Chapter 32 #2
But I know what he means. We didn’t sit together back in high school. We were part of two very different crowds. And for the past few years, we’ve missed out on these casual, common moments.
Caleb laughs before releasing me, only to grab my hand and pull me toward the line of people waiting to enter the dining hall.
“So…how was it?” he asks me eagerly.
I’m tempted to mess with him, but I don’t. “Amazing,” I reply. “You wouldn’t believe…” I launch into a detailed retelling of my morning.
I know Caleb isn’t the least bit interested in journalism. I’ve never met a talented writer less interested. But he listens to me prattle on and on about every piece of wisdom my professors shared as we move along the buffet to grab lunch.
“How were your classes?” I ask when I finish talking about mine.
Caleb shrugs. “Fine.”
“That’s it? I just spent twenty minutes telling you about mine.”
“Thirty-three actually, but who’s counting?”
I stick my tongue out at him. “I was just thinking about what a thoughtful boyfriend you are, and then you ruined it.”
He laughs. “I loved hearing about your classes, Len. Business isn’t half as entertaining.”
I study him. I know Caleb’s major is mainly to placate his father. To ensure he can take his place in the lucrative company whose exact function I’m still not clear on. All I know is whatever Mr. Winters does adds to the Winters’ substantial wealth and requires a lot of overseas travel.
“You don’t like your classes?” I ask. This too, is unfamiliar ground between us. When I was at RCC, he’d never talk about academics here with me.
“They’re fine. Means to an end. C’s get degrees too, you know.”
“Uh-huh. You’d know,” I tease.
I’m certain Caleb is at the top of his—actually ours now, I guess—class.
“I can’t be smart and good-looking, Matthews. It’s not fair to other guys.”
“It’s really not,” I agree.
He smiles. “I’m really glad—relieved—you like your classes so much. I was a little worried I was going to have to haul all ten of your boxes back to Landry after a week.”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” I tell him. “Even if I did hate my classes here—which, considering the fact RCC’s journalism department had one faculty member, was pretty unlikely—you’re here. That alone would have been worth sticking a year out for.”
Caleb half smiles, but it quickly fades. He plays with his fork, dragging a stray piece of lettuce across the otherwise empty plate. “I saw Tom Stradwell in town before we left.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, when I was out getting coffee.”
“Oh.” I’m puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation.
“He said he offered you a full-time job at the Gazette after you graduate.”
“Oh,” I say again, this time realizing what he’s getting at. “Yeah, he did.”
“Are you going to take it?”
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “There’s a lot of…factors to consider.”
Specifically, the boy sitting across from me.
Caleb nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He doesn’t ask if he’s one of them. He knows he is, but I tell him anyway.
“Like you.”
He bobs his head. Swallows a couple of times. “Right.”
We stare at each other, unsaid things hovering between us.
Along with things we’ve said and will have to say again.
“I’ve got practice,” Caleb finally says.
Of course.
“It’s not even baseball season,” I grumble. “I thought sports had seasons. Clear starts and ends.”
I’m joking, but I’m also not. I admire Caleb’s dedication and I know he works hard. I also thought the days of him rushing off to some baseball commitment would cease between summer camp and the actual start of the season. I should have known better by now, obviously.
Caleb gave me a copy of his class schedule, but not his baseball schedule. I’m sure there was a reason for that.
“Not if you want to win,” Caleb replies. His voice is teasing, but I also know he’s serious. This is an important season for him, and his teammates and coaches obviously take things just as seriously. “We’ve got a scrimmage on Saturday.”
“I know,” I respond. “I’ll be there.”
I wonder if Caleb is aware that this is the first time I’ll be seeing him pitch in a game. Ever.
We both stand, deposit our empty plates and dirty silverware in bins, and head back outside.
“You’ve got another journalism class later?”
“Nope. Pottery,” I reply.
Caleb stares at me. “ Pottery ?”
I shrug. “I needed an arts requirement, and I can’t play any instruments.”
“You can sing.”
“Yeah, for fun,” I respond. “I don’t want to be nitpicked for tone and range and whatever else they’re always talking about on those singing competition shows.”
“There wouldn’t be anything to nitpick, Lennon. I mean, everyone was saying…”
He trails off before he finishes the sentence, but we both know what he was going to say. Neither of us have brought up Gramps’s funeral since the August morning it took place.
“You’re good,” he finishes.
We walk out of the atrium and into the September afternoon. I’m silent; so is Caleb.
“I wish I could call him and tell him everything I just told you,” I admit, keeping my gaze on a gray squirrel scampering along the paved path we’re walking on. “About my classes and about the fire alarm going off in the middle of the night. About all of it.”
“He’d be crazy proud of you, Len,” Caleb tells me quietly.
“I know,” I whisper.
I’m not just saying it to agree. I know Gramps would be proud. It’s just not the same as getting to see the look unfold on his face first-hand. Hearing it in his voice.
“Come here.”
I turn and collapse against Caleb’s chest, resting my cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt. This isn’t the weather where snuggling and sharing body heat appeals as an enjoyable experience, but we do it anyway.
He smells familiar. Comforting.
He feels solid. Safe.
“I love you, Len,” Caleb whispers into my hair.
I pull back and give him a wobbly smile. “Yeah, I love you too.”
“Text me a photo of your clay creation, yeah?”
Wobbly turns steady.
Caleb’s always been excellent at knowing just what I need.
Letting me fall apart.
Helping me hold it together.
“Yeah, I will,” I assure him.
He gives me a quick kiss and then strides away toward what I’m assuming is the sports center.
I thought it was the other way, but I definitely won’t be telling Caleb that.
I head in the opposite direction. My pottery class starts in a half hour, and it’ll probably take me every minute to find the art building.