a reprise of the main theme of the movie.”
“See, you’re doing it again.” But there was no irritation in Felix’s voice. “I guess it’s—” He shifted. Only then did I realize he hadn’t been fidgeting, and he was sitting up straight with his shoulders back. I glanced at him and regretted it because he was focused on me with perfect trust. “I don’t know why, but I can think when I’m with you. I…I feel safe with you. And I wish I could make you feel the same way.”
There it was, the actual last straw. I pulled my hand out of his so I could cover my face. “Goddammit,” I muttered. I didn’t know what else to say besides kiss me already.
“Did I say something wrong?” He was basically apologizing because Felix would apologize to literally anyone about literally anything.
I shook my head. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” I let out a breath, though I didn’t turn to him because I didn’t want to see his face.
But what the fuck ever. I let myself look at him—actually look at him, the way I wanted to. His eyes widened. “The problem is, you’re perfect.”
Felix drew back in shock, and I knew I’d been right to stop there.
Before he could do anything else, my bedroom door opened. It wasn’t a dramatic open, but it startled me to my feet. I expected Morgan or one of Felix’s friends.
Wrong on both counts. It was Trevor, and he was glaring at me. “Gareth. You need to go downstairs and tell your friends to leave. Then we are going to have a very long talk.”
“The fuck?” I said, breaking my perfect record of never swearing at him. I legitimately had no idea what he was mad about. None of the kids would have insulted his taste in mythic literature.
He held up a beer can, his face turning expressionless. “Get everyone out. If someone is intoxicated, it’s your responsibility to make sure they get home safely. When you’re finished, meet me in my office. Don’t bother bringing up your brother, because I know this was not his doing.”
I glanced at Felix, who was staring at me in stunned silence. “You know the way out,” I said. I couldn’t see him any longer. There was stupid, and then there was goddamn stupid, and then there was me.
APPARENTLY, THE KIDS I didn’t know brought more than their own snacks. There were some advantages to resting murder face; I got all the beer without a fight. No one was too drunk, either, though I called a cab anyway.
Once I had the main level of the house cleared out, I went downstairs, bracing myself for the same shit. Morgan wouldn’t condone it, but he was also oblivious when playing music.
But no, everything was fine. Not a single intoxicating beverage in sight, and our cook had made the brownies, so they weren’t laced with weed.
Thankfully, no one questioned me when I told them they had to leave, and Felix’s band was already gone.
I didn’t find Morgan right away because he wasn’t in the basement. He’d gone upstairs to use our bathroom to pee, so I caught him coming down as people were leaving. As was his way, he didn’t question me until they were all out the door.
“Did you decide you’re tired of parties?” It wasn’t even mean. “I thought we were having a good time.”
It took all the self-control I had to not snap at him. “Somebody brought beer, and Trevor came home early. Put the pieces together.”
Morgan blanched. He made to turn back up the steps.
“I’m going to talk to him. You stay out of it.” I pushed past him, but Morgan grabbed my sleeve.
“I’ll come with you. If someone brought something in, it’s my fault too for not paying attention.” I started to speak, but for the first time ever, Morgan talked over me. “I’m not going to let you take the blame for this, Gareth. You always say it’s your job to take care of me, but it goes both ways.” He let go of me, but only so he could beat me up the steps. When had he gotten faster than me? Before I could catch him, he’d already pushed open the door to Trevor’s office.
Trevor wasn’t reading anything; he didn’t even have any papers on his desk. No, he’d been waiting, his eyes narrowed. “Morgan—”
And Morgan actually cut him off. “No, Father, I’m not throwing Gar under the bus. I didn’t know what was going on, but it’s not an excuse. If he’s in trouble, then we’re both in trouble, because the party was my idea, and I wasn’t paying enough attention.”
Trevor looked from me to Morgan. I stared sullenly back at him; we were screwed anyway. Morgan set his jaw, but I could see his hands locked behind his back, shaking. He’d never talked to Trevor so sharply, not ever.
After a moment, Trevor leaned back in his chair. “I am angry, certainly, but I can tell from your reactions that neither of you were drinking yourselves. So. What else is going on?”
I told myself not to speak unless Trevor spoke to me first. Then I talked anyway. “Maybe if you asked us about our lives once in a while, you’d know. And don’t tell me you’ve been talking to us the whole time. You don’t listen. I’m surprised you know anything about us without crib notes.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets, staring at the floor. “Since you’ve somehow missed that this is the culmination of a goddamn journey of self-discovery for him, Morgan socializing and enjoying himself is a big fucking deal. If you punish him, he’ll go straight back to not having any real friends and locking himself in the closet. I don’t care what you do to me, because my life is already fucked, but…leave Morgan out of it.“
Morgan was frozen next to me, waiting for Trevor to react. But Trevor didn’t speak. I didn’t turn to him; I wouldn’t see what I wanted. I wouldn’t know he saw me, me the person and not just a boy who went in the slot labeled “son.”
“Morgan, you should step out,” said Trevor in a quieter voice. “Your brother and I need to talk about many things, and I will not get honest answers out of him while you are here. So please. We’ll talk later, when Gareth and I have finished.”
Morgan frowned at me, his expression torn, but I shook my head and said, “Go ahead. It’s okay. This was a long time coming.”
Morgan’s shoulders slumped, defeated, but he left anyway.
I thought about turning the chair around backward, the whole song and dance, but the act was over. And I was just…so tired. I’d put off being a real person for so long because I knew this would happen. I’d done my best, and nothing had worked out anyway. I remained standing and leaned against the back of the chair.
Trevor studied me, and it finally seemed like his mind was here rather than the fifteenth century. Not that I cared. “Why do you think I didn’t realize what was going on with your brother?”
I shrugged rather than answer.
He continued. “Morgan’s therapist and I discuss his progress often. No, I’m not privy to the exact details, but I’m aware of the broader picture. And even if I weren’t talking to her, I’m not oblivious. I try to give you and your brother space, but I know Morgan never would have participated in a school play before coming here. Nor would he have joined a band or volunteered our home for a party.”
I shook my head, studying the china cabinet in the corner where Trevor kept his artifacts. It made for a change of pace from his bookcase
. I was sick of this room. “And that’s what I’m talking about. You think you know because you see the obvious stuff, but have you asked Morgan why he’s changing? It’s not new scenery or a quarter-life crisis. Morgan is trying to figure out his identity.“ I paused. “In a queer way. Not a straight, cis kid way.”
Trevor’s eyes narrowed, but not judgmentally—it was the face he wore when someone made a good point he hadn’t considered before.
“You’re right in assuming I didn’t guess the answer.” He said it slowly and with consideration. “But I also understood not to force a person to talk about such topics before they’re ready or without the other person’s explicit permission.”
“It’s not. But I don’t trust you to handle it well. You can do whatever you want with me, but Morgan’s getting his shit together, so…”
Trevor studied my face. Then he leaned forward, taking off his glasses so he could rub his forehead. It made him seem…weirdly vulnerable. “Please sit down, Gareth.”
I decided against fighting him; there was no reason to actively make it worse. So I sat in the chair I hated and waited for my father to speak.
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, which startled me because Morgan did the same thing. “I know why you don’t trust me, Gareth.” I frowned but waited for him to continue. “When your mother passed, you and your brother had to depend on one another because I wasn’t capable of being there for you. It is the greatest regret of my life. It’s not an excuse, simply the facts. But you have also never been comfortable with my attention, and I have tried to respect your wishes. Every time we speak one-on-one, you turn the conversation to your brother, so I assumed you didn’t wish to speak about yourself. I believed you would speak up when you were ready. It’s clear to me now I went about this wrong. So what would you suggest?”
There wasn’t anything wrong with his statement. It was couched in gobbledygook, but it was also the softest thing he’d ever said to me. And yet—