“It’s still broken,” Maya says in a singsong voice and scooches closer to Jesse. “Sooner or later Mom’s gonna notice that a pearl is missing.”
One of them rolled across the floor and disappeared. Jordan and I searched everywhere for it, including the abyss that is under the couch. I’m convinced a dust bunny ate it.
In response to Maya totally one-upping me, Jesse wraps an arm around her waist and settles in for the long haul. I wish I had lasers for eyes so I could set him on fire. With my eyes. That’s a big brother’s job.
“Why are you here?” Maya complains, leaning into her boyfriend. She clearly wants to get back to it. So I sit down in the recliner across from them and make myself comfortable. She rolls her eyes.
“Somebody has to keep an eye on you,” I say.
“We could always go to Jesse’s place. He lives by himself and we’d be. All. Alone.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“Fine, fine,” I say, getting to my feet. I didn’t come over here to torture my little sister anyway. I came to see my mom. The ceiling fan excuse was a total lie. As if anyone would ask me to fix a ceiling fan. I can barely make toast for myself.
I find Mom in her room sitting in bed against a pile of pillows. She loves spending Saturday afternoons with the crossword puzzle and a cup of coffee.
“Hey, baby,” she says, and I dutifully kiss her cheek. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to pick it up.”
Mom squeals, jumps up—knocking her crossword to the floor—and hugs me, swaying us back and forth.
“Mom,” I whine. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about this.”
“I’m not.”
“I know you’re not. But the rest of the family will—”
As I’m saying this, my two little sisters, my sister’s boyfriend, and my father all come rushing into the room to find out why Mom’s squealed, and once Mom explains, my sisters tackle me in a hug.
? ? ?
Jordan Then
I hung up on Henry.
I’ve never done that before. Then again, he’d never kissed someone else since we’d started dating.
Another girl kissed my boyfriend.
Or my boyfriend kissed another girl?
Another girl kissed my boyfriend, I decided. It wasn’t his fault. Henry stopped it. He was honest about it.
But. He. Was. Mine.
Later that night, after I’d had time to cry and sort out my thoughts, I called him back.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” I choked out, on the verge of another round of tears.
“But it’s so hard. I miss you every day. I just want to be with you.”
“Me too. But we play football for different teams.”
I loved my school. I loved my football team. I didn’t get all that much playing time as quarterback, but I did occasionally, and I loved the opportunity. Henry was an awesome wide receiver and got plenty of playing time for Michigan. I was proud of him, but deep down I resented that the only difference between us as football players was that he was a boy and I was a girl.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I love you, but I’m frustrated.”
I couldn’t tell if he meant sexually frustrated or emotionally frustrated. There’s a big difference. I hoped he meant emotionally. Sure, I wanted him physically, but even more than that, I missed falling asleep in his arms and watching TV curled up on the couch with him.
“I’m frustrated too,” I said. “We’ll get to see each other more at the end of the season.”
“We still have one more goddamned year of this,” he complained. “And then who knows where we’ll be. I wish you were here.”
“I go to school here.”
“And I have to play football here.”
Yeah, Henry got more playing time than I did, and he relied on his athletic scholarship while my parents had plenty of money, but I wasn’t about to give up football and transfer schools for him. For any guy. And on some level, that’s what I felt like he was asking me to do. He’d never come straight out and say that, but I knew he wanted me to be with him. Whatever it took.
Plus, while I was sure Zoe had kissed him, Henry put himself in a situation where it could happen. I thought of the number of guys at college who’d talked to me over the past three years. Any time they showed interest, I gave them a tight smile and vamoosed into the sunset.
Henry was hanging out with this girl in his room. She’d obviously felt comfortable enough to kiss him. He clearly had reservations about continuing our long-distance relationship that increasingly felt like a house built on sand. We loved each other, but not enough to make it work? Did that mean we weren’t meant to be?
“Henry,” I said. “Maybe we need some time apart.”
? ? ?
Henry Then
I never should’ve agreed to take time off from Jordan.
That’s what she wanted. She said she needed some space to see if we were really “meant to be.”
I should have climbed in my truck and driven through the night to be with her because I already knew we were meant to be.
Instead I hung up the phone, feeling relieved because I wasn’t carrying the weight of Zoe’s kiss.
The relief lasted two seconds.
Part of me wanted the out: I felt lonely and frustrated and was sick of sleeping alone at night. Jordan was so far away and cute girls were around all the time in classes and the dining hall. I missed being part of a couple.
But I loved Jordan. I wanted to be with her.
I called her back. She didn’t pick up.
I emailed, texted, mailed a card. She didn’t respond.
I tried to video chat her. She blocked me.
When she said we needed time apart, Jordan said, “I’ve only had one other boyfriend. I’ve been with you for four years. I need to know that we are right for each other. I need some time to get to know myself.”
I already knew myself. I’d known myself for years. I was the guy who loved Jordan Woods. And now she was dumping me.
For good reason, I reminded myself. I let someone else kiss me. I don’t know why I did, other than I felt trapped. But I felt even more trapped without Jordan.
If Jordan needed time to make sure I was the one, I could give her that.
I sent her a text: I will wait for you.
And I did. That year was the hardest—and the horniest—of my life. I missed her. But I couldn’t date or sleep with another girl.
I didn’t want to.
? ? ?
Jordan Then
I didn’t want to date anyone else.
Not the basketball player who’d gone out of his way to talk to me ever since freshman year bio lab. Not the frat boy who worked at the library copy center. Hell, not even the cute guy majoring in musical theater. Our date ended when I confessed I’d never heard of Rent and he was appalled. I, however, was relieved.
Spending time with these guys just made me think of Henry. I compared their smiles to his. His stories to his. The way they politely made out with me, to the way Henry set me on fire with a single kiss.
I told Henry we needed some time apart to get more life experience. And I tried. I really did, but I never met anyone I liked as much as him.