Chapter Ten He’s a Person, He’s a Man
Chapter Ten
He’s a Person, He’s a Man
“Look.” Owen holds up a small Santa figure in front of Jacob. “It’s you.”
“How is that supposed to be me?” Jacob asks. “I look nothing like him!”
“There’s the beard.” Owen points out. “And the hair.”
“The pointy red hat, the matching fur-lined suit. And the fact that I’m a symbol invented by the Coke company?”
“Mostly that last part.” Owen smiles softly, setting the Santa statue down.
The boat landed in Sitka not too long after Owen and Kevin got back to the suite, a chime playing through the ship’s intercom
system before the smooth voice of the captain came on to announce that they’d docked.
Kaitlyn had ordered everyone to get dressed and meet in the kitchen within the hour so that they could make their breakfast
reservations. And it’d been Owen’s luck that he’d walked out of his and Kevin’s room to find Jacob the only other person who
was ready.
Kevin’s words still echoing in Owen’s head, he opened his mouth to say something to Jacob but then decided against it.
Instead, he pulled out his phone, praying that he might find something to break the ice with, but nothing felt natural.
Before too long, Kevin joined them and the two started talking about hockey, and Owen watched his chance slip away.
Breakfast was so rich and decadent that Owen would’ve loved nothing more than to go back to the suite and fall into a food
coma on the couch, but Kaitlyn hadn’t even entertained the idea of missing out on their candle-making course. When the entire
class was separated into groups of two, Owen silently prayed that he’d be paired with Jacob, just to give him an in. But he
ended up working with Kevin instead. And Jacob was paired with some twink who Owen stared daggers at the entire length of the class, wary of just how handsy the guy seemed to get, Owen’s ears perking up every single time the guy laughed a little too loudly at one of Jacob’s—probably terrible—jokes.
“Uh, Owen . . . I think you overfilled . . .” Kevin said, pulling Owen out of his spiral just in time for Owen to see the hot wax running over the lip of the jar.
“Shit!”
After that, they took a walk around the downtown area near a ton of different shops: a candy shop that offered bags by the
pound, a bookstore that mostly specialized in authors from the Tlingit and Haida tribes, a shop that advertised specialty
smoked salmon and even offered free samples of something called fish jerky that only Kevin and Abigail seem to like. They
shopped for souvenirs in some of the more touristy places, Kaitlyn somehow managing to hide the Bear Lover hoodie from Owen until she’d already bought it, presenting it to him outside.
“I hate it,” he said, slipping into the comfortable material.
And before too long, Owen and Jacob ended up in a Christmas shop, of all places. Just the two of them. Owen’s still not sure
how that happened.
“This one looks like you,” Jacob says, pulling an elf statue from the shelf.
“And how is that supposed to be me?”
“Blond.” Jacob points to the elf’s hair. “And short.”
Owen can’t help his smile. “That’s very rude of you.”
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Jacob teases, setting the statue down. Owen moves past him to the next aisle over. Through the
glass display case, he’s able to keep an eye on Jacob.
Just talk to him, Owen thinks. He’s a person, he’s a man. It’s not that hard. But every single time he thinks of something to say to Jacob, he starts to second-guess himself, wondering if it’s worth it.
“How’s your arthritis?” Then Jacob beats him to the punch. “We’ve been walking a lot the last few days. And Kevin told me
he got you into the gym this morning?”
“Jealous of my gains?” Owen pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie, flexing his arms, not a muscle to be seen. “I’m doing okay,
Humira’s doing the trick these days. Watch!” Owen squats before he jumps, managing a few inches into the air. “That didn’t
even hurt!”
“Look at you!” Jacob beams, ignoring the way the elderly woman behind the cash register eyes them both suspiciously. “You’ll
be competing in the Olympics before you know it.”
“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” Owen says, digging his phone out of his pocket as it begins to buzz.
“Kaitlyn?” Jacob asks, peering over Owen’s shoulder.
“Yeah.”
Kaitlyn: we’re wrapping up here
She attaches a photo of a paper bag filled with what must be every flavor of fudge available from the shop the rest of the
gang ended up in.
Kaitlyn: you lovebirds meet us at the pier the boat’s gonna take us out soon.
Kaitlyn: we’re gonna see WHALESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Kaitlyn: ??????
“‘Lovebirds’?” Jacob’s curious voice makes Owen jump. “Does she know something I don’t?”
Owen hides his phone screen against his sweater. “No, she’s just, uh . . . just being Kaitlyn.” Like he doesn’t already know
her.
“Isn’t she always?”
“Unfortunately.” Owen swallows. “Come on, we should head to the docks.”
They do just that, wandering through the quiet Sitka streets as the sun starts to edge toward the horizon. For a while, they
walk in silence.
Thankfully, it’s far less awkward than before. More comfortable. Not quite how they used to be when they’d both get overstimulated,
content with just sitting next to each other in complete silence, each of them on their phones, scrolling through videos and
sending them to each other despite being less than a foot apart.
Still, it’s nice. The sounds of the town fill the space between them: fishermen coming in for the day, seagulls cawing, people eating lunch.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Jacob says, his voice soft.
“Is it a lot like Dover?” Owen asks, desperate to pick up the conversation.
“Like Dover?”
“You know . . . isn’t all of Britain supposed to be rolling hills and quiet little villages? That’s how they all look on those
BritBox shows you liked to watch.”
“It is nice,” Jacob continues. “Much hillier, not as many forests, at least not this close to town.”
“Does it also have that blue filter over everything?”
“They actually hand you a pair of glasses at the airport. Legally you can’t take them off, even at night.”
Owen rolls his eyes, closing the distance between them, nearly nudging Jacob with his shoulder.
“What’s it like?” Owen asks, before he realizes how non-specific that sounds. “Life, I mean? Like how is it?”
“Is this your attempt at being civil with me?” Jacob cocks an eyebrow.
“More . . . friendly? I guess. I don’t really know.”
“So, we’re going to be friends now?”
Owen smirks. “Not if you keep making fun of me for trying!”
Jacob giggles, his already soft expression growing fonder. “It’s nice. I like my team a lot; we hang out on the weekends,
get drinks. I even started a beer hockey league, and we play every other weekend.”
“Any new missing teeth?”
Jacob does that thing where he flicks his tongue along the roof of his mouth, his dentures sliding out of place with a wet sound.
“Sill jus ah kayine.” A product of Jacob’s time on his high school’s hockey team.
He hadn’t even been playing—he’d tripped on the ice during practice, hitting his jaw on the goalie post. His left canine had popped right out.
“That’s good.” Owen chuckles.
“What about you?” Jacob asks after sliding his denture back into place. “We never talked about the shop.”
“Yeah, I mean . . .” Owen hesitates, wondering what he should say first, or how much detail he really wants to give. “Ravi’s
been working with me a lot, getting the paperwork ready, helping me with my loan proposal and everything that comes with that.”
“Do you have a space in mind yet?”
“Not really, that’s been our biggest struggle,” Owen admits. “One of Ravi’s friends is helping us, but the city is so expensive
that I—”
Owen stops himself, realizing just where he was headed.
“You . . . ?” Jacob prompts.
“I’m thinking about not doing it,” Owen says to him, instantly regretting telling Jacob the truth. “I mean, not exactly not opening up, but . . . I don’t know, everything’s feeling like a sign that I should just wait.”
“For what?”
“For things to be a little more secure, to have a bigger cushion. Ravi also thinks the ‘market is about to burst,’ whatever
that means. So, I wait and hope that . . . maybe things will be better—”
“But they could also get worse,” Jacob interrupts him. “Things could get more expensive, the market could stay unbursted,
and it could be a lot harder. More waiting doesn’t guarantee it’ll work out further down the line.”
“I guess so,” Owen replies, because what else could he say? “But I . . .”
“You . . . ?” Jacob echoes.
“We don’t have to talk about this.”
“But I think that we should, especially if we don’t have our relationship to worry about anymore.” He says the words without
an ounce of judgment in his tone. He’s simply stating a fact.
“Maybe . . .” Owen starts to say. “I—”
But Jacob interrupts him. “—‘don’t want to talk about this.’” Shaking his head, Jacob lets out this soft chuckle. “Figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just very . . . you,” he continues. “To not want to have these conversations about yourself. Because you’re afraid of
failing and being embarrassed.”
“What the hell?” Owen pauses, falling behind Jacob. “Where is that coming from?”
“A year’s a lotta time to think about things, Owen.”
“So, you’ve been thinking about me?” Owen questions, unable to help himself.
Jacob smirks at that. “Yeah, I have.”
“I’m not . . .” Owen begins to lie, but Jacob gives him a look. A reminder that this is the man he used to trust with everything.
So maybe he can trust him with this. “I’m scared. Really scared.”
“What about, exactly?”
Owen takes a step forward, catching up to Jacob. “About failing, about letting everyone down. What if I never get to open
this place? Or worse, what if I do and it’s a complete flop? I could close as quickly as I open.”
“You can’t worry about the what-ifs, Owen. If we all did that, no one would get anything done.”
“Easy for you to say,” Owen sputters. “I’ve told you the things my parents said to me.”