Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
JACKSON
The following day is Thanksgiving, and I’m realizing my parents never contacted me after I didn't show up. Which makes it more and more clear that I made the right choice in not going home, even if it means I tell Preston I’m going on a walk so I can get some steps in, when in reality I just need to be alone and cry, or scream.
The meal is amazing, though I don’t eat much, and we all pitch in with cleanup before passing out from turkey induced comas. I’m feeling confused, and upset, and all around disheartened when Preston wraps his arms around me in bed.
“Hey,” he says, pressing a kiss to my ear. “You okay, Tinkerbell? You were quiet during dinner and you seem sad.”
“I’m okay,” I tell him. What am I supposed to say? My parents never called to wish me a happy Thanksgiving? Or to make sure I’m alive, or to ask why I’m not there, or find out where I am? “Just tired.”
He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “I know we’re just fuck buddies, or whatever, but I’d like to think I’m your friend, too. You know you can tell me stuff, if you want to.”
I shake my head and look back at him. I draw him down and kiss him, and it takes away a little of the ache. “Just hold me,” I say, and he does.
The next morning after an amazing breakfast of french toast, eggs, and bacon, Preston and Paris convince me to build a snowman with them in the backyard. Pam knocks on the window when Paris tries to give the snowman a dick and balls and scolds him, making us laugh, and of course the dick and balls are still there when we’re done and Pam is sighing in exasperation. “Lord, have mercy,” we hear her murmur when she sees the finished product through the window again after we’ve come inside and taken all of our snow gear off.
She still makes us hot chocolate, though.
That evening we head downtown again, to Old Town Square, where there’s ice skating and hot chocolate. Since I have never skated before, just like so many things on this trip, Preston says he’ll teach me, and Paris snorts and chuckles.
“Good luck with that,” he mumbles.
“Am I missing something?” I ask.
“He doesn’t think I’m a very good teacher,” Preston says, crossing his arms and sneering at his brother.
“Not very good?” Paris says, in between bouts of laughter. “You are awful at it. You tried to teach me for two years and then Chris came along and I learned in one afternoon.”
“Look, I tried, okay? You were difficult.”
“I did exactly what you told me to do,” Paris retorts. He looks at me. “Don’t let him teach you unless you want to fall on your ass over and over. I don’t know about you but that’s not how I want my ass getting sore.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
I blink and he grins, then laughs when Pam smacks his arm.
“Paris James, we’re in public and there are children here.”
Phil is holding his hand over his mouth and it looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I’ll teach him,” he says. “Since you’re a dancer you might catch on quicker than you think.”
He’s right. It doesn’t take long before I’ve got it down, at least well enough that I don’t have to cling to someone for support. And I only fall down once, which I count as a win, especially when Preston is there to help me up.
After a while of skating with the family I take a break and get some hot chocolate. Phil comes to join me a minute or so later. He’s smiling when he sits down and rubs his knee. “These old joints aren’t what they used to be,” he says.
“They look good out there,” I tell him, as Preston, Paris and Pam glide around on the ice, their cheeks flushed and wide smiles on their faces. “You have a beautiful family.”
“Thank you,” he says. There’s a short pause before he speaks again and his words have me doing a double take. “I wanted to thank you, Jackson.”
“For?”
He nods towards the ice and his family. “I haven’t seen my son this happy in a long time. He’s doing better now, thank god, but for a while there we were really worried about him. He had so much on his shoulders, more than any teenager should have to carry, and he did it all without complaint because he loves us, but we could see how much it affected him, even though he tried not to show it. I don’t know how much he’s told you…” he makes eye contact with me.
“He told me about Phoenix, and the two of you having cancer.”
He nods. “Losing his brother, god, that was the hardest thing we ever went through, and I can tell you I think it was the hardest for him in some ways. Phoenix was the responsible one, you know, the one who took care of and looked out for everyone else, and Preston, well, he wasn’t.” He laughs a little. “I love my son, but he was the happy go lucky carefree type who didn’t really worry about anyone but himself, because he never really had to. Typical teenager, in other words. But losing Phoenix, it really rocked him, and he grew up really fast after that, especially once he was the caretaker for his mother and me while we were going through treatment and surgery. He was doing everything for everyone; looking after sick parents, driving Paris back and forth to school, helping with his homework, all the while trying to keep his head above the water and graduate high school. He was supposed to be going to homecoming and prom and playing his final year of volleyball, and instead he was taking us to chemo, and teaching Paris how to drive.” He takes a breath and I try to let it all soak in.
“That sounds really hard. For all of you.”
“Watching him graduate high school was one of the best days of our lives because there were times, with everything he dealt with, we weren’t sure he was gonna make it. His mom and I thought he might honestly just drop out because it was too much to handle, but he stuck with it. Then he stayed home for a year before going off to college so he could make sure we were all doing okay after everything.”
“He’s a great guy,” I say, gazing over at Preston as he grips Pam’s hand and they skate together.
“He is, and I’m really proud of him. I’m proud of all of my sons. But I know he still struggled with guilt, even after he went to college, wondering if he should have stayed longer, done more, worrying about us and Paris. But that smile, that’s something I thought I would never see again, and that’s why I’m thanking you, because I know you’re the one who put it there. Whatever you guys are to each other, you make him happy, Jackson.”
Shit. He can’t stay stuff like that. I don’t need anyone putting ideas in my head that this can ever be more than what it is, because even if I make Preston happy now, at some point, he’ll wake up and realize what I've known all along — I’m just a stand-in, a filler, a place-holder, and when he finds the guy, or girl, he really wants, he’ll break my heart.
On Saturday, we have a late breakfast after sleeping in, and then Preston tells me he has one last place to take me before we head back to campus the following day.
He tells me it’s casual so I dress accordingly and we climb in the car. About ten minutes later he pulls up outside of a movie theater.
“What are we seeing?” I ask him as I unbuckle.
“They’re doing a showing of The Two Towers. I thought you might like to watch it on the big screen again.”
Damn him. “Thank you,” I say and he squeezes my hand before we head inside. We get popcorn and soda and I feel his hand sliding into mine again as we watch the movie. It’s as epic as always, and I love and hate that he thought to bring me here.
I’ve had the best time with him and his family, and am not at all eager to go back to school. Even as upset as I am about my parents, I still managed to enjoy myself more than I ever have at Thanksgiving, or any holiday, really. They’ve all been wonderful, and the thought of not having this again makes my heart hurt.
I’m becoming more and more aware of just how dumb I was to come home with Preston, because watching him with his family, it’s making me feel things for him that I’ve tried so hard not to feel, since the moment we met. But as we sit in the car and he drives us home, his fingers laced with mine again, I realize that the one thing I told myself not to let happen, has.
I’m in love with him, and that means that I have to let him go.
PRESTON
Saying goodbye is always hard, but I’m comforted by the fact that I’ll be back with my parents and brother in only a few weeks.
Paris gives me a hug and tells me to “be good.”
“You, too,” I tell him. “Bye, squirt.” He’s grinning when I pull away. Mom has tears in her eyes and Dad puts his arm around her and holds her close.
“Bye, gorgeous,” Paris tells Jackson, with a little wave and a big smile. “You’re welcome back any time.”
Both of my parents tell Jackson how wonderful it was to have him here, and then we’re getting in the car and driving away.
I drop Jackson off at my place when we arrive and we see that his car is cleared of snow.
“You wanna come up?” I ask him, but he shakes his head. He was really quiet for most of the ride back and I wonder what’s on his mind. Maybe it’s his parents again? “Okay, well, I’ll text you later then.”
He nods and gets in his car before pulling out of the parking lot and disappearing around the corner.
When I text him that night there’s no response. Not even two hours later when I finally decide to go to bed.
There’s nothing from him the following day either, and I keep checking my phone between classes, wondering if he’s okay, because it’s not like him to not respond.
The day after that, when I still haven’t heard anything, I text him again. Nothing. Now I’m not sure if I should be more worried or upset. What the hell is going on? Is he sick? Did he get hurt? Why isn’t he talking to me?
I send another message asking him to please let me know he’s okay.
Two more days go by before I finally get an answer from him, and I’m a fucking nervous wreck. I’ve come so close to reaching out to Parker and asking if he’s seen Jackson or if he’s been over at their place, or just showing up at his apartment and pounding on the door until he answers.
Tinkerbell: I’m fine
That’s it? That’s all he gives me after a fucking week of no communication? I’m fucking losing my mind, and he’s “fine?” What the hell? I wait for more, an explanation of some kind, but it never comes. And I’m left confused and angry when I text him back, once again asking if he wants to come over, and there’s no reply, not even three days later.
I get on Grindr to try and contact him through there, but he’s disappeared from the app completely. I call him and it goes to voicemail. I call and text for three more days with no reply before I’ve finally had enough, and decide to show up on his doorstep after all. I can’t fucking think straight, not knowing what is going on and why he’s fucking ghosting me. I’m doing shitty work in class, I’m getting fuck all sleep, and I’m sick to my goddamn stomach because I was getting ready to tell him how I’m fucking in love with him, and that I want more, and he’s treating me like goddamn trash.
“Jackson!” I shout as I pound on the door. “I know you’re in there. Your car’s in the parking lot, you asshole, now answer the goddamn door!” I pound for a few more seconds, neighbors nearby poking their heads out and glaring at me. I ignore them.
“Jackson, fucking talk to me!”
The door swings open eventually and I see Colby standing there with a towel around his waist and nothing else. Well, thank god for the towel, at least.
“Where is he?” I demand.
“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Colby says. “I’m sorry.”
“No, he doesn’t get to end it like this. Tell him to fucking man up and tell me what’s going on.”
“He won’t say anything to either of us,” Colby says, his tone gentle. “Just goes to class and then comes home and studies or sleeps. Spends hardly any time with his friends either. It’s been that way since he got back from break.”
My anger dissipates a little. “Is he okay? God, I’m losing my mind here. He won’t answer any of my texts or calls and I don’t even know if I fucked up or something.”
Colby shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Maybe just give him a little bit more time.”
“I’ve given him two weeks,” I tell him in despair. “Please, just let me in so I can talk to him.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t man. Not if he isn’t ready.”
Shit, I must be more upset than I even realized because tears sting at the corners of my eyes now. “Please,” I beg softly.
“I’ll talk to him, okay?” he promises me. “You’re a good guy, Preston. He’s struggling, and I don’t want to push his boundaries. If you haven’t been able to get him to talk to you by the end of next week, though, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”
I nod and sulk back down the stairs, tears falling freely now. My eyes are so blurry I can barely see to make my way to my car. When I reach it, I kick the fucking tire again and again, and bang my fist on the hood a couple times, before screaming.
It doesn't help as much as I hoped it would.