Chapter 18
In their Uber on the way home, Jem inspected a patch of road rash on the back of his arm that was oozing. “Is it weird that this actually makes me like him more?”
Tean didn’t answer. But to judge by the glare the doc sent his way, he didn’t feel the same way.
After Daniel’s getaway, Jem had stumbled inside, only to find Tean and an eerily composed Lucy emerging from the building.
Jem’s half-assed (and half-concussed) story about looking for Daniel, only to have Daniel get the drop on him and steal his keys, somehow seemed to work.
Hospital security bought it. The police bought it.
Even dumbasses Trevino and Van Cleave bought it.
Probably—Jem eyed himself in the rearview mirror—because of the wheezing, the mussed hair, the oil stains, the fact that he couldn’t stand up straight, and, oh yeah, the road rash.
“I already kind of liked him,” Jem said. “Because of that thing with the pen. That kid is fast. But this was next level.”
“Can we not talk about it, please?”
“I’m just saying, I thought I was going to hate him because, well, he’s Ammon’s kid. And he is a manipulative little shit, which he definitely gets from his dad. But then I realized I’m a manipulative little shit—well, I used to be, before I met you and reformed and became a new man.”
“You haven’t reformed. You’re not a new man.”
“I’m totally a new man! Babe! Last week, that lady wanted to write me a check for Scipio’s charity, and I wouldn’t let her.”
“That’s because there is no charity! You made it up because that woman at the park didn’t want you to let him play in the fountain.”
“But it’s a good idea, right? Bubble Puppies is killer.”
As though Tean hadn’t heard him, he continued, “And you got that extra order of onion rings from Sonic last weekend, and you didn’t pay for it.”
“Hold on, that was an honest mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake. You told the young man working there he had pretty eyes! And then you pretended not to have enough money for the onion rings.”
“He did have pretty eyes! Not as pretty as yours. Yours are the prettiest.” Jem directed the next words to their driver. “Ahmed, doesn’t my boyfriend have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen?”
Ahmed, who had to be pushing fifty, probably topped out at five-three, and had combed his hair into the sweetest side part Jem had ever seen, chuckled nervously. “I don’t know.”
“Look into his eyes,” Jem said.
“Don’t look into my eyes,” Tean snapped. “Look at the road so we don’t swerve into traffic and have an accident. Do you know how many people die on the way to the emergency room because they get stuck in traffic?”
“No, but I want to,” Jem said, perking up. “Is it six?”
“Is it six?”
“Eight. Wait, let Ahmed guess—Ahmed, how many do you think it is?”
“More than eight,” Ahmed said with another nervous chuckle.
Tean opened his mouth—and for the first time in what felt like a long time, that familiar, ghoulish light started up in his face. The one that was sometimes a little too close to glee. Then he shook his head, shut his mouth, and stared out the window.
“Oh come on,” Jem said. “Tell me. Tell me about orphan-wagons getting T-boned. Tell me about how manufacturer-designed crumple zones mean drivers are safer than their passengers, and so every driver has an ethical obligation to tell their passengers it’s every man for himself.
Ahmed, I notice you didn’t give us that warning. ”
“Oh my,” Ahmed said.
Still nothing from Tean, so Jem said, “Tell me about how many people get bowel obstructions because they can’t make it home for their afternoon dumps.”
“Jem,” Tean said, voice sharp. “Knock it off.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
And it was a long way, made longer by the afternoon traffic.
They passed Thanksgiving Point, which was decked out with black and purple balloons and had a sign advertising Spooktober and—this was even more badass—Dinos After Dark.
They passed the glass-and-steel bulk of the Adobe headquarters, squatting above them and flickering orange in the sun.
They passed Point of the Mountain, and the prison on the other side, where tiny figures moved behind the distant screens of wire-topped fences.
Jem watched them, head slumped against the glass.
You go around and around and you don’t get anywhere, because you’re fenced in on every side.
All day, every day, moving and doing and trying, and you don’t ever go anywhere.
You’re just stuck. Here. And it’s the shits.
When Ahmed finally dropped them in front of their house, it was almost six, and long shadows ran across the lawns. Inside, Scipio was making his slow descent from the couch, stretching, shaking himself, testing first one paw then the other, the tags on his collar jingling with every movement.
“Come on, boy,” Jem said, ruffling the dog’s ears.
After Scipio had done his business, they played fetch for a while. The cold wasn’t quite deep enough for Jem’s breath to turn white, but it sliced at his ears, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose. Part of that had to do with the deep shadows; the day had been lovely until the sun had gone down.
Scipio, of course, was unbothered. The Lab sprinted back and forth, chasing the balls that Jem sent across the yard: thumping when they hit the ground, hissing as they rolled through the grass, the chain-link rattling when Scipio couldn’t catch them in time and they hit the fence.
Because there was a fence. All the way around the yard. On every side.
“Are you guys going to stay out there all night?” Tean asked from the back door.
Tean’s only surrender to the fact that they’d come home was that he’d taken off his Keens and now stood in the thick wool socks he preferred, and he held a mug between his hands.
More tea. Probably, Jem thought with something like despair, his sadness tea. “It’s cold; come in.”
Scipio took off for the back door before Jem could explain that they were totally fine and they were going to keep playing and you’re probably getting a chill, so you can go back inside. So, Jem trudged after the dog, head down.
The kiss on the cheek caught him by surprise. “I’m sorry,” Tean said. “I was in a bad mood. I shouldn’t have talked to you that way.”
Jem tried to catch some glimpse of what lay behind Tean’s serious look. Finally, he said, “I got those onion rings because I’m a people-person. People like me.”
“Gay boys like you.”
“And I like them! I’m so good with gay boys!”
Tean’s bushy eyebrows went up.
“Uh, in a way that’s totally appropriate for, you know, us being in a committed monogamous relationship.”
“Nice save.”
“And dogs deserve to play in fountains. I’m not going to apologize for standing up for what’s right.”
The smile might have been a shadow, the way it bent Tean’s cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Is that chicken noodle soup?”
“Barely. But it’s Lipton’s—”
“The only legit chicken noodle soup.”
“It’s a powder that’s mostly chemicals, Jem.” But before Jem could argue, Tean continued, “And I’m going to make grilled cheese.” With a trace of embarrassment, he added, “We didn’t have American, but I’ve got this bucket of food-storage cheese—”
Jem groaned and started to melt against the doorjamb. Then he caught the look on Tean’s face and said, “What the actual fuck?”
“Swear jar,” Tean said.
“Why are you fucking with my head?”
That same smile bent his cheek a little further. “We are out of American, which is technically not a cheese and more of a processed cheese product, which means it’s really just a lot of dairy byproducts and emulsifiers—”
“And it’s delicious. Don’t forget that it’s delicious.”
“—so, I DoorDashed some Kraft singles.”
Somehow, Jem’s knees stopped melting. He dragged himself up a little. He wasn’t quite ready to hope yet. “Even though you hate DoorDash.”
Tean nodded.
“Even though DoorDash drastically increases carbon emissions and single-use packaging, with the only benefit being a minor increase in convenience for people who are too lazy to actually do things themselves.”
Tean nodded again.
“And even though DoorDash is the quintessential example of a tech bro innovation that fixes a problem that wasn’t really a problem, and it’s just a money grab by the rich that creates another low-paying job that traps people in the gig economy.”
“Even though,” Tean said.
“How can I love you this much?” Jem said, looping his arms around Tean’s neck. “I feel like I’m going to explode.”
Tean accepted a lot of kisses before he finally said, “You’re going to spill my soup.”
Jem did love Tean so much that he honestly felt like there wasn’t enough room for all those feelings inside him.
But he still put himself in charge of the grilled cheese sandwiches when it came time to cook, mostly because Tean was of the opinion that grilled could mean anything from a few specks of color all the way to the same level of incineration as Satan’s asshole.
They sat at the table as they ate.
“I’m sorry about the truck,” Jem said. “We’ll get it back.”
Tean shook his head, but what he said was “I feel like such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. You’re a kind person. I’m an idiot; I’m the one who fell for the I-stepped-on-glass bit.”
“I should have said no from the beginning. I should have taken him inside to Lucy.”
“Tean, you saw him: he was waiting for a chance to run. We were just an excuse.”
Tean made a noncommittal noise, and they ate in silence. Jem took the opportunity to sneak some cheese under the table to Scipio, who immediately gave him away by thumping his tail in excitement. Tean, however, didn’t seem to notice.
Finally, the doc said, “He damaged one of the sprinkler heads in his room. That’s how he set off the alarm.”
“Okay, that proves my point: he was looking for an opportunity. We were just the dumbasses who gave it to him.”
“But I should have done something! Jem, if anything happens to him, it’s my fault.”