“I’ll give him a call and let you get some rest. If there’s anything I can do, like watch Denise or go grocery shopping for you, I’m more than happy to,” I say.
“Thanks, Griffin. You’re sweet. I’ll let you know. Have a good night.”
“Good night.”
I hang up, and Ellen texts me Jackson’s info.
I stare at the seven numbers following Jackson’s California area code. I press call before reasoning can beat loneliness. This, this moment right here, is the sudden switch from same-old-same-old to crazy intensity. I sit up and press my hand to my heart, counting with its rhythm. “One, two. One, two. One, two. One, two. One, two . . .
“Hello?”
“. . . One, two,” I finish. He interrupted me at an odd count—we’re not off to a good start. “It’s Griffin.”
“Hey,” Jackson says. It’s quiet for a bit, and I can hear him breathing—short, quiet breaths you probably heard while he was sleeping. “Thanks for calling.”
I nod like he can see me. “Everything all right?”
“No,” Jackson says. “No point pretending anything is all right. No pressure, but are you doing anything tonight? I know this is a little weird. Yeah, it’s weird. But I wanted to throw it out there. I could really stand to get out of the house.”
I’m not sure how I would answer this for myself. I only know what you would want me to do. “I think Theo would like that,” I say. It’s true. I know Jackson and I playing nice will make you happy, especially since we never got that right when you were alive. But agreeing to this still makes me nauseated.
“You’re right,” Jackson says. “He would’ve.”
“I can meet you at Theo’s. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“See you.” I hang up.
Our conversation was three minutes and two seconds long. Better.
I force myself out of bed. Maybe something good will come from talking to Jackson. No one gets it, Theo. The guidance counselor assures me I’ll heal with time. My cousin thinks I’m too young to be in love. Wade doesn’t know anything about love. My parents thought I was in good-enough condition to go to dinner instead of letting me hide in bed underneath my covers. I know that’s not healthy; I’m not stupid. But you and I had plans. We didn’t have a map to reach our destination, and your detour with Jackson left me very lost. Still, I held hope we’d find our way back to each other. And then you died, and now I’m left wandering around with zero sense of direction. Talking to someone else who’s lost might help.
I throw my navy peacoat over your hoodie. I slip into some dark jeans and the worn-out, scuffed-up boots you bought me for my birthday this year—our inside joke on how stupid it feels to buy boots during May when it’s sneaker weather. Even though your call wishing me a happy birthday came a day late, the boots arrived on my birthday and they’re my favorite. Thanks again, Theo.
My dad is fading when I walk out into the living room. He snaps awake when he sees me out of the corner of his eye. My mom is already asleep on the couch’s armrest, her feet tucked between my dad’s legs. He pats her knee.
“I’m sleeping here,” she murmurs. She throws a sweater over her face and is a goner.
“Where are you going?” Dad asks. “It’s almost eleven thirty.”
“I’m meeting with—” I almost say your name. Whenever I was staying out late on weekends or non–school nights, all I had to do was tell my parents I was with you and I was home free. But I catch myself. “Jackson. I need to get out for a bit. He does, too.”
Dad lifts my mom’s leg off his lap and gets up from the couch, covering her with a decent blanket. “Did he call you?”
“Ellen gave me his number because he wanted to talk to me, so I called him.”
I can tell he’s surprised, if not concerned. “Want me to drive you guys somewhere? It’s supposed to snow again any minute now.”
“I’m in the mood for a walk, Dad. Is that okay?”
“Your phone is charged?”
I nod.
Dad hugs me. He makes me promise I’ll call him if I want to be picked up, and that I’ll answer whenever he calls. Yes, yes, yes, yes . . .
You’re going to watch me hang out with Jackson one-on-one. It feels unusual, something unrepeatable in one lifetime, like you’re on a rooftop with your two favorite people to watch Halley’s Comet streak across the sky. Except there’s no way you would’ve ever been able to have Jackson and me in the same place, not even for a comet. Instead, I’ll be walking the streets where we lived with someone who isn’t you, someone who was in love with you, too. Isn’t this the best of both worlds for someone who was torn between two boys?
HISTORY
Friday, September 26th, 2014