More Happy Than Not

“I thought maybe you told him yourself. I even thought the procedure started unwinding while I was in New Orleans because you two were so close when I got back. But later I realized he knew nothing. I would never tell your secrets, Aaron. Even the ones I know you’re hiding from me.”

I not only screwed her over; I never deserved her. “So you don’t hate me?”

“Of course I don’t hate you, but as your friend, I have to be real with you about something else. It’s about Thomas.” Genevieve pauses, and the heart monitor’s beeping elevates for a few seconds. “I’m worried you’re going to wait for him the way I was waiting for you. I think the sooner you realize he can’t like you, the happier you’ll be.”

“Wait. Do you think he likes you or something?”

“I already said no! Why are you repeating yourself?” Genevieve tilts her head, looking at me funny. “Are you okay?” She reaches across and grips my shoulder; I’m struck with flashbacks of all the times Thomas steered me somewhere from behind, and all the times Collin and I would bump into each other on purpose. “Aaron, should I get Evangeline or someone?” She’s tearing up.

“No, I’m fine. I zoned out,” I say, feeling a little short of breath. “Look, trust me, Thomas isn’t straight. I know him.”

“No one really knows who Thomas is,” Genevieve says.

I know she’s not being haughty about it, but I don’t like how matter-of-fact she is about someone no one knows better than I do. “Gen, you’re the one who falls for guys who won’t like you back, not me.”

“Whoa.” Genevieve stands up and I swear she’s about to punch me. “Just so you know, you apologized for the wrong thing, Aaron. I understood why you dated me, and I let it happen even though I shouldn’t have, but that doesn’t make it okay that you were seeing scratch out Collin behind my back. You made me feel like no one. You don’t get to keep ignoring the past because you don’t like it.”

My breaths are quick and uneven. My temper rises. “You’re right. I’m sorry I’m not straight. I’m sorry I went after someone I could feel real emotions over. I’m sorry I needed to hide so strangers wouldn’t try and beat me to death. I’m sorry my dad killed himself because of me. And I’m sorry my past is so terrible I couldn’t live in it anymore. But forget the past, okay? Forget our past.”

Genevieve doesn’t cry or flip me off or punch me. She just turns around and walks to the door. Her arm shakes as she holds the doorknob. She looks at the blue walls she personally requested for me and says, “You forget that I cried with you when all those bad things happened.”

And I think she has more she wants to say, but she finds the strength to turn the doorknob and leaves. Once the door closes, I’m hit with this fear that I may never see her again.

4

PSYCH ME OUT

I’m about to have my psych session with Evangeline. It’s been a while.

The first time I came into this office I didn’t actually think a memory-alteration procedure was possible. Even after I met Evangeline, I was sure she was going to turn me away because I was this kid who didn’t even know what to ask of Leteo. I definitely wanted to forget finding my father in the bathtub. But the more she and I chatted, the more I pieced together that my problems ran much deeper. It all came together like connect-the-dots, revealing a boy who understood the impossible things ahead of him.

Months later, I’m back in this office with its white walls, a tablet on a sleek desk, certificates I never bothered to read carefully enough, and my blueprint architect waiting for me to share why I need the procedure again.

Evangeline put on a goo

d show, for sure. I never suspected she was a Leteo specialist. The only people in my life who knew about her were my mom, Eric, and Genevieve. Brendan and the other guys on the block didn’t remember me having a babysitter as a kid but never questioned it beyond Family Day—who would think to suspect someone manipulated my memories to get close to me? It’s just clicking now, but it was no coincidence when Mom sent me to the post office at the same time Evangeline was there. And when Evangeline accompanied me to Leteo and ran off to speak to that woman from “Hunter College’s Department of Philosophy” it was probably some coworker or patient.

I even remember that Hannah chick at the info counter now. Hopefully this show comes with an encore of the forgettable variety.

Evangeline tries to warm me up with small talk, no doubt to gauge what kind of mood I’m in. So I just tell her: “I’m feeling a hundred things right now. Betrayed. Disappointed. Guilty. Desperate. You need me to go on?”

“You only listed four things. Hit me with the other ninety-six.”

“Regret. Love. Pissed off. Grief. Just trust me, there’s more.”

“I believe you, kiddo.”

I crack my knuckles, one finger at a time, and tug at my sleeve afterward. “You can make me better.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not up to me to sign off on the procedure. But let’s review what happened the past few months. We gave you a glimpse into what your life would look like if you were straight. Your true nature burst through our seams. I can’t elaborate much further than this, but many of our other clients who have undergone similar work remain as we left them. Is being gay really at fault here?”

I know the answer but I stay quiet.

I need the noise in my head to get loud again to drown out all the memories of rejection and heartache. So much has been left behind because of Leteo’s screwup, and she wants me to tell her how happy I was, so she feels better? No. No, I won’t do that. No, I wasn’t happy. I mean, sure, I thought I was, but I found happiness in the wrong person and that doesn’t count. It didn’t count with Collin, it didn’t count with Genevieve, and it doesn’t count with Thomas.

“I won’t survive this,” I say. “You all understood how hard this was for me the first time, but now I’m carrying extra weight. How is that not clicking with anyone?”

“As I said, kiddo, this isn’t up to me. I agree that the memories you’re carrying around are painful, especially for someone your age with your history . . .” Her eyes fall on my smiling scar. “The day we were here together, Hannah scheduled you for an appointment on the twelfth of August. It was for a consultation, but if your mother signs off on your procedure, we’ll take care of you . . .” She goes on about how she couldn’t talk me out of it the first time, but I tune her out.