Chapter 12
TAJ
—Boys Don’t Cry
by Mikolas Josef
I fight back tears my entire drive back home.
It doesn’t really work; the more I try to stop them, the more my eyes sting.
And then I get annoyed at myself for even feeling like this in the first place.
It’s ridiculous, I know. I knew from the beginning that there was a time limit to our days together, that he may never cave.
But knowing it and actually experiencing it are two very different things.
I’m spending Christmas and the New Year’s at my parents’ in Brno. Maybe the distance will help. Maybe a few weeks away will be enough to sort my head out, to get it in the right space so I can face him when school resumes.
When I get home, I’m still in a foul mood.
I take a shower, standing under the water longer than I need to, trying to wash away my sullen mood …
it doesn’t. When I step out of the shower and pull on a pair of shorts, I find myself chasing after a different type of warmth, something the heater in my room can’t provide.
I lie down in bed, alone, staring at the ceiling and trying to keep my thoughts from spiralling. When my phone rings, I snatch it from my bedside, thinking it’s Mike. But I got my hopes up for nothing. Instead, it’s Daniel’s name on the screen.
“Yo, Taj,” he greets as his face appears on the screen.
“Yo yourself,” I reply.
“You good?” he asks immediately.
Daniel has always been perceptive, and he has the benefit of being the closest thing I’ll ever have to a brother.
We weren’t just raised together—with the fourteen years between us, he also watched me grow up.
Sometimes that baby face of his can be deceiving and his insightfulness still catches me off guard.
“I’ll be fine. Where are you?”
“London. Paulie is angry I couldn’t come see him when he was in Prague, so I flew in once I had the time.”
“That’s not what I said,” Paul’s voice calls out in the background. A second later, Daniel turns the camera, and Paul comes into view, scowling. “Get that out of my face, you heathen.”
I chuckle at that. From all the stories Daniel has told me, teasing Paul has always been his favourite pastime.
And there’s Paul reacting with the same I’m-barely-tolerating-you grumbling that I remember from the first time I met him, especially regarding Daniel.
If they asked me, I’d tell them to just kiss and get it over with.
There’s something there, even if they both act like it’s purely mutual annoyance.
Or maybe, it’s just me seeing patterns where I want them to exist. Maybe, my brain is just a mess right now.
Daniel turns the camera back to himself. “We’re having a joint birthday party for myself and Paulie next summer. Start preparing,” he says.
“We are not,” Paul snaps from somewhere off camera.
“We are. See, I’m already inviting our guests.”
“Isn’t it too early to start preparing for a summer party?” I ask
“Nah. The earlier we start, the earlier Paulie can get on board and give Prosper his guest list.”
“I’m not inviting anyone to your nefarious party,” Paul deadpans.
He turns away from the camera. “You mean our nefarious party. It’s the big two-five for you and the three-five for me. We’re going to have a blast,” he declares before turning back to me. “Now, tell me why you have that look on your face.”
“Maybe his hot professor broke his heart,” Paul supplies.
“No shit! You have a crush on your professor?” Daniel’s eyes widen. “How old is this man?”
“Leave me alone,” I glower at him. “He’s thirty-two, but it doesn’t matter anyway. He doesn’t want anything to happen between us.”
“Bro, I think he’s too old for you. And you probably shouldn’t date your professor anyway,” Daniel says. Before I can answer, Prosper calls his name in the background. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
I sigh and roll my eyes as he ends the call.
I heard what my cousin said, but he doesn’t understand how far gone I am.
I keep circling back to Mike . . . him telling me it was a bad idea for us to be together, the way he had looked when he said it.
He wasn’t rejecting me, exactly. He was saying we couldn’t be together now.
Maybe instead of ending, it only has to wait.
I sit up and pull up his number, dialling it before I can talk myself out of calling. It rings, and then rings again, but he doesn’t pick up. I try twice more. It’s the same result each time, until my frustration builds into restlessness.
I get out of bed, change into sweats and hoodie, and I race downstairs. I don’t have a plan. I just know I need to see him. I want to tell him we can keep hanging out until the coast is clear. I grab my jacket from the closet, shove my feet into my sneakers, and open the door.
I stop dead in my tracks.
Mike is standing there, his hand raised like he’s about to knock. His presence knocks me sideways.
“How did you know,” he asks, voice almost a whisper.
I blink at him, confused. “Know what?”
“That I’ll come begging.”