Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Reflections and Respite
Rather than rush this unexpected visit with Mom, I decide to stick around for the week.
After calling Marcus to let him know that she’s okay, I’m shocked and touched by how relieved he is to hear it.
It makes me feel like the shittiest friend to have worried him so much with my senseless lie.
I never even stopped to consider that everyone might take it so seriously, but given my history, I probably should have.
I make a mental note not to do anything like that again—gay panics or not.
Marcus asks about my date with Chrissy, regretting that we didn’t talk about it before I left.
I tell him it went well, but he seems to sense I’m holding back.
He questions whether I really enjoyed it or if I’m just saying what I think he wants to hear, but I don’t have a good answer.
It’s hard to get into that without bringing up the real reason I fled to Florida in the first place, and I’m not prepared to go into that right now.
It may have been easy coming out to my mom, but the idea of coming out to Marcus is altogether more daunting and not the kind of thing I want to do over the phone.
Besides, all I can think about is Mom’s theory that I might have had a crush on him growing up, and now I’m panicking, wondering whether he knows or suspected.
I never consciously considered it until now, but thinking back, there may be a kernel of truth to it.
Like how I talked about him obsessively to anyone who would listen, or how I hung onto his opinion like it was the only one that mattered.
If it was obvious to Mom that I unwittingly crushed on him when we were both awkward pre-teens, it couldn’t have gone past Marcus’s notice.
He’s never said anything, and at this point, I’m not even sure if it matters.
Nothing ever happened between us, and the idea of him and me together in any romantic setting is enough to make me cringe, so I can safely say it’s a non-starter.
Still, Marcus is my best friend. He’s basically my brother—my favorite human on this planet besides my mom—and the only person who probably knows me better than I know myself.
I know I owe him the truth about what’s happening, but I want to tell him properly.
And face to face. He deserves that much.
Thankfully, Marcus doesn’t press the date issue with me any further. He tells me to have a good week off and that we’ll discuss it more when I get back home. Hopefully, I’ll have the courage to follow through.
Halfway through the week, it hits me that this is the first real vacation I’ve taken in a couple of years.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when I withdrew into hermitude, but it’s clear I’ve become a shut-in.
Outside of the occasional get-together with my friends, I haven’t done anything fun for myself in a long time, and it shows.
Even Mom points out that she was worried I’d stagnated. Whenever we talked on the phone, I wouldn’t have anything new or exciting to tell her, and after a while, she picked up on the fact that I wasn’t as happy as I led her to believe. I can’t even say she was wrong.
With that in mind, Mom takes advantage of our time together, and we have fun hobnobbing around Florida, getting me out of my shell.
We go to the beach, eat at fancy restaurants, and catch a baseball game in Miami—the Marlins vs.
Nationals. She even convinces me to spend a day at Disney World so she can try some of the overpriced concessions she’s been salivating over on TikTok.
It winds up being a highlight of the week, mainly because watching Mom get drunk and interact with the cast members is an unexpected treat.
She gets as excited as the little kids, taking pictures with everyone she can find, even forcing me into a few.
It’s the most fun I’ve had in recent memory, despite the way my anxiety spikes with the crowds.
Then, before I can even think about going back to Michigan, she insists I go to a barber for a haircut and a beard trim.
In typical mom fashion, she says, “Son, you know I love you, but you look scraggly. This boy of yours might get scared away if you don’t clean yourself up,” and it’s an effective motivator.
I don’t tell her that Luke and I have been texting practically the entire time I’ve been here. It started with him checking in to make sure everything was okay and then quickly progressed to late-night conversations that kept me up for hours until I fell asleep with the phone in my hand.
We talk about a lot of things. Bullshit at work, childhood memories, the friends he left in New York, and his cat, Misty.
He sends me pictures of the most beautiful black cat I’ve ever seen, with bright blue eyes that somehow rival his own.
He texts, this is my child, my literal biological fur baby whom I have birthed and is my only reason for living, and I burst out laughing.
The resemblance is uncanny, I quip back. Then, with a surge of confidence, I type out, maybe I can be your reason for living, before aggressively deleting it, my face flushing at my own idiocy. Don’t be stupid.
I miss her like fucking crazy, Luke says a moment later, and I frown.
E: Why didn’t you bring her with you?
L: Pete hates animals. He’s the sort of man who’d open the door and let her out just because he didn’t like that she meowed. I couldn’t trust she’d be safe.
That’s troubling to hear, but not shocking, given what I’ve learned about his stepdad.
E: If he touches a single whisker on her cute little head, he’ll hear from me.
Luke doesn’t respond to that with words—just a string of emojis. Two purple hearts and a crying face. Then he sends me more of his favorite pictures of her.
I get hung up on an old selfie of him lying in bed, cuddling Misty.
He’s shirtless under his blanket, his hair ruffled and wild like he just woke up, and he’s wearing a pair of round, thick-framed, tortoiseshell glasses.
I think it’s the glasses that do me in. I’ve only seen him without them, and I didn’t remember that he wore contacts.
God, I must be down bad if all it takes is seeing a picture of him in glasses to make me feel so off-balance.
Still, it's nice talking with him like this. Despite my previous awkwardness, the more we chat, the easier it gets. It only took us being over a thousand miles apart for me to get closer to him. At the very least, I’m confident I won’t be an incomprehensible mess the next time I see him.
I think I can function like a normal human being again. Hopefully.
Chrissy texts me a few times, too, but every time I see her name pop up on my screen, I’m overcome with dread.
Whenever I go to compose a message back, my fingers won’t type anything out.
After the first few times this happens, I realize it’s because I have nothing to say—and, maybe more poignantly, I don’t think I want to.
At first, I thought it was because I was confused about my crush on Luke.
The more I consider it, it’s clear I’ve already made my decision, even if I wasn’t acknowledging it.
By actively avoiding her and not treating her like a priority, I’m obviously not interested in dating her.
I don’t think I ever was from the beginning.
When I agreed to ask her out, it wasn’t on my terms, and I felt like I was dragging myself through the motions instead of pushing forward excitedly.
Not as excitedly as I’ve felt about Luke, anyway.
Luke showing up when he did may have impacted that decision, but I don’t think I can say he was the only reason for my apathy.
I would have always come to the point where I backed off from Chrissy because, deep down, I’m not interested in the life she represents.
Maybe I could have settled for it once, but not anymore.
The truth is, I have stagnated. I got too comfortable with my mundane routines, settling into the peace and safety of mediocrity, and I’ve protected that peace a little too well ever since.
Even though I always claimed I wanted to be adventurous and see the world, I’ve only ever left home to visit my mom after she moved down here, and not even that often.
After keeping my head down for so long, now it’s like I’ve looked up and suddenly realized I don’t like where I am.
If I’m not careful, I could get stuck there forever.
I don’t want that. And for as much as I like Chrissy, a future with her would undoubtedly be more of the same when it’s becoming increasingly clear that I want something different.
If anything, I have Luke to thank for opening my eyes to the truth. Meeting him when I did—seeing how passionate he is about life—has led me to hope that I can still change. Even if we never become a thing, I’ve come to a firmer understanding of myself with this ordeal.
Still, Chrissy has done nothing wrong in all this, and I’m being a total asshole for ghosting her.
She doesn’t deserve the silent treatment, but if I respond positively, it’ll only give her hope for ‘us.’ And I refuse to end things over text if I can avoid it.
I might be an ass at times, but I’m not heartless.
I’ll have to deal with it when I get back, but right now, I simply want to focus on spending time with my mom and reveling in the thrill of texting with Luke. Even if I feel a little juvenile every time my mind wanders to what it might be like to kiss him.
A couple of nights before I’m set to come home, Luke threatens to steal my truck, saying that he’s enjoyed driving it all week.
It’s gotta be a nice upgrade after that beater you were driving, I tease. But then it gets me thinking, and I ask, Where the hell did you get that thing anyway?
L: Pete bought it for me when he knew I was coming home and looking for a car. He paid $500 to get it off a junk lot. He only did it because I’m so tall, picking the smallest one he could find on purpose to piss me off.
E: Are you kidding?
L: Nope.
L: Fucker thought it would be funny. Jokes on him tho because I got $300 selling it for scrap and refused to give it to him. So he was out $500 on a shitty joke.
I grimace reading that back. What kind of person buys a car as a practical joke?
I think I hate this man as much as Luke does, and I’ve never even met him.
By the way Luke describes his stepdad, it’s clear he’s a glorified bully with a serious drinking problem and borderline psychosis.
Although I suppose a man who truly believes that Trump won the 2020 election is bound to have some issues.
Why the hell is Luke living with him?
E: Have you found a new car yet?
L: Unfortunately not. Anything worthwhile is way too expensive and I am tragically poor.
E: Eww
L: It’s okay tho because I told you I was stealing your truck. So it’s really you that needs to find a new one.
He sends me a selfie sitting in the driver’s seat, presumably one he took during the day since it’s sunny in the background.
He’s wearing his sunglasses, giving a self-assured grin as he poses in the most flattering way possible, almost like he was made for the camera.
There’s a handwritten note edited over the image that says ‘mine’ in cursive with a small heart dotted over the ‘i.’
I study that picture for a long minute, unable to keep the smile from my face. Not only does Luke look good in the truck, but the idea of him showing off that he’s been driving it warms my heart. Still, I can’t help but write a snarky reply.
E: Nice try, but this isn’t a hostage situation. We don’t negotiate with terrorists, even if they are pretty.
Luke responds with a cry-laugh emoji, and then the conversation effortlessly switches to something else while I wonder if he noticed the end of that quip.
Even though Luke is joking about my truck, the conversation gives me an idea that feels inspired, and I immediately formulate a plan.