31. Can something be the same but also different?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
can something be the same but also different?
In some ways, being with Forrest again feels incredibly familiar.
He knows that nothing makes me weaker than when he washes my hair for me—something he’s happy to do when we shower together after he thoroughly destroys me—and he knows the spot to press between my shoulder blades that makes all my tension melt away.
But I can already see there are many new things for me to discover with him.
I want to make sure I still know what he likes too.
I want to know every time he’s thought of us over the past year and said nothing.
I want to tell him all the things I held back because I felt like I hadn’t earned the right to say them.
And apparently there are new things he’s noticed about me too.
When I step out of the bathroom, having taken a minute for myself after our shower, I find him sitting in our bed looking like it’s exactly where he belongs.
While we’ve been sharing the bed for almost a week now, it was exclusively for sleeping.
And—at least on my part—fixating on the fact that Forrest was lying within arm’s reach and trying not to hyperventilate.
But now, everything is much more relaxed, like it should be. Forrest is here, like he should be, a paperback propped on his knee and a glass of water with a bag of cheese puffs waiting for me on my nightstand.
I don’t know where he got my favorite snack, but even with our big dinner earlier, nothing has ever looked tastier…
except maybe Forrest, shirtless and in those damn glasses.
He only wore them sometimes when we were in college, but I couldn’t be more thankful that his eyesight is now trash because he wears them all the time now.
When we were younger, we were in constant motion, barely giving our bodies enough rest and sustenance for them to function. There were never enough hours in a day for all the things we wanted to see, to do. But now, there’s an ease between us. And there’s room for comfort and care.
Being with my best friend after so long is knowing we have all the time in the world to enjoy every single moment together. This is everything I’ve been waiting for. And I think he feels that too.
When I pull back the sheet to slide in bed beside Forrest, he automatically lifts the arm closest to me, a silent invitation I’m all too happy to accept—but I bring my cheese puffs with me.
Once I’m nestled as close to Forrest as I can be without crawling beneath his skin, I take a look at what he’s reading and scrunch my nose when I realize he’s studying some more.
“Forrest, is this really your post-sex reading material of choice?” I tease, poking him in his side.
“Trust me, I wish it wasn’t.” He holds his place with his finger when he flips the book closed. “And this is between-sex reading material, not post. I just need a little longer than I did when we were nineteen.”
“I’m sure those diagrams will get you right in the mood,” I say in my sultriest voice. “You study too much.”
Forrest frowns like he has been when we talk about these exams. I’ve never asked because he’s never offered, but I can tell something’s off. He said to be my usual self, and my usual self would be nosy as hell, so…
“What’s with the face?” I ask. It comes out harsher than I wanted. “Sorry. I just mean I see you get sad when you talk about them. If you’re trying to hide it, you’re not very good at it. Do you not want to be an architect anymore?”
It certainly didn’t seem like there was any lost passion when we went to the Frank Lloyd Wright house, but I can’t think of what else is going on.
Forrest takes a deep breath, sounding truly drained when he releases it.
“The opposite,” he says, and I can feel a confession coming from the way his eyes slide sideways to me.
“I feel like I’m one of the lucky ones. When I took my first architecture class, I found exactly what I should be doing for the rest of my life, and I’ve loved every single minute in the industry ever since.
But I need to pass these damn tests to get my license.
And that is a lot of pressure,” he continues.
“But you can pass them. You’re the smartest person I know.
You always have been. They’ll probably need to create a new scoring system to account for how well you do.
” That last part might be just to make Forrest feel better, but the rest is true.
Forrest was valedictorian at our school and always my first stop whenever I struggled with a class, whether he was in that class with me or not. He never once let me down.
“Cam,” Forrest says without laughing at my praise, and I realize something’s wrong. “I already failed part of it. Twice.”
“Oh.” I’m speechless.
“I haven’t told anybody except you,” he says, looking down at his hands where one finger bends the corner of his book cover back and forth.
I now understand how the corners of the black notebook he gave me got so curled.
“Apparently, it’s really common, and it’s not a big deal, but I’ve never failed at anything before.
It hasn’t been an option. I knew I’d need my grades for college, but school never came easy for me.
I did well because I studied my ass off every chance I got.
Eventually, doing well was just expected of me, and it kept happening.
But these exams? They’re like nothing I’ve ever had to do before.
If I don’t pass this time, the parts I already passed will start expiring, and I’ll need to retake those too.
I feel like I’m drowning, and because I’ve always been such a good swimmer, nobody has noticed,” Forrest continues.
His words are like a gut punch because I realize the truth in them right away.
When we—our parents, our friends, I—called him Forrest the brainiac, or Forrest the nerd, or Professor Forrest, we meant it as a compliment.
I never thought any more about it. I’m guessing none of us did, and that’s a huge problem. And for being interesting…
“Cam, I can’t fail again.” Forrest says it like it hurts.
“Yes you can,” I say, and Forrest finally looks at me, looking as perplexed as I’ve ever seen.
“I’m so sorry to be one of the people who made you think you weren’t allowed to fail.
Of course you are. You’re a human. Failure is inevitable.
But it doesn’t change who you are or how smart I know you are or how incredible I think you are,” I say, sitting up on my knees so I can look at him properly.
Forrest starts shaking his head, but I don’t give in. After doing wrong by him in this way for so long, I’ve got to try to undo the damage.
“Just look at me with my writing career. I’d say the last year is a pretty big fucking failure. Does that mean I’m a failure?” I ask.
“Of course it doesn’t, but—” Forrest starts.
“But nothing. You’re excellent, Forrest. But you’re not a robot.
You’re going to make mistakes just like the rest of us.
But I know you’re going to get back up and do whatever you need to do to get that license and be an architect.
And if you decide you don’t want to do that, I know you’ll find something else that makes you happy.
That’s who you are.” I pause, wishing I could let Forrest into my mind so he could see himself the way I see him.
He just looks at me, maybe regretting telling me to start mouthing off to him again.
“You might think I’ve studied a lot while we’re here, but it’s nothing compared to the obsession I had back home without somebody to watch over me,” he finally says softly. “I just want it so badly.”
“Then you’ll have it. No doubt in my mind. No matter how many times you have to take these exams.” Then, because I can, I lean forward and kiss him.
When he pulls back, there’s still a hint of concern in his eyes.
“And if I don’t, you won’t think I’m boring? Being smart is kind of the only interesting thing about me,” he says, a deep vulnerability in his expression.
“Oh, Forrest.” I crawl over his lap, taking the book and setting it open, pages down to hold his spot, on the bed.
Then I slide my fingers into Forrest’s hair on each side of his head so he has to look at me.
“I need you to hear me when I say this. There has never been a single boring thing about you. No matter what you do for work or what exams you do or don’t take. ”
“I just feel like everything about me is simple, dull,” Forrest admits.
“Says the man who has, in the past couple of weeks alone, tried line dancing and golf for the first time. You could never be boring. Not to me. I never want you to push yourself to do something you don’t want to do because you think I want it.
” I shake my head. “That’s not how this works between us. ”
“I wanted to do all those things, and I had fun doing them with you,” Forrest assures me.
“Then keep trying what you want to try. And if you decide line dancing is on the table but cliff diving isn’t, or if you decide a quiet night in is what you want, I think that’s perfect too. You’re interesting because of who you are, not what you do.”
He closes his eyes, and I hope he feels better like I did after I told him about my writing problems. Weights don’t feel so heavy when you have somebody to help bear the load.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say as I move to get off his lap.
But Forrest follows me, disregarding whatever place he was holding in the book as it slides off the mattress and to the floor.
“You know, that book wasn’t working for me, but it turns out you believing in me is a fucking incredible aphrodisiac,” Forrest says as he lowers his lips to my neck, biting the soft skin there.
A distinct crinkle of plastic pulls my attention away from the moment.
“My cheese puffs,” I whine, turning my head to try and find where they’re being crushed.
“I’ll buy you new cheese puffs, Cam,” Forrest says, shoving the still-closed bag to the floor.