“Yes,” he cuts me off. “I want to. I definitely want to.”
I take his phone from him, then tap away with my thumbs. “There.” I hand it back to him. “Texted myself, so you have my number, and I have yours. Give me the play-by-play. I’ll be your guy.”
“My guy.” Jonah smiles. “Well … I guess I’d better go.”
“Yeah, alright.”
Neither one of us want to say goodbye.
We don’t want to let go of each other, either.
I knew this moment would come. Ever since yesterday in the cabana. Ever since I first felt that spark of happiness in my heart—a spark I thought I’d never feel again since my brother ripped it out.
I have to face it. “We’ll see each other again, Jonah.”
“Of course we will. First chance I get. Next weekend, if I can manage it with my work schedule.” His eyes avert. “I am pretty sure I can … work something out with my boss, who’s never given me a raise. Bastard.” He chuckles, trying to make a joke out of it, but it’s halfhearted and sullen.
Just get this over with. “Take care, Jonah. See you—”
He squeezes me for another hug, cutting me off. I hug him back. Then he puts his lips to mine, planting a firm, almost painful kiss there. I nearly feel it taking root when he suddenly lets go. “See you later, Kent.” He turns away, slips through the door, and he’s gone.
Gone.
Fuck.
I stand there at the door and stare through its glass, watching him disappear down the street until I can’t see him anymore. Then I finally turn away and glance down at my phone, where I see the text I sent myself:
Your Number One Funnel Cake Fan.
“Hey. Lover boy.”
It’s my mom calling out for me from the dining area, where she’s leaning against the archway. I guess she just watched this whole exchange.
“Come here, baby,” she says, flagging me over. “Help me clean up some of this breakfast mess.”
The perfect distraction: brainless tasks. I join my mom, where we start to pick up plates and empty glasses, then taking them to the giant kitchen. We work in silence for a while, taking load after load to the sink or the dishwasher depending on what we’re carrying. The loud noise of video games echoes in from the living room, as well as cheers whenever someone scores a point or whatever.
I’m scrubbing some stubborn thing off of a plate when my mom leans against the counter by my side and says, “I hope you enjoyed that little moment with him, because you probably won’t see him again.”
I stop washing and turn to her, my eyes hardening.
She clears her throat. “Sorry. I meant your dad. Poor choice of words.”
My body relaxes. I return to scrubbing. “That was … a scene I could’ve done without last night.”
“I don’t know what came over me. Everything he said just sounded so … hilarious. His reassurances. His words. His questioning.” She snorts as she pulls out her pack of cigarettes and tucks one into her lips, but doesn’t light it. “I’m glad you and your brother were there, though. I don’t think I was capable of forming a damned sentence.”
I glance at that cigarette hanging from her lips. “What do you recommend I do?”
She turns to me. “Huh?”
“About Jonah. About all of this. What am I supposed to do with this …” I shut off the faucet and put a soapy, wet hand to my chest. “… this heaviness inside me?”
She shrugs. “You seemed happy with him. Don’t you like him?”
“Yeah. Obviously. A lot.”
“So that’s great. You had a good time. He’ll be back if it’s meant to be, don’t sweat it.” She pats her pockets, then rolls her eyes. “No fucking lighter.” She throws her head back with a sigh.
I dry my hands on a towel, then lean back on the counter next to her, staring off at the living room and the gamers. At the center of the crowd is that new guy Toby who rules the Dreamwood Arcade now. Next to him, his boyfriend Vann. It’s hard to see them playing next to each other, happy, having fun, and to feel anything but pain.
“What’s the point of loving someone,” I say, staring at them, “if it always ends up in hurt? It doesn’t matter that I had a good time with Jonah. It’s over now.”
My mom glances at the side of my forlorn face. “How far does he live from here?”
“Houston.”
“Oh. And that’s—?”
“Five fucking hours, depending on traffic. Ten-hour round trip.” I shake my head. “I’m not going to be worth it, no matter what he insisted when he was here. Just like I warned him, the second he gets home, I’ll be a memory.”
My mom’s bony hand touches my shoulder, then gives me an uncharacteristically gentle rub. “Baby, there are far worse things to be than a memory. Memories are good. We keep them for good reasons.”