Chapter 15 #2
“Oh, hey.” His eyes bulged as he tipped his head toward the other person. “You have a visitor,” he said. I think he may have been going for nonchalant, but he couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice.
The other man stood and turned, running his hands down the front of his jeans as if he was suddenly worried about his casual appearance despite the fact that he’d been sitting with my roommate, a twenty-something college student clad in a torn T-shirt and baggy sweatpants—while he was still clad in his expensive sports coat and jeans that looked like they were tailored to fit him.
They probably were.
“Anson!”
“Benji,” he said, right on the heels of my surprised outburst. His tone was much more subdued, calm, or maybe sad.
Jake leaned forward, grabbing something off the coffee table before getting up. Without taking his eyes off his phone, he rounded the couch toward me and the still-open door that I stood in front of, in a bit of shock.
“I’ll be at Caitlin’s,” he let me know as he approached, muttering more softly as he passed, “all night.” I nodded in understanding before turning and following his movements as he exited the apartment, closing the door behind him while his thumb tapped on his phone with his other hand.
OMG, dude, Anson fucking Day is in our apartment!
popped up on my screen practically as soon as the door closed.
I shoved my phone in my pocket while I kicked off my shoes and tugged at the tie that had been bothering me for hours, leaving it, along with my keys, on the little catch-all table we kept by the front door.
Then I turned and faced the man himself. I was more used to seeing him without his glasses and was taken aback by them momentarily, despite the fact that he’d had them on throughout dinner. He looked so lost, a little scared, and very alone, standing there in front of the big screen.
Behind him, the baseball stadium erupted. Our intense eye contact broke as the noise drew us to the TV. Anson turned back as the announcer yelled, “Another homer for the shortstop Abbott Page!”
I was frozen in my spot, looking at his perfectly manicured ponytail. I could tell he was nervously running his palms up and down his jeans again, and I wanted to go to him, to reach out and take hold of his hands, to calm him.
“Fuck it,” I mumbled to myself as I headed the few steps from our entrance to the living room.
Anson continued to stare at the TV until I rounded in front of him, taking his hands just as I had wanted.
“Baseball,” he said distractedly. “Boston’s in Tampa,” he added as he looked down at my hands in his.
“Yeah. My roomie’s a big fan,” I explained, happy when his eyes met mine. I would never not appreciate how precious eye contact was with Anson Day.
“It’s on all the time in this house. My dad’s a fan too. Not of Boston, of course, he’s a fan of the Rattlers, but it’s like the one sport I know a little something about. I don’t hate it, unless you ask me to pick up a bat.”
I may have been rambling. “Dad made me try Little League one year. He was so excited because he really does love the sport. So I tried really hard. I wasn’t terrible; I mean”—I leaned in a little closer to him, squeezing his hands—“you just have to apply physics, right? But I hated playing. I’m not competitive like that, and I didn’t relate to the other kids on my team.
I didn’t relate to most people when I was a kid,” I confessed, my energy waning.
Part of me knew I shouldn’t be sharing so openly with Anson, but I couldn’t help myself.
“And I hated that I hated playing baseball because I felt like I was disappointing my dad. He figured it out, though. Asked me what I wanted to do instead, then found out that the Lego Store a few towns over held a club for kids my age. In the end, he just wanted me to be happy. It’s been a long time since I’ve disappointed my dad.
“I’m really sorry about how he acted tonight. Running all hot and cold like that. I wish … I just wish I understood what he’s so upset about.”
Anson dropped my hands and dropped to the couch. “Your dad’s a good man, Benji. He was when we were young, and he reminded me of that again tonight with how protective he was of you.”
“I’m a grown man, Anson; I don’t need his protection.” I tried not to sound petulant, just factual, because I knew that what my dad did, he did out of love. Anson spoke over me as I said it.
“I shouldn’t have come here.”
I sat on the coffee table opposite him, our knees practically touching. “Why did you?”
“I think you know why.” He swallowed his words, barely breathing them out. I waited, and he found my hands. It was so conflicting, feeling warm and safe while at the same time, holding his hands felt like the most dangerous thing in the world.
“These past few days have been torture, Benji. And I wish I understood here”—without letting go of my hand, he tapped his heart, taking my hand along for the ride—“why we can’t …
” He paused before continuing, mid-thought, “… because I’ve missed seeing you so much.
It’s only been a few days, yet I miss you so much. ”
I let his words hang in the air between us as I tried to figure out how to solve the problematic equation that had been presented to us.
I knew he was trying to figure it out himself.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, proving that simply existing in a room with Anson was better than not being near him.
Baseball commentary droned on in the background.
Apparently, Abbott Page was having a really good start to his season.
I thought being apart was the right thing, but seeing him sitting there, looking so distressed, it didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel like I was protecting him when I saw how upset he looked.
Silence lingered until we both spoke, one right after the other, his response barely leaving any daylight between it and my last word.
“Could there possibly be a way?” I whispered, afraid to speak it out loud.
“I’ve been doing some research. New Day…”
I jumped up.
“Yes! Exactly! That’s how you and I solve problems.” I walked over to the coat closet near the front door, feeling Anson’s questioning eyes on me the entire time.
“This is how we solve problems.” I smiled as I emerged from the closet, having fought jackets and sweatshirts, not to mention a floor full of boots and ratty sneakers, to find the large easel pad tucked along the back wall.
I mostly worked on my computer, but occasionally I felt the need to jot out my thoughts longhand.
Jake had purchased the huge sticky notepad after a brain blast had kept me up all night months earlier, scribbling on the entrance way wall for lack of a better option.
Jake had also bought the paint we would need to cover up my calculations, which he’d left for me to use.
I returned to the living room and slapped a piece of the sticky paper on the wall next to the TV, shutting it off manually.
“Benji? Do you want me to tell you what I found out?”
“Not yet!”
I drew a big X at the top of the page. “Solve for x, when x is …”
“Benji, this isn’t some problem we can calculate our way out of!”
“Isn’t it?” I felt desperate all of a sudden.
Like the electrical surge that sparked a light bulb, I had realized that part of protecting Anson was making sure he wasn’t miserable.
When I saw him sitting on my couch, watching baseball with Jake, I was sure he’d been as miserable as I had been since my last day in the lab, and I hated it.
I positioned the marker. “Solve for X, Anson,” I stressed, “When X is us being together.”
“It's … but that’s not what you want, is it, Benji?” His words may have confused me for a moment, but just for a moment.
Anson was trying to find a way out—because we should be finding a way out of the situation.
He was assuming my excitement still had to do with having some kind of temporary fling with a man I’d worshiped since I was a kid.
Bullshit.
“Of course, it’s what I want, Anson!”
He was in front of me in an instant, hand at the back of my neck, his fingers anchored in my hair.
“No buts?” he asked, shaking his head no like he was sure that would be my answer.
“Zero caveats.” I smiled, my head mimicking his. “Absolutely. No. Buts.”
His lips were on mine, like he’d fade to nothing if he didn’t kiss me.
My hand found his waist, the other still awkwardly holding the marker midair.
His fingers gripped my hair, locking me in position.
He took a step closer, and I tightened my fingers at his waist, beginning to lower my other hand as his lips cautiously sparked with mine.
“No!” I pulled away, turning to the wall and positioning the marker at the ready. “All the buts!”
I scribbled frantically below the big X.
X=A+B
“We can’t be together, Anson, unless we solve for X, because …” I thought about where to start, and my hand began to fly over the paper, barely keeping up with my thoughts.
Age gap
HR issues
Could interfere with Project Orthos
Will jeopardize your reputation
Friends with my dad
Beck will kill us
I paused. Those were the straightforward ones, the obvious ones we both could have easily come up with. I realized that to solve for X, what we really needed was to be honest with each other. So I started another section underneath my first list, writing again in bigger letters:
X=A+B.
Under B I wrote:
I have idolized you since I was a kid
Your picture was my screen saver
You may have been
(I crossed out the words “may have been” and continued)
you were part of my sexual awakening
I want to protect you, your reputation and your company
I capped the pen and turned to look at him.
“And I was willing to pull away and pretend I didn’t want this, to do so,” I let him know, the surge of honesty running though me, a feeling of freedom I never knew was possible.
I could tell Anson anything, I realized. More to the point, I wanted to tell him everything.