History Is All You Left Me
“You know?” Impossible. I’ve told no one, and Jackson wouldn’t reach out to him. “How?”
“Because I know you,” Wade says. “It’s what you do. Sorry, that sounds like you’re a whore or something, that’s not what I mean. You do
things you know you shouldn’t. It’s like you’re wired to make mistakes when you’re not in your ‘best space,’ and it wasn’t hard to guess that was going to happen.”
“You don’t understand. You know those kisses Theo and I used to do? Theo taught them to Jackson and it pissed me off, and I told Theo I wanted him to see me have sex with his boyfriend to get back at him, and—”
“You told Theo? I don’t understand.”
Shit. I can’t lie to him and I can’t omit any truths. I’ve said this to myself, to you, and I’m done being a liar. “I still talk to Theo.”
“For how long? Since he died?”
“Yeah. Sometimes a little before that, like something I would want to say when we got back together. But since he died, I’ve been trying to get his forgiveness for things, except I couldn’t even get myself to tell him what you and I did . . .”
“I can never win with you, can I? No matter what, best friend or . . . whatever, I will always be competing against a ghost,” he says. “No, I’m not even competing. I don’t have a fighting chance.” Wade gets up from his bed and grabs my phone, handing it to me. “I’m kind of tired.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
Wade doesn’t say anything else. I never thought he could push me away like this, but he has absolutely no interest in my being around him right now.
“There’s more to this . . .” I thought Wade would be the first person I told about my involvement in your death, which should speak volumes to how much he means to me, but I refused to listen to myself. And I could go ahead and be an asshole and tell him anyway. But that’s not a guilt he has to carry, especially not for a shitty friend like me. “See you.”
I grab my coat and let myself out, head into the staircase and go down all twenty-seven flights. I should really stop blaming everyone and certain events for what’s happening to me. I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to myself.
Wednesday, December 28th, 2016
I turn on my laptop’s video chat and call Jackson on an odd minute.
It didn’t surprise me that he agreed to chat, considering he’s messaged me a dozen times since I left California. I’m only surprised he agreed to speak so early, considering it’s seven in the morning in Santa Monica. Maybe he was also awake all night.
He answers on the fifth ring. The screen is still black, but Jackson’s voice carries through the speakers: “Was that four on your end, too?”
I’m ready to tell him no, when he appears and, yeah, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him. I grew so used to seeing him around, hell, to even waking up close to him. There have never been any romantic feelings for him, which is the straight-up truth, Theo. No one’s perfect, and Jackson is certainly not the exception, but I’ve never been drawn to him the way I was with you or even the way I was becoming with Wade. It’s okay for two boys who are gay to hang out and not want to be with each other.
I’m learning. I’m adjusting.
“Five,” I answer.
“Sorry. It was four rings on mine. I’ll hang up and try again. I’ll answer at four again, and then it’ll be eight on my end and ten for you.”
“Let’s just move past it,” I say. It’s funny how you always played along and made similar adjustments, just as Jackson is trying to do now. I should ask Jackson how he’s doing and how his Christmas was, but none of these things feel right—too friendly and, as we’ve learned, over and over, I haven’t earned that friendship. “I’m sorry for cutting you off. You were really good for me, and I know I was good for you, too. But it got too messy.”
“I was going to tell you the first night we hung out. It’s why I wanted to meet,” Jackson says. He shifts uncomfortably, and behind his shoulder Chloe hops onto the bed and rests her head on his pillow. “I wanted to rip you apart, but then we were getting to know each other, and I knew your pain was just as bad. I didn’t want to sharpen that dagger.”
He’s a better person than I am.
“I’m sorry we had sex,” I say.
“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.”