Chapter 35 #2
Tean didn’t groan. Not exactly. But Jem could practically hear him squirming.
“We’re in the movie theater,” Jem said, trying not to laugh. “Knock when you get here.”
“I’ll be right there. Oh, Jem?”
“Hm?”
“Maybe don’t say bitch.”
“Got it.”
“Especially around the kids.”
“Wait till they learn what a roller dog is.”
Tean disconnected. You knew you loved somebody, Jem thought, when you could tell they were panicking just from how they ended a call.
Maeve and Milo came back, and they ate their nachos, all three of them sitting crisscross on the floor.
Maeve proceeded to tell Jem at length the plot of several books from The Mysterious Benedict Society, with Milo jumping in to provide corrections, additions, or sometimes only to repeat what Maeve had said.
The books did sound pretty good, and Jem thought maybe they’d go on his list. You know, when he caught up with a ten-year-old.
A rap on glass made Jem gather himself. His head still had that thick feeling, but he was steadier on his feet now. Tean was peering in through the door, shading his eyes with one hand. When he saw Jem, his expression softened.
“Hey,” Jem said as he opened the door.
“Hi.” It only took seconds for Tean to scan him and say, “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Uh.” Jem scratched his beard. “So, I might have taken something.”
“What did you take?”
“An Ambien?” It sounded a lot like a question, even to Jem, and he couldn’t help adding, “Maybe?”
“Jem.”
“I know, I know.”
Tean took Jem’s head in his hands. He inspected his eyes, thumbing back Jem’s eyelids. Then he moved his hands to Jem’s wrist and checked his pulse.
“I do think it was an Ambien because my head is like—you know those ghosts on Mario Kart?”
Tean shushed him. His fingers were tight against the pulse point in Jem’s wrist. His hair looked like he’d been running his hands through it. His eyebrows were, to put it in a word, insane.
“Am I going to live?” Jem asked.
“It’s not funny,” Tean said. “What did you take earlier today?”
Jem opened his mouth, ready to explain how he hadn’t taken anything.
“Jem, please,” Tean said.
“One zannie.” He even held up a finger to show how good he’d been. It felt like less of a moral victory, though, when he held up another finger and added, “One addie.”
“You shouldn’t mix medications like that.”
“I know.”
“You shouldn’t be taking other people’s medications at all.”
“I know.”
“What if something happened to you?”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” In spite of Jem’s best efforts, a lopsided smile broke out. “Are we apologizing or are we fighting again?”
Tean let out a long breath before he said, “Apologizing.”
“Jem!” Milo shouted. “Can I have a hot dog?”
Tean insisted on helping—in spite of Jem’s best efforts to get him to relax and let Jem handle it.
Fortunately, the damage was minimal, and Jem just threw away the hot dog buns that had no ketchup, no mustard, and a lot of relish.
He prepped fresh buns—mustard for Milo, ketchup for Maeve, the works for himself, and for Tean, an extra dry bun with a sprinkling of despair.
He served up the dogs. Maeve took one bite and decided to show everyone what she’d learned at baton school.
It mostly involved jumping and swinging her arms. Milo—good man—just pounded his hot dog and then started doing, quote, karate.
“Is baton school a real thing?” Tean asked.
Jem shrugged. “Are mountain goats?”
“Yes.” Tean blinked. “Why?”
“Just checking.”
Tean was still watching Maeve. He had a little stubble—because he hardly grew any facial hair—and Jem was surprised to note that some of it was coming in silver.
Only a little, but it was there. And he wondered how much longer before it started showing up in Tean’s hair.
And at that point, what the hell was Jem going to do with himself?
Tean as a silver fox was going to wreck him.
“I don’t want you to hate your mom,” Tean said quietly.
“I know.”
Tean’s laugh sounded like it might break into lots of tiny pieces. “Do you?”
“Yes, obviously. And I know I shouldn’t have said that about you and your parents. That was way out of line, and it was shitty, and it’s not even true.”
“I think it might be true. I don’t know. I’m so angry, Jem. With them. All the time.” He let out a wet laugh and removed his glasses to wipe his eyes. “I’m such a mess. I know I’m a mess. And I’m sorry that I’m making your life so difficult right now.”
“You’re not making my life difficult. You are my life.”
Tean wiped his eyes again. He kept wiping, the seconds trickling past.
“It’s okay,” Jem said, slipping an arm around Tean’s waist. “You’re going through a lot. It’ll get better.”
Sniffling, Tean shook his head. But after a moment, he said, “At the beginning, the first few times I met with Hudson, it was such a relief. I felt so much better. Exhausted. And—and raw. But so much better. I was saying things I hadn’t said out loud before.
Saying things I didn’t even know I thought, sometimes.
About my family. About how I grew up. About how it made me—” His mouth twisted. “—so fucked up.”
“Hey,” Jem said.
“And then it stopped feeling good. It just…hurts. My emotions are totally out of control. I get overwhelmed way too easily. Half the time, I feel like I’m going crazy. And I know you’ve noticed. I know we’ve…talked about it, I guess.”
Jem waited, but when there wasn’t more, he said, “Not really.”
“No, not really. You’re right.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“I don’t know that there’s much more to tell.
” But Tean wiped his fingers on his shoulder and said, “I understand, at a cognitive level, that therapy is about learning to accept the things in your life that you can’t change.
But it’s just so frustrating. The things they said.
The things they did. All the ways they made it impossible for me to be a normal, healthy, well-adjusted adult.
And do you know what the worst part is? Even though that’s all true, the worst part is that I’m also mad at myself.
I’m the one who made those choices. I’m the one who’s responsible. And that just makes it harder.”
Jem listened to their breathing, the broken rhythm of it. Maeve was trying to do a somersault now. Milo was jumping at a wall and kicking off it and screaming intermittently.
“I’m sorry your life isn’t what you want it to be,” Jem said.
“Jem, no. No, no, no. That’s not what I meant at all.
” Tean turned, still in the circle of Jem’s arm, and put his hand on Jem’s cheek.
“I love you so much. More than I ever thought I could love someone. I’ve never been happy the way I am with you—and that’s because of you.
Because you make me happy. This is the life I want.
I wouldn’t change anything if it meant I had to give you up. ”
Jem nodded.
“Sweetheart,” Tean whispered. “Love. Hey.”
Jem blinked. He turned his eyes up to the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” Tean said. “I didn’t think— Jem, please, that’s not what I meant. I’m not expressing myself well. That’s my fault. I just—” But he stopped again. “Remember that assignment? The letter to myself.”
Somehow, Jem managed another nod.
“I don’t know what to say to myself. I don’t know what to tell that younger version of me.
Or I do, but when I start to write it—I don’t know.
I tried. And I can’t. I just can’t.” He drew a deep breath.
And then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the little notebook.
He held it out to Jem. “But I thought, maybe, I could write a letter to you.”
Jem took the notebook. He opened it. Tean’s familiar handwriting blurred as he tried to clear his eyes. The letters seemed extra slippery today, and it took him longer than he wanted to follow the shapes. But he made himself go slow. He took his time.
Dear Jem,
In my mind, you’re eleven years old, and you’re living in a home that I know very little about, and you have already learned so many hard truths about this world and about the people who live in it.
I know you are smart and capable, that you know how to take care of yourself, and my heart breaks that you had to learn those things so young.
You are kind and tender-hearted, and you take care of people who are weaker than you.
I don’t know if you’ve met Benny yet, but I know that wherever you are, you’re watching out for people who need it.
I also suspect that you are causing a great deal of trouble and that you’ve got a haircut you hate.
The laugh tore its way out of Jem’s chest. He pulled up his sweatshirt to dry his eyes.
I’m writing this to tell you the things I wish someone had told you when you were a child.
First, that you are worthy of being loved.
You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met in my life.
The idea that anyone could not love you is impossible for me to understand.
To repeat, you are smart and capable, talented in so many ways, brave and self-reliant.
You are a good friend to those in need. You are kind.
You are silly and playful, and one of the things I love most about you is that somehow, in spite of everything the world has tried to do to you, you have protected that childlike wonder, and you use it to make the world a brighter place for the people around you.
I also want you to know that you are going to be okay.
I wish someone had told you that. You are going to go on and have a wonderful life.
You are going to meet someone who is trying his hardest to love you the way you deserve to be loved, even though he’s kind of a mess himself.
You are going to have a son (Scipio) who loves you even more than he loves his babies (the balls that are supposed to stay outside).
You are going to have a home, Jem. And you are going to have a family.