I was good on time getting to the park. Jackson, on the other hand, is not. I’m staying warm holding the two coconut hot chocolates from the café, each with four pumps of caramel syrup. You always claimed this was your genius concoction, like you were some mad scientist. These coconut hot chocolates were must-haves during fall and winter, like the Spider-Man Popsicles were during spring and summer.
I keep an eye out for Jackson, left to right, right to left. I sip from my cup and finally spot him jogging across the street toward me. His jacket isn’t zipped up, and his hands are buried in his pockets.
“I got lost, sorry,” Jackson says.
“It’s okay. I should’ve picked you up.” I hand him his drink. “Here, it’s a drink Theo invented. It’s nothing too weird, just coconut hot chocolate with caramel. Have you had it?” Please no, please no.
Jackson shakes his head. He cradles the cup, warming his hands, and stares at it.
“Theo also talked about making his own Theo smoothie, but he never got around to it.”
I expect him to comment. He nods and doesn’t say anything; I don’t know if he’s unimpressed or lost in his head. He looks around. “I’ve been here before, back in February.”
I should’ve guessed. In the second month of the year, he was here with you. In the second-to-last month of the year, he’s here with me. I will never wrap my head around how a single moment can keep throwing our lives around. I feel like a rock being skipped through the ocean—pain, relief, pain again, relief again, eventually destined to sink.
“Did Theo do his troll impression when you guys went through the tunnels here?” I ask.
“Not here in New York, but he did back home. We have these tunnels that start at the side, go beneath the street, and take you up to the beach,” Jackson says.
If I remember right, the troll impressions started because of your mother. She’d pick you and Wade up from elementary school—before I was in the picture—and when it was nice out, she’d walk you both through the park and tell you stories about the trolls that live on the bridges and in the tunnels in the park, threatening to eat children that ran away from home. I’m really surprised you weren’t more of a fantasy-genre fan, considering your mom’s imagination.
“I can take you down the path Theo would’ve taken you,” I say. “But I won’t do the voices. I suck at the voices.”
“I’d like that,” Jackson says. “I know Theo really wanted me to ‘meet’ the New York trolls, but we had to meet up with my friends one night and we never got around to it.”
I don’t like that he bummed you out, that he disappointed you. I don’t like that you saw such a future with him that you were okay with that disappointment, that there would be more time for you two. I don’t like that he trusted this future with you, either. I don’t like how threatened he still makes me feel. I don’t like how unfair I am to him. I don’t like that I’m likely bumming you out with my jealousy. I don’t like that I’m disappointing you with my nonsense.
I shake all of this off. There’s no point getting upset with you for sharing your childhood with Jackson.
I walk into the park and Jackson follows. It’s a good chance to get some air, and for me to clear it. “I’m sorry I ditched the other day. I thought being in Theo’s room again would feel like being in a museum, but I couldn’t get it out of my head that he’s dead.”
“More mausoleum than museum, right?”
“Exactly.”
I’m weirdly self-conscious about the mounds of dirty snow and scattered trash. It must seem ugly to someone who lives in the land of beaches and perpetual sun, of seagulls and dolphins. It’s like a guest has showed up to my home uninvited, without giving me a chance to clean my room. I’ve felt this way before, even without Jackson by my side. In January and February, right before you and Jackson came here, I thought I was suffering from seasonal affective disorder like the rest of New York. Maybe I was a little—it was find-a-way-to-put-two-coats-on brutal weather here—but mostly it was knowing you were happy and undisturbed in a sunny place, in a different time zone, likely throwing back a smoothie, with someone who wasn’t me.
“I want to keep it real with you, Jackson,” I tell that someone now. I hope he believes the unbelievable thing I have to say, because it’s one hundred percent true. “I don’t hate you. I thought I did, seriously. But I only hated your relationship with Theo. I didn’t think you were going to be someone he actually brought back to New York to meet his family and friends.” I consider stopping at one of these benches, even though they’re wet from melted snow, but if Jackson doesn’t sit beside me I’ll be forced to face him during this confession. “I hate that you also have history with Theo. And I hate that you were building a future with him.”
I can’t tell you the last time I’ve been this honest.
You’re my favorite human ever, but I really, really can’t tell you, Theo.