Chapter Fourteen Mateo
(I Didn't Have to Do It)
Ispend the night at Isa's the night of the funeral because going back to my apartment seems like a level of lonely that would leave scars.
I'd stay at Sophie's, but I've leaned on her all week.
I would've followed Logan home, but I've done enough damage for the day.
And I think I'd crash on a barstool at Kai's, but I may not be welcome there anymore.
I'm still not sure how it all went so wrong, so fast, but I don't know how to take it back when I meant everything I said to Jamie.
I meant everything, but I don't want to stop waiting for him. I've never wanted that, and I never said it either.
Why couldn't he have held on to the fact that I always want him with me? That, at least, was something I did say.
But Jamie left, and I felt so damn detached from myself all day.
I know I was fortunate to have my grandmother as long as I did, but losing her hurt, and I've been spiraling since I got the call.
At least some of the pain had been simmering since the summer, when I realized how much time I'd spent away from her, my parents right to lay that guilt on me.
My brief trip to New York hadn't been a problem—my grandmother had encouraged that wholeheartedly, and more or less kicked her feet when we caught up upon my return—but the years before, especially after my grandfather died, had been wasted.
My throat closes around something bitter when I think about how much Jamie kept me from her, but only because the reality that I'm at fault is a much harder pill to swallow.
Staying near home and making myself available for dates we could never call dates wasn't something I could blame him for, but today it was easier, and it made seeing him more difficult.
I did want him to come to the funeral, but spotting him in the back row of the church reminded me of why he shouldn't have been there. The distance was worse than if he hadn't been there at all.
And then there was Logan.
He and I had been in touch the past few days—as much as Jamie and I had been—so I'd known he'd be making the drive to pay his respects.
I'd also known I'd be glad to see him, so I certainly wasn't sorry that we'd had a chance to talk, and the hug had felt so good. But then Jamie had seen us together, and I suppose I’d known that would happen, too.
My payback was that Jamie and I didn't touch at all before we went our separate ways.
On the bed in my sister's guest room, when the rest of the house is asleep, I consider sending him a voice note.
Several, maybe. Even after all these years together, it feels like there are so many things to say.
I thought we'd have a lifetime for that, and I'm still not convinced we don't, but right now my chest is hollow, the beat of my heart lost in an empty room.
I put my phone down and fight my way through a terribly restless night.
Checking hockey scores in the morning shows me Jamie missed out on a huge win.
In my classroom, I flip through my desk calendar, grateful I only have a couple of weeks of teaching before the holiday break.
Even with soccer to provide some distraction, it'll be an emotional Christmas with my family, and I won't try to guess whether I'll be in touch with anyone else by then.
Regardless, nobody will look too closely if I drink a little too much and hide more than usual.
I don't have a grandparent left to visit, so I'll keep some guilt at bay.
Until we actually reach our break, and on nights I'm not coaching, Sophie and I pass time with a couple of happy hours, a few movie nights, and plenty of bitching and moaning.
I cry about Jamie, and she wipes my tears away, but she doesn't let me dwell on that ache.
I'm not sure she believes Jamie and I will stay apart any more than I do.
One night, I wake from a dream that must have been about him, and I reach for my cock and make myself come, clenching my pillow while I wonder how I can simultaneously yearn to go back in time and be desperate for a peek into the future.
Is Jamie still there? Where am I?
Everything at school is wrapped up the week before Christmas.
I leave my classroom behind with a pile of gifts and treats in my arms, and I’ll rely on them to soothe me as long as the sugar high lasts.
Unlike all the evenings that we find an excuse to drink cheap margaritas, most teachers are eager to start their vacations, and Sophie has a red-eye to catch.
My family doesn't expect me until tomorrow, when I'll spend the day making cookies with my nieces and nephews, so I'm left alone and nostalgic for nights I've never had.
Jamie's team doesn't have a game for me to watch, so I don't have a way to watch him, and it makes me stupid in a way I should be able to quell by now.
I know it's not Christmas yet, but I miss you.
It's late in New Jersey, and I figure he's either asleep or working or doing things I'll read about online someday. Things I'd read about Jameson Sinclair long before I met Jamie at a bar. He shouldn't have his phone in his hand, and yet—
You're not supposed to tell me that. Remember?
I sigh. I thought we stopped lying years ago.
I'm pretty fucking lonely when I stop
Then chase me, I almost type. Chase me, chase me, chase me, chase me, chase me.
It's what Jamie's done his entire life, and I know how easily he could do it now, but I think there's something about our shared intimacy that works against me.
I love him like nobody has before, and this lonely, needy man understands that what we have is unconditional as much as it's unfamiliar to him.
It also means he understands he can stay where he is, trusting in us more than he fears the damage any distance could do.
I trust in us too, but my eyes well with tears anyway.
What are you doing for Christmas? They don't have a game. I know that much.
Harper will be here for almost a week
Good. I almost say more, but delete the words nearly as quickly as they appear. There's so little that will help either of us feel better tonight, and I might as well let us go. If you and I don't talk…Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Jamie. Everything has changed, but nothing has.
Yeah, I know
And just like that, we've said goodbye without a goodbye. Again.
The rest of December comes and goes, and guilt lingers or builds anew when I'm grateful for the chance to say goodbye to my family.
We'd welcomed January together after a month in which we were only apart when any of us had to work, and I've barely slept off the New Year's celebration, much less a month of complicated losses.
I nap as soon as I'm back in my apartment, but when I'm awake again, I press a hand to my chest and hate the pain that rattles on each exhale.
I don't have to be back at school until Monday, so I have some time to breathe.
It means I also have time to breathe by the ocean, somewhere quiet and perfectly alone.
I'm aware it may be cruel—to one or both of us—and I sure as hell haven't been invited.
Still, some petty part of me argues that I have as much right to it as he does, and it's not like there's any risk of running into him today.
After a quick shower, I change into layers of warm and comfortable clothes and reheat a tomato basil soup from a few days ago.
With it poured into a thermos for later, and my blanket already in the trunk, I waste no more of my day, parked about twenty minutes later.
The wind is already colder when I start walking, but I ignore it and almost close my eyes, just to prove how well I know my way to a place I've mostly seen in the dark.
In the end, I'm glad I’ve kept my eyes wide open. It gives me the several seconds I need to realize I'm not alone. I wonder whether it's too late to turn around, decide it definitely is, and then smile as I take those last few steps.
"You know about the bench," I say, the surprise in my voice clear no matter how hushed I am by the ocean behind me.
"Pretty sure that's supposed to be my line," Harper replies with a playful smile that looks so goddamn much like her father's. "I'm the one who lives here."
I hadn't forgotten that—I've never been less than fully aware that it's her home, too.
It's more that I figured she'd still be in New Jersey with Jamie or up in Washington with Simon or running around with friends for the rest of her winter break.
I certainly didn't expect her to be sitting right in front of me, wearing a Husky hoodie and what looks like pajama pants.
"Aren't you cold?"
She laughs. "Yeah, a little bit? Up at school, it's like, 15 degrees colder than it is here, except that sitting by the beach is always cold, and I wasn't really thinking about that when I walked down here. Looks like you came prepared? Is that hot chocolate?"
"Tomato soup." I nod toward the bench. "Do you mind if I sit?"
"How willing are you to share your little snack?"
I join her and unfold the blanket enough to drape it across our laps before I open the thermos and pour some soup into the lid. She thanks me and takes a sip, and then we both face the ocean.
"Did you have a nice Christmas?"
"With my dad? It was very good to see him," Harper says.
"He was busy again right after, but we ate a stupid amount of food and watched movies all day.
I got him a bunch of soccer shit—oops, sorry, soccer stuff—and he got me a bunch of 80s music because he likes oldies and thinks I should start liking 'em, too. "
Her comment makes me remember songs I should forget, but I shake my head for a different reason. "You don't have to apologize for swearing. You're not in my classroom."
"Ah, yes. And I'm supposed to call you Mateo now."
"You're not supposed to call me anything. I told you that you can call me Mateo," I argue. Then I take a drink from the thermos and glance at Harper. "How's he doing?"