33. Solomon
THIRTY-THREE
SOLOMON
“I’m going to say something, and you’re not going to like it,” Em tells me over lunch on Friday.
I’ve been zoning out of the conversation with her and Jay since we sat down and I don’t have the energy to feel guilty about it.
I haven’t been sleeping much this week, which sucks for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that I can’t get my contacts in when my eyes feel so tired and scratchy.
And that means I’m stuck wearing my glasses, which makes me think of Cecelia constantly.
As if I needed another excuse.
Jay shifts in his seat, catching my attention.
He’s not looking at me, his face downcast, and I wonder if this was planned between the two of them, whatever Em is about to say.
He’s been quiet all day, not like himself.
It strikes me for the first time that he hasn’t been trying to cheer me up like he usually does.
Hasn’t been making bad jokes or annoying me just to get a rise out of me.
I’m not sure how to feel about that. It’s not like I enjoy his bad jokes or aggravations, but what does it say that he isn’t even bothering to try to change my mood anymore?
“Sol,” Em says, her voice firmer, and I tear my gaze away from her brother to look at her, not bothering to respond. Em is gonna say what she wants to say regardless of what I do, and talking takes too much effort.
She takes a deep breath, shooting a quick look at Jay before turning back to me. “I think you should see someone.”
I stare at her blankly, unable to put together her meaning, and not caring too much either way.
“Someone professional,” she clarifies. “A doctor.”
“No,” I say without hesitation.
“Sol,” she starts, but I cut her off.
“I’m not doing that, Em. Drop it.”
“But you’re depressed,” she says. “Like, really depressed. I’ve never seen you like this.”
I snort. “I’m always like this.”
“No, you’re not,” she says firmly. “You have rough patches, or whatever you want to call it, but you get through them. They don’t linger the way this is.
Things have never gotten bad enough that you stop doing classwork.
” She reaches across the table but I jerk my hand away, ignoring the way she winces at my reaction.
“This isn’t just about a shitty run-in with your dad. This is about her.”
I grit my teeth, trying to fight down the anger that has been so close to the surface all this week. “I thought you’d be happy, “I snap. “You never liked that I was with her.”
She stares at me, aghast. “You think I’d be happy that you ended things with someone you so clearly are in love with?
You think I’d be happy to see you heartbroken?
” Her voice is getting higher and higher with each question.
“You think I’d be happy that you let your parents get so in your head that you don’t think you deserve someone to love you? ”
“Emery—”
“I was worried about you when you started seeing her,” she says, ignoring my interruption.
“Because I didn’t think it was serious for her, and I knew how that could hurt you.
But that was before I actually saw you together.
It was before I saw her give you those earplugs at the concert so it wouldn’t be too loud.
It was before I talked to her at that bar and she told me that she trusted you to take care of yourself. ”
I blink at her. “She said that?”
She doesn’t answer, clearly on a roll now. “It was before I realized that she was in love with you, too, Sol.”
“She’s not,” I say automatically. I’ve had to repeat it to myself a bunch of times this week.
My brain keeps wanting to go back and relive the moment when she’d said those words to me after my dad left.
I’m in love with you, Solomon. But no matter how many times I replay them, I can’t force myself to believe that they’re true.
They can’t be true.
“She is,” Em says, her voice lower now, more gentle. “And I hate that you think you don’t deserve her.”
“Because I don’t.” The words scrape at my throat.
“That’s not true, Sol,” Jay says, his voice sharp. “And that kind of thinking is exactly the type of thing a therapist could help you with.”
“I don’t need a fucking therapist,” I snap, loud enough that a few heads turn in our direction. Great. The heat of embarrassment rushes through me, the same way it always has when I draw attention to myself for being such a fuck-up.
“Well, I do,” Jay says evenly.
It takes a second for his words to sink in and I stare at him. “You do what?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Need a therapist. I’ve been seeing someone for the past few months.”
I gape at him, completely shocked. “Why?”
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, Sol. Maybe ’cause my dad took off before I was even born? Maybe ’cause my mom cared more about her boyfriends and her parties and her lavish trips than she ever did about taking care of me?”
I have no idea what to say to him. “Jay…”
“It’s not a big deal, okay?” he says, looking uncomfortable now.
“But that party at the Ransome’s place…I had a really good time with CeCe’s teammate, Kia.
We talked all night and she gave me her number.
” He looks pained. “And then I never called her. I looked at her contact in my phone about a hundred times for the next two weeks before I deleted it.” His expression hardens.
“And the next night I hooked up with some girl whose name I don’t even remember. ”
Em makes a disgusted noise and Jay shrugs at her.
“I know it’s fucked up. That’s the whole point.
I do shit like this all the time. I chase the wrong girls and avoid the ones I actually like.
” He rubs a hand over his face. “And I started thinking maybe there’s a reason for that.
So, I went to the student health center and asked to talk to someone. ”
I shake my head, at a loss. “You never told me this.”
He snorts, looking a little pissed now. “I can’t imagine why.”
Something stirs in my chest. “You think I would have been an asshole?”
“I don’t know.” He holds my gaze. “Are you judging me right now, Solomon?”
“No, of course not.”
“Do you think less of me?”
“Jay—”
“Am I pussy?” he asks, relentless. “Am I a loser because I need some help sorting out what’s in my head?”
“No. I can’t believe you would even think that I’d—”
“Why would I believe you’d think anything else?” He asks, leaning across the table. “I hear the way you talk about therapists and labels and mental health.”
My stomach drops, but he’s not done. “I know that all of that shit comes from your parents. I know they’re the ones who put that in your head. But I also know you’ve let those ideas in so deep that you actually believe them. So why wouldn’t I assume you’d believe them about me?”
“Because you’re my best friend,” I somehow manage to get out around the lump in my throat.
Jay closes his eyes. “Solomon. How are you not getting this?” He looks at me then and there’s no hint of the easy-going, laid-back, life-of-the-party guy that the rest of the world sees. “You’re my best friend, too, you idiot. And you deserve to get help without judgement just as much as I do.”
Logically, I know that he’s right. I know there’s nothing wrong with seeking out help. I know it doesn’t make a person weak or lesser, and if someone ever said anything remotely like that to Jay about him seeing a therapist, I would kick their ass.
So why can’t I feel anything except for panic when I think about sitting down with someone to talk about this shit?
It’s quiet for a long moment before Em says my name. I look up at her and realize that her eyes are wet. “You’re letting them win,” she murmurs, and a chill goes down my back.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your asshole father. And your horrible mother. You’re letting them win.
You’re believing the bullshit they’ve told you all these years.
They want you to feel like this—like you’re less than.
They want you to believe that they were right about you, that your condition means you can’t be happy or have a good life. ”
I suck in a breath. We never use words like condition. We never talk about any of this shit in an honest way, and suddenly, I’m so fucking tired. Tired of talking around my issues, of always trying to hide myself or change. Tired of being the way I am.
I put my forehead in my hand, slumping against the table.
“I don’t want them to be right,” I manage to grit out. “I don’t want them to win.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder, nice and firm, exactly the kind of pressure that feels comforting to me. “Then you need to do something about it, Sol. We’ve been ignoring this long enough. It’s my fault, too. And Jay, and Red. We never pushed you.”
“In our defense,” Jay says drily. “Pushing you isn’t the easiest thing in the world, you stubborn asshole.”
I meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I rasp out. “I’m so fucking sorry that I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.”
He waves his hand, like it’s nothing, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s so quintessentially Jay, to forgive me so easily.
“Has it been… you know. Okay? The therapy I mean.”
He brightens. “I actually kind of like it. Dr. Trevyn is cool, and crazy smart. Asks a lot of questions, which I don’t mind.” He grins. “You know how much I love being the center of attention.”
I groan. “That does not make me more inclined to follow your lead.”
“But I really think you need to, Sol,” Em cuts in.
“Because I can’t stand this.” Her voice breaks and I feel even more shitty.
I hate how much I’m upsetting her. “I can’t stand to see you push away someone who makes you happy because somewhere along the way you started believing the shit your parents had to say to you. ”
She squeezes my shoulder again and holds my gaze. “Those bastards are wrong, Sol. I promise you that they’re wrong.”