“Me too.”
“I’m not saying this to hurt you, but you should know why I made that first move,” I say. I tell him about the series of kisses I shared exclusively with you, the series of kisses you passed along to Jackson, the series of kisses I never introduced to Wade, the series of kisses Jackson will never look at the same way again after this story. I take a deep breath before I finish. “I couldn’t believe he shared something so personal with you. I acted out. It’s not the first time I’ve done something like that. I started hooking up with Wade over the summer. It was turning into something, and that’s why I called Theo that day.”
“Whoa.”
“Except Wade sort of hates me now. It’s probably for the best. I’m not sure I can handle love again,” I say. Being this honest about how fragile I am with someone who was my worst enemy a couple of months ago is an insane relief. Honesty is not history. I’ve learned that, too.
“I didn’t know he was gay,” Jackson says. “I know Wade and Theo had their nonsense going on, but I know Theo loved him and missed their friendship. One day I asked Theo when he thought you would move on. I never got a straight answer out of him.”
“Did it sound like he wanted me to move on?”
Jackson nods. “But remember who he was talking to.”
“He loved you,” I say, which is the hardest and most honest thing I could possibly tell Jackson. “I’m sort of a pro on what Theo looks like when he’s in love.”
“I’m happy for you if that matters,” Jackson says. “I’m sure Theo would’ve been, too.”
I believe Jackson is happy for me. Would you have been happy for me?
“It does matter,” I say.
Jackson smiles. “I’m coming back to New York first week of January for a couple of days. Sometime after the flights become less crowded. I’m hoping to talk things out with Anika and Veronika. You too. It’s totally okay if you’d rather not talk again.”
“We better keep talking,” I say.
“I’ll be conscious of the time zone difference,” Jackson says.
“I’m always awake. I’ll try not to wake you up at seven in the morning again.”
“This was a good reason to wake up.”
We agree to talk again soon. I end the call, and the screen goes black.
It’s suffocating how, like me, Jackson also doesn’t have all the answers surrounding your life and death. Wade, Jackson . . . we all have questions and we can ask you as many as we want, but you’ll never answer us. There’s always going to be some mystery. And there are pieces to the puzzle I can hand over to Jackson. Our taboo kiss and the kisses you had no business teaching him. But maybe I can protect the history you two had so he doesn’t pick apart the puzzle. I really want to protect the happiness he found in you. Maybe some mystery isn’t a bad thing.
Thursday, December 29th, 2016
Wade still hasn’t responded to my text message yesterday asking if we could meet up. I really thought when I woke up from that four-hour “nap” after video chatting with Jackson that a message from Wade would be there. And I was even surer he would’ve responded by this morning, but nothing.
I think I really screwed up here, Theo.
Friday, December 30th, 2016
I knock on Wade’s front door.
I can hear someone pressing their eye against the peephole, and considering how quickly they walk away, it’s safe to guess that someone is Wade. I knock again and again until his mother opens the door to let me know Wade isn’t home in the most unconvincing voice ever. I know she knows I’m not that stupid, but it’s not her fight.
I back off and wish her a happy new year because it doesn’t seem likely I’ll be seeing her in 2017.
Sunday, December 31st, 2016
There is one hour left in 2016. If Wade wants nothing to do with me by the end of the year, then this is where I’ll leave him. I’ll be Wade-less in 2017. These are the rules of New Year’s Eve: out with the old, in with the new. I’m not sure about this newness I should look forward to, but I know this begins with me trying to become my own rock. I’ve leaned on Jackson for the better part of this past month and Wade before that. Being my own rock is promising, but it would be a huge lie if I didn’t admit that becoming a mountain with someone else could be equally rewarding.
Maybe it’s the cider—or the spirit of drinking with my parents—but I’m calling Wade one last time so I can leave him a voice mail and say bye the right way. I’m done with this texting nonsense, where he can’t hear the honesty in my voice. I want him to know I’m not angry and how I’m just kicking myself for never giving us our best shot.
But Wade picks up.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey. I was actually calling to leave a message,” I say, hurrying to my bedroom.
“Would you rather do that?”
“Not if you’re okay with talking to me,” I say. He doesn’t say no. “What are you up to?”
“I’m home with my mom, but you know her.”