Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
The Before Jake would have never let a near stranger lead him somewhere unknown with an ambiguous “somewhere good for you”. As if said stranger had any idea at all about who Jake was and what would or wouldn’t be good for him. But the After Jake, oddly, trusted Blair. He didn’t have any concrete reason to trust Blair—or not to—but something in his gut said to follow. So he did.
He waited in the main café area of the Bliss Beans coffee shop that he vaguely remembered being in earlier, while Blair disappeared into the back. When Blair returned, he had one of those large eco-friendly salad bowls in his hand.
“This is a broccoli salad I made for the meeting tonight,” Blair said, lifting the bowl. “Once a month, we have a potluck dinner to share healthy recipes you can make on a budget.”
“We’re going to a potluck?” Jake frowned as his nerves jangled. “I’m not sure I’m up for that. Even if I had something to bring.”
“You’re with me, so you don’t need anything.” Blair stopped in front of Jake. There was a quietness to his rich brown eyes, and his voice was soft and somehow soothing to Jake’s anxiety. “You don’t have to stay for dinner either. It’s a low-key thing, and we don’t eat until after.”
“After?”
Blair’s smile felt like sitting by a fire under a warm blanket. Like coming home and leaving the world’s worries and stresses outside the door. Jake marveled at how a single smile could do all of that, but there it was again: he trusted Blair.
“What’s your last name?”
Blair grinned. “Blissett.”
Blair Blissett . Even his name was happy. Hopeful. Jake shifted his gaze to the menu board, and the name of the café handwritten across the top.
Jake chuckled, waving his arm to encompass the coffee shop. “Bliss Beans.”
Blair’s grin widened into a blinding smile. “You got it.”
Bliss fit Blair. At least, fit the first impression Jake had of him. That he was one of those sunshine-y type people who saw the positive in everything. One side of Jake’s mouth tipped up in an attempt at a smile. He slipped his hand into Blair’s as easy and comfortable as though they’d been holding hands their whole lives.
“How do you do that?” Jake mused, not realizing he’d spoken his thought aloud until Blair turned a questioning look on him. Jake cleared his throat. “Uh . . . Make me feel like there’s hope on the worst day of my life?”
“There is always hope,” Blair said with all the sage wisdom of someone well beyond his years, and solidifying Jake’s image of him.
Blair led Jake down the street and around the corner to Davie Street, where they hopped on an eastbound bus as a light rain began to fall from the dark skies. A dozen minutes later, they disembarked in Yaletown and walked another block to a local community center.
The look Blair sent over his shoulder at Jake was reassuring as he steered Jake into a large meeting room. Chairs set in a circle that took up most of the room sent a sliver of apprehension shooting up Jake’s spine. He jerked his gaze away, toward the back corner of the room that sported a small kitchenette with two fridges. In front of a wall of windows that reflected the interior back to him was a large table with plates, cutlery and glasses stacked at one end, and an eclectic collection of food containers spreading across the center as though spilling from a horn of plenty. A crowd of mostly men and a few women, ranging in age from teen to senior, mingled and chatted amiably. But what had the air freezing in Jake’s lungs and a chill of panic racing up his spine, was the welcome sign on a floor stand just inside the door.
Blair had brought him to a support group for people living with HIV and AIDS.
Jake’s lungs released, and he gulped in air, but it wasn’t enough. His breath hitched and heaved, coming faster and shallower. Holy fuck. I have HIV . His head swam and his vision wavered. Christ . I’m going to pass out .
Hands gripped his biceps, firm and steady. Blair’s youthful, elfin face formed in front of him, his words low and soothing and somehow bringing Jake back to earth, even though Jake couldn’t make out a single word. All he knew at that moment was that Blair was there. Blair had him and wouldn’t let him go spiraling down the endless rabbit hole of despair.
Jake’s gaze darted around the room, expecting everyone to be staring at him. Mocking him, even. But they quietly continued their conversations, as though knowing Jake needed space to find his equilibrium again.
“Hey,” Blair said, his voice pitched low. “Right here.”
Jake met his eyes and fell into their warm depths. A safe harbor in a new and frightening world. Jake inhaled deeply, the tightness easing from his chest and the fog clearing from his mind.
“There you are,” Blair said.
He slid his palms down Jake’s arms, but Jake gripped his hands before Blair let go, afraid he’d shatter apart without that calm connection.
“Sorry,” Jake breathed.
Blair shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This is a safe space.”
Jake nodded, taking another deep breath. He could do this. Blair had been living with HIV for fourteen years and seemed happy and healthy. Surely, he could too. Right?
“Okay.” Jake reluctantly released his death grip on Blair. “I’m good. Thank you.”
Blair put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this.”
A bell jingled, drawing the attention of the small crowd. A tall man, casually dressed in jeans, a heather-gray henley, and orange sneakers, stood at the edge of the chair circle with a little silver bell in his hand. He wore a kind smile on his face as he watched everyone settle themselves in the chairs.
“Come on,” Blair said, threading his fingers through Jake’s and guiding him toward two empty seats.
Jake sat beside Blair but didn’t let go of his hand. The only thing keeping him from bolting out the door, running home, and burying himself under the covers until this nightmare—where Andy cheated and dumped him for another man, and left him with an incurable parting gift—ended.
All eyes turned to the bell ringer as he sat in a chair directly across from Jake.
“Welcome to Bright Light. An HIV and AIDS support group,” the man said. His voice was soft and carried a note of kindness. “For those of you new to the group, my name is Trent. I’ve been living with HIV for eighteen years and running this support group in one form or another for seven years.”
“Hi, Trent,” the group said in unison, apart from Jake and a slender young woman sitting a few seats over.
“This is a stigma and judgment-free space where we can share our experiences, both good and bad,” Trent said, making eye contact with everyone while not singling anyone out. “Where we can find connection and friendship through shared experience, learn about new treatments and therapies, find an array of resources and programs, and learn to develop new coping mechanisms.” Trent leaned back in his seat. “Who would like to start today?”
One by one, people shared their experiences with HIV and AIDS. No one looked at Jake expectantly, waiting for him to speak, and he relaxed as each person told their stories. Stories about how they’d contracted HIV or how they were there to support a loved one who was HIV positive. About how the diagnosis had affected their lives, and how they managed their disease and coped with the mental ups and downs.
There was the young man who’d been born with HIV, contracted in the womb by his drug-using mother, which Jake hadn’t known until now was rare. A man who, much like Jake, had never thought it could happen to him, but who, unlike Jake, had lived recklessly. A trans woman who had contracted HIV from her partner. A man and woman who was there in support of their HIV positive son.
But the person who had moved Jake the most was an elderly man with the brightest blue eyes Jake had ever seen.
“Hi, everyone. I’m David,” the man began, his voice strong and clear. “Yesterday was my seventy-third birthday.”
Clapping and happy birthday wishes circled around the room. David stood—a blush streaking across his cheeks and his smile wide—and took a bow.
“I was living it up before AIDS hit, without a care in the world,” David said. “That age of indestructibility known as my twenties. Except my twenties blended into my thirties without me noticing.”
The small crowd chuckled.
“While I’d naively thought AIDS could never touch me, I’d lost too many good friends to the disease.” David paused, his gaze going distant. He shook his head, as though clearing the memories, and continued. “When I turned forty, I realized it was time to grow up and do something with my life, so I started with a full physical. I’ll never forget that day, when my doctor told me I had contracted HIV and to get my affairs in order because I wouldn’t live to see forty-one.” He held his arms out, his smile mischievous. “Clearly, he was mistaken.”
The crowd clapped and whistled.
David spoke a little more about the changes he’d made in his life, and how he’d beaten the odds. He still walked three miles every day, performed in the local theater, and hosted a weekly brunch for those with HIV.
“Thank you, David,” Trent said when David finished. “I know I speak for everyone when I say we’re so grateful you’re with us.”
Jake found he was glad David was there, too. David had beaten the odds at a time when the odds were stacked heavily against him. Hope bloomed in Jake’s chest.
He glanced around the room at the mix of faces that looked different now that he’d heard their stories. Even though those stories and journeys were all diverse and difficult to hear, there was an underlying thread they all shared. They all looked at the good side of life—at least the people here tonight did. They were eager to share and learn new ways to live with the disease. And most of all, they didn’t let HIV dictate their quality of life.
Jake had HIV. But he wasn’t alone. His diagnosis wasn’t the end of his world. There would be life after—a happy and full life, even. The melancholy that had shrouded him like a two-ton thing began to ease. He had work to do. Change was on the horizon. But he was going to be okay.
Conversation moved on from personal stories to the latest research and new local resources, and then everyone rose from their chairs, some stretching backs stiff from sitting, and made their way toward the long table loaded with food.
“So . . .?” Blair turned to him, a wrinkle of worry creasing his forehead. “What did you think?”
“I think you were right,” Jake said, fighting an unexpected urge to lean closer and kiss Blair. “That was good for me.”
Blair’s smile rivaled the sun. And for the first time since Andy had betrayed Jake in the worst imaginable way, that little bloom of hope he’d felt earlier began to spread.