Chapter Twelve Mateo #2
The choked sound he makes is one I'll hear for a long time. "What the fuck is there to break up, Mateo? And since when have I known how to quit running after things that should be too big to want?"
"Right. Of course," I sigh. "But when I was pressed to your patio door, you were saying goodbye before you moved across the country. So, what are you saying now?"
"That I'm staying here."
"Staying," I echo.
"Yeah," Jamie says. "I mean, not forever. And I promised Harper a week in Alaska, so I'll be home for a minute, but—"
"But only for a minute."
"I need you to know it's not because of anyone else.
This isn't—I want to put more time in around here.
Team stuff and just—I feel like I buried myself in the job, but didn't consider that part of my job is building relationships around here.
I barely learned my way to and from the arena.
I haven't done any touristy shit. And this summer, I want to be here to do that. "
None of what he's saying makes me feel any better about his not forever comment, especially after his loyalty to a single team kept him in place his entire playing career.
And the thing is, I don't think he's wrong to want to stay and meet people who will greet him with the cheers he loves.
I don't think he'd be wrong even if he didn't need the cheers in the first place.
I don't know how to encourage him around the selfish lump in my throat, and I don't really try.
"I understand."
"Would you let me fly you out here?" he asks. "We never really talked about that. And I guess during the season, it wouldn't be a lot of fun for you. But yeah. Over the summer, maybe?"
"Over the summer, while you're learning your way around, which means I'd have to be a friend and nothing more."
Jamie hums, thoughtful for a moment. "Isn't that the way it's always been?"
It is, of course, though I've never known how to stop hating it.
That steady ache overrides the potential blow of his offer to pay my way, obviously helpful but technically unnecessary.
I lean back in my desk chair and stare at stained ceiling tiles.
For a few seconds, I think I should blame Sophie for talking about those damned chicken wings so much that I wanted to try them myself.
Then I'm mad about the strangers in a bar fight who forced Jamie and me into an alley, and even further to a food truck.
And finally, I take a deep breath and remember that everything happening now is because Jamie and I couldn't leave one night behind us, even when sunlight gave us a reason to.
"Does Taylor know about me?"
"No."
I should be satisfied that I was correct about that, but I ignore the sensation and move on. "Are you sleeping with his sister?"
"No. Stop reading that shit."
"You're just mad you can't search for dirt on me."
Jamie laughs softly, and it heals a dozen things inside me. "I could always give Vicki Gallagher a call."
"God forbid," I say as he yawns.
"It's getting late."
"It's been late."
"And you have to finish grading," he reminds me. "Go. Be safe getting home. We'll talk and I'll let you know when I'm coming home. Maybe we can go for another drive."
My smile is weary. "You don't trust me to stay all night with you."
"A drive would be really nice."
Jamie and I take that drive. We take two of them, actually—one just before his trip with Harper, and one after they return—and he was right about them being really nice.
There are other places where we can be alone, but the car isolates us differently.
Or maybe it's the fantasy that we could run away entirely—keep driving and never look back.
We never say that out loud, but a few heavy silences leave space for those daydreams.
I don't see his bench or his bed while he's home, but it keeps our latest goodbye free from the promises we've already made too many times.
My school year ends right after Jamie flies back east, and Sophie and I go away for a few days once final grades are turned in and our classrooms are empty.
I reach out to my family too, all of them used to my schedule and my desire to unwind once I have the time to do it.
It's only when I have dinner at my parents' house that I realize I've been more out of the loop than usual.
"Your grandmother hasn't been doing well," my mom tells me. "Nothing is specifically wrong, but she's lonely and it's taking a toll on her. We've asked her to consider moving, but she won't leave that house."
I look back and forth between my parents. "She spent Easter weekend with us. And I thought everyone was visiting pretty regularly."
"You know as well as anyone that our own lives can carry us away from other responsibilities and relationships.
She doesn't drive much anymore, and there are only so many times the rest of us have been able to travel two hours for a brief stay, but she's too stubborn to ask us to try. To ask you to try."
Guilt comes easily to me, and I have little doubt it was my mom's intent when she summarized the situation so succinctly.
Yes, I have most of the summer off, and I'll take the hint that's been dropped on my dinner plate, but there's been so little actually keeping me from my family.
Everyone else has spouses and children and their own jobs and friends, and I have happy hour with my best friend and a million minutes of texts and voice notes and phone calls to someone who's only sort of mine.
Much like my grandmother, I've been alone without acknowledging that I'm getting lonely.
"I'll go out there again. I'll stay, like I did before."
I almost add that I have nothing planned for the summer, but that's not entirely true when Jamie's invitation to visit remains loud anytime I get quiet.
It's so loud that I don't hear any of the whispered reminders about my grandmother's neighbor and the warnings that should come with them.
My mom smiles at me, satisfied with her work.
My dad grunts his approval. I go back to my apartment and figure out what needs to be done before I spend most of my summer away from home.
Telling Jamie is something I put off until my grandmother is taking a nap a week later.
"Is she sick?" he asks, soft and worried.
"Not exactly. She misses my grandfather and won't ask for the company she only sort of wants. I think she's fading away more than anything."
"But now her favorite grandchild is by her side. That has to make her feel better," he says. "It's always made me feel better to have you close."
I want to tell Jamie he has a terrible way of showing it, but that's not a fight I'll pick under someone else's roof. After glancing down the small hallway, I move toward the living room window and try not to look across the street.
"A visit to New Jersey isn't off the table. I volunteered to spend the summer here, but I'm allowed to leave. I'm allowed to see anyone I want."
"See."
"Is there another word I should use?" I ask.
His pause is as good as a shrug. "It's fine. It just sounded like maybe you weren't talking about me."
"Come on, Jamie."
"I know. It's not fair that I keep wanting it all. I do know that."
It won't change anything though, and my next thought is unrelated.
Or maybe it's my turn to want it all. "I wish you could meet her.
My grandmother. I hate that you haven't met any of my family.
I know you sort of saw them at my grandfather's funeral, but you stayed away, and that was—it wouldn't have been the same. "
"If I remember correctly, you threatened me with their presence at the carnival that first year."
I chuckle. "It could only be considered a threat if you were actually afraid of it."
"You don't think I was afraid?" he asks, his voice nearly cracking. "All that acceptance and love and probably immeasurable displays of affection? And they know about you, so then they would've known about me? And they might've been glad to meet me anyway?"
"I mean, I have introduced them to straight people before," I tease. "Their hugs wouldn't necessarily have come with a bunch of preconceived notions about why you and I were spending the afternoon together."
"But they would've hugged me?"
"Almost certainly, yes."
"And meeting them eventually is probably inevitable, huh?"
It doesn't matter how many times I remember I'm one of the dreams he's chasing—it takes my breath away every time. "I hope so."
"Okay, I'm gonna let you go," he says. "Keep me posted on things there, and then we'll figure out a time for you to fly out here?"
I agree, and we say our goodbyes, and I turn at the sound of quiet footsteps behind me.
"Was that a nice boy on the phone?"
"It was," I smile. "How long were you listening to me talk to the nice boy?"
"Only long enough to hear you say I hope so, but you were so sad about it. Do we need to pray for him? Should we pray for you both?"
"He needs to find some peace. Once he does that, I'll be okay."
She nods, then shifts her focus to the window I've tried to ignore. "What about that nice boy?"
"Logan?"
"Yes, Logan. Are there so many boys outside my house that I was unclear somehow?"
"No, ma'am," I say, ducking my head to hide my grin. "And I haven't spoken to Logan since I've been here, but he's—"
I trail off, but my grandmother doesn't miss a beat. "Not the one who makes your voice so full of love on a phone call."
"He's not. That was Jamie."
"Okay, you are going to make me some tea and tell me all about this Jamie. I do not have new stories of my own anymore, so I would like to hear this one of yours."
I take her hand and lead her to the kitchen, and while waiting for the water to boil, I talk.