Chapter 16
I excuse myself and follow the sound of the slammed door. It leads me to the huge deck at the back of the house, where Hayden sits on the stairs leading out to the backyard, hands drawn behind his neck, and his head bowed. I can’t tell if he wants someone around him, but the thought of leaving him alone kills me. The least I can do is ask. I know he isn’t okay. I can’t let something like that go ignored.
He doesn’t say anything as I sit and drape a hand along the inside of his leg so he knows I’m here. His body tenses, but after a moment, he slips his fingers between mine.
“I’m sorry about that.” The words whoosh out of him. “I knew that would happen, and I brought you anyways.”
“I don’t care. I just care that you’re okay.”
“It’s whatever.”
Years of pain weighed on his shoulders, enough to push him to seek help for it. How many times had I belittled my own pain to spare someone else’s feelings? I can’t let him do the same. I understand the shame he might feel in showing vulnerability. I don’t know how long it’s been since someone’s been in Hayden’s corner.
“It’s not whatever .”
Hayden doesn’t say anything, but his attempts to conceal how he’s feeling permeate the air around us. “What you said…you didn’t have to.”
“Of course I did. They should know how impressive you are and how much what you do means to people. That’s way more important than a huge paycheck. And, trust me, one day you’ll have that, too.”
I sometimes struggle to believe we’re good enough to win and get more seasons and worry about how much it’ll do to my under-construction confidence if we lose. But for Hayden, I need to be brave. He put his show in the hands of a nonbeliever, and he put his trust in me. I can’t show weakness when he needs someone to be strong for him.
“This show…It feels like one of those last pieces I still have. My dad listened to me brainstorm every episode, helped me craft a good story. I learned everything I know about writing from him. It gave me something to throw myself into…you know, after.”
“Yeah.” I want to let him continue.
“No one ever had to see me or know when I had bad days,” Hayden says. “I could take breaks if I needed them, and people would be happy when I came back. Nobody had to see the worst of it. I guess it made me feel less alone. It didn’t feel like there was no one there.” He deflates. “It felt like people cared without my having to ask for help. I didn’t want to burden my mom with my worst days. Abby, either. I was trying to be as easy as I could be. I just wish doing my best was good enough.”
I move down a step and slide myself between his legs. My hands rest on his waist, thumbs brushing his belt loops. His eyes water again, and he looks away from me.
“You know, before I met you, I wasn’t really looking to believe in anything. Then I saw you on TV that night and I knew. I knew right away that you were it .”
Granted, I was cross-faded and delirious, but finding Hayden was one drunk decision I can never regret.
His thumb brushes along the back of my palm. I feel every bit of tension in his body, and I want to make it go away so desperately.
“I’m sorry your mom doesn’t see how special what you do is, but a lot of other people do. Your dad did. All our fans do. I do. The Out There makes a lot of people happy, and that’s no small feat. What we’re doing matters. And you should know you were the easiest choice I’ve ever made,” I tell him.
I hear his words in my head over and over again. He’s doing his best, but he needs help. He needed help and there was no one to do it. I can’t let him fall back into old patterns. “And if you’re hurting, it’s easy for me to help too.”
A tear slides down his cheek and he wipes it away in a panic, like I shouldn’t have seen that. Like asking for any semblance of help would inconvenience me. God, I wish he didn’t know this feeling like I do, but it’s clear we’re cut from the same cloth. He can’t take care of other people if he’s busy taking care of himself. So he doesn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. I cup the sides of his face, my thumb brushing beneath the frames of his glasses to wipe away the tears. My touch clearly comes as a shock, as his hands press against my arms like he’s pushing me away because this is something he can’t accept.
“Shh…” I say. “I promise, I don’t mind.”
Then he lets me slide my arms around his shoulders. His head rests on top of mine, a few warm tears dripping into my hair. It only makes me hold him tighter. I feel like I somehow have to make up for all those years he needed someone and never had that shoulder to cry on. Hayden’s fingers curl around the fabric of my sweater, and he holds on for dear life.
“It’s okay to be upset, if that’s how you feel.”
He holds me so hard it almost hurts, but he can take whatever he needs from me. Anything at all. Finally, he draws away. His damp eyes fog his glasses and I help him finish the job of wiping his tears. He flinches, like he’s ashamed I’m seeing this.
“Who’s been taking care of you this whole time?”
He chokes out a watery smile, hearing his own words thrown back at him. “Me?”
“That’s not a whole lot.”
“No,” he sighs. “It’s really goddamn lonely.”
“You don’t have to feel alone anymore.”
I don’t think it’s only him I’m speaking to.
“I haven’t since I met you.”
I try to keep my own eyes from watering, but he’s struck me so deep I don’t know how to respond. For all the time I spent worrying I was difficult to work with, unlikable, and irritating, someone’s life is better because I’m in it, and I have no choice but to believe him, because he does the same for me.
“Good. No more keeping things bottled up, okay? Whatever you need, I’m here.”
Hayden cups my cheek, leans in, and kisses me in a way he hasn’t before. Slowly, peacefully, like he’s falling asleep because for the first time in years, he has a soft place to rest his head. I know that he’s closed up his heart and run from love for so long, but when I hold him closer, he doesn’t pull away. I don’t believe in aliens or ghosts or anything I make my living talking about now, but I believe there is something beautiful between us that makes me feel like for the first time in a while, I know everything will be okay. Hayden sure hasn’t smashed my perceptions and beliefs about any conspiracy theories, but he has changed whether I believe I could possibly love someone again.
Finally, we break away.
“I have something for you.” I slide away and scurry to my purse, pulling out the tiny plastic bag I’d brought with me. I sit beside Hayden again and pass it to him.
“Is this…a joint?”
I nod. “You said you’d never broken the rules. Never got stoned in a shady basement or passed an unhygienic bong around the room. So…while we’re busy disappointing your mom…”
His smile grows as I slip the joint out of the bag and light it. “Are you going to demonstrate?”
“Hayden, it’s not that hard.”
“I’m a newbie.”
“Fine.” I suck in a puff. I haven’t smoked since the night I discovered him on late-night TV, and I don’t make a huge habit of it, but I am a solid five out of ten on the stoner knowledge scale, ten being Nora’s parents owning an artisanal weed boutique. I hold the smoke in my mouth for a moment before exhaling. “You want to try and hold it in for a few seconds so it takes effect.”
“Right,” he says as I pass the joint to him. He takes in a hit, hanging on to it, giving a quick cough, then exhaling like a pro.
“Excellent work.”
“Thank you, I try. Good thing I have you with me to make sure I don’t do anything crazy.”
“It’s weed. It makes you want to sit on the couch and eat Cheetos.”
“We do not have Cheetos.” His voice drops like he’s been presented with the world’s worst news.
“Or cookie dough. I could really go for cookie dough.”
“You know eating raw cookie dough can give you salmonella.”
“That’s a conspiracy theory.” I lie on the deck next to him and look up at the stars.
“Finally,” he adds, joining me. “A conspiracy you do believe in.”
We pass the joint back and forth a few times until it hits the bottom, and I stamp it out.
“How do you feel?” I ask.
My head is floaty. My limbs are light and I don’t feel as cold as I did before, but mostly, I’m just hungry and thinking about cookie dough.
“Somehow, I thought colors would look different.”
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “That’s LSD, not weed.”
“Hmm. Next time. It’s my own dabble into MKUltra.”
I glance over at where Hayden lies next to me on the deck. The moon glints off his glasses and—behind them—his green eyes are bloodshot, a combination of the pot and the tears. But at least now he doesn’t seem as self-conscious. I wish there was something I could say to make him understand how I don’t mind seeing him vulnerable, that I know how tough it is to break down in front of another person.
By the time our eyes meet, he’s already looking at me as well. The first thought that pops into my head is how I’m lucky. Lucky to find him when I did. Lucky to have someone who sees me as an equal. Lucky that at least I can see there was something on the other side of Cade. Something better.
My weed-hazy brain wants to tell him I love everything about him, but I don’t. It’s too soon. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as I inch closer. My fingers rest at the base of his wrist, feeling for the button on his sleeve. Once I find it, I undo the button and roll his sleeve to the middle of his forearm, where he wanted to leave them before. I trace the outline of ink along the inside of his forearm, chills rising to his skin under my touch.
“Deer,” I tease.
He shakes his head. “ Not Deer.”
He rolls his other sleeve up, and he finally looks comfortable in his dressy clothes. When I lie back, I move closer and rest my hands on the sides of his face. His cheeks are rough beneath my touch, but the curves of Hayden’s lips are soft and full. I want to taste the earthy bite of pot still on his breath and hear the sounds he’d make as I kiss him harder.
But before I can, the porch light flickers on and the door opens. Ellen steps onto the deck with us. Hayden freezes, eyes moving to me slowly like a Not Deer in headlights, and sits up. Surely his mom can smell the tinge of weed in the air, and she’ll be able to smell it on us in a moment. Of course her son brings home a chick with blue hair and he gets caught smoking pot.
Though, we only did this because he never had his burst of adolescent rebellion. I think he deserves at least one pass.
His mom bends down next to him. She runs her fingers through his dark hair and kisses the top of his head. I half expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t. It’s a step, accepting help when he needs it. Accepting love when he needs it.
His reflexes are a bit slow, but Hayden does lean into his mom when she hugs him tighter. I can tell by that alone how he so badly wants her approval and love.
“I want to see an episode of this show of yours,” she whispers.
“They’re on YouTube.”
Oh, good lord, his words are so slow, and one look at his bloodshot eyes will give it all away. She offers me a soft smile and rests her head on top of Hayden’s. “I want you to show me an episode.”
Hayden looks to me. I think of all our episodes, and I’m proud of them all. But I do wonder what episode I feel the most prepared to show my sort-of-boyfriend’s mom. I don’t know what’ll make a better impression: me explaining that I do not think JFK is the most fuckable president or me finding a creepy room in the Winchester Mystery House and proudly declaring it the “Sarah Winchester Sex Dungeon.”
Either way, I am not making a great first impression.
Ellen smiles. “Can I lure you back in with the prospect of munchies?”
I can’t tell if I’m registering horror or feral hunger in Hayden’s eyes.
“Why would I need munchies?” he mumbles. “Those are for people who are on drugs, which I am not.”
Jesus.
Ellen rolls her eyes. “I was a teenager in the seventies. Trust me. Come on.”
Finally, Hayden stands, slowly and leaning on me for balance, and follows his mom inside. We’ll show them the premiere. Ellen and Jeff guide us into the den, which I am convinced is a room only rich white people have.
When Jeff returns to the den with a small bowl of Cheetos, I decide he is not so bad after all and accept his peace offering. He also offers us artisanal popcorn from their fancy new popcorn maker. Jeff’s ready to settle in for the night, though each episode of The Out There is only a half hour. I respect how the man is in this for the long haul.
I take a seat on one of the leather couches beside Hayden. I’m not sure how we’re playing this yet, so I keep a reasonable distance from him. Instead, Hayden tugs me closer to him, and I lean against his shoulder. I’m something he wants close, and something he wants, period. There’s a lopsided, delirious smile on his face when his fingers lace with mine.
Ellen and Jeff look chuffed, and I am, too. I know Hayden’s clinging to me for comfort, but I’m happy he’s willing to ask for it and to show me what he needs.
“Back in the day,” Jeff says, “it was a ‘you get what you get and you don’t get upset.’?”
Hayden raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“The weed flavors. Now you kids have all kinds of fun twists.”
“Jeff has smoked a weed,” I whisper to Hayden.
“I know ,” he says, a tad too loud.
Ellen and Jeff are subjected to thirty minutes of the two of us provoking ghosts, touring the hotel, and the six clips from the six different times Hayden woke up in the middle of the night because a ghost poked him. Each of them chuckles several times, though they do look confused when Hayden goes off on the finer details of ghost hunting. I assure them I’m usually confused, too.
I expected to need harder drugs than weed to get through watching my most embarrassing claims to fame with my sort-of-boyfriend’s parents, but curled up in their cozy den beside Hayden—watching him watch his mom take an interest in what he does for the first time—it’s intoxicating enough.
When the first episode wraps, Ellen is the one to press Play on the next episode.