SOMEHOW THIS semester I had midterms in every class, and they were eating me alive. I barely had time to shower and shove one of the bagels I’d begun stockpiling from the dining hall in the morning into my face while working. I’d even had to switch from Everything to Plain because I couldn’t stop typing long enough to eat and the seeds kept getting stuck in my keyboard.
I was a total mess.
Charles’ mania had increased as the semester continued. He’d begun setting his alarm to wake him up every ninety minutes because he’d read that based on neurological research, the human brain entered a heightened state of something or other ninety minutes into the sleep cycle and he wanted to harness these periods and maximize his brain activity.
He’d also begun playing these gamma and theta brain wave inducing audio clips on his computer to maximize his creative problem-solving abilities. Of course his alarm startled me awake, too, if I actually managed to get any sleep, and I’d sit straight up in bed in a panic, convinced that I’d missed a deadline or a test. It was no use trying to get him to alter his methods, as I’d learned last semester. Once he’d decided something was advantageous, he stuck to it a hundred percent.
All I could do was console myself with promises of all the fun and relaxation I’d get to have during spring break. I had already planned out the things I’d do in the city that I’d been too busy—or too content spending time at Will’s—to do since moving here. I wanted to go to the Cloisters and the Tenement Museum. I wanted to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. Hell, I even wanted to go see the Statue of Liberty. Maybe one day I’d get one of those hop-on-hop-off bus passes and pretend I was a tourist all day. After all, I still kind of was. For all that I’d been in the city for months, I’d hardly seen any of it.
I also had a full Netflix queue that I’d been adding to all semester. So, it was a plan: I would get my fill of the city during the day, then smuggle dining hall food back to my room and curl up in bed with my computer for as long as I wanted, not speaking to anyone if I didn’t want to.
I’d been doubly busy the last few weeks, having volunteered to help a grad student in the lab with some research for her dissertation. Part of her data had gotten mysteriously erased from the university server before she could back it up, and she had to try to re-create six months of work in a week in order to meet a deadline for her dissertation committee and submit her paperwork to the university in time.
It was horrible, and she was, understandably, a wreck, but she also treated me like I was her personal assistant. When I told Gretchen and Milton about it after running into the dining hall, totally frazzled, to explain why I couldn’t make it to movie night and why I was currently shoving food into my face faster than I could chew so that I could get back to the lab, they’d advised me to blow her off, saying that it was nice of me to help but it was her problem. I couldn’t do it, though. Her panic was too real, and I could all too easily see something like that happening to me.
As I ran back to the lab, cramming the piece of pizza I’d carried out with me into my mouth and trying not to indulge in elaborate stories where I tripped at exactly the wrong moment and a ball of chewed bread and cheese lodged in my throat, marking me down in the annals of history as having the most humiliating death on campus, my terrible manners reminded me of Will and I imagined what he would say if he could see me now.
He’d told me more than once that if I always ran to the rescue when someone asked I’d end up living my life in the margins of other people’s. That I was a pushover and it wasn’t my responsibility to kill myself in order to solve other people’s problems. This last had seemed like rather a dramatic pronouncement when he’d initially made it, but now, trying to walk-run and not choke on my pizza, I thought maybe he had a point.
One night I was working late in the lab when a guy I hadn’t seen before ambled in looking harassed and confused. There weren’t many people around so he came to me right away.
“Hey, have you seen a rock polisher around here anywhere?”
“Um, I don’t think so? But to be honest I have no clue what a rock polisher is, so I probably wouldn’t’ve known if I’d seen it.”
His name was Russell and he had a halo of frizzy blondish-reddish hair, a brownish-reddish beard, a full mouth, bright white teeth, and the sparkliest blue eyes I’d ever seen. He looked like a handsome, geeky lion and dressed like he was about to go on a hike. He was a geology and physics double major, and he usually worked in the geology lab next door, which was why I hadn’t seen him before.
We started talking sometimes when there weren’t many people in the lab. He was sweet and smart and funny, and I could tell he liked me. One night, he took me to the commissary for coffee and pie in the middle of the night and used his coffee cup and the pencil that was perpetually stuck behind his ear to explain how, at the molecular level, the pencil could pass through the pottery of the diner mug.
He asked me about my family and told me about his. His older sister was getting married the next month, and he hated the guy she was marrying. I told him about how Janie had a vlog on YouTube where she did makeup and hair tutorials and how funny she was in them. About how my mom had once read a series of mystery novels that featured a duo of New York City detectives, so every time I talked to her on the phone she asked me if I’d been to places that were featured in that series, only it was always things like “the Dunkin’ Donuts near the train station” or “the bus stop close to the Brooklyn Bridge” so I was never really sure what she meant.
In the geology lab a few nights later, Russell showed me some of the rock samples he was working with. The lights were dim everywhere else, leaving us in an island of light, like we were the only two people who existed.
“This is a quartz matrix that has rubellite tourmaline crystal in it, and then is scattered with some gold mica. There are even some fluorite crystals.” He was totally focused on the rocks. “This one is the prettiest, I think.”
He held it out to me, but it didn’t honestly look like much. I opened my mouth to say something complimentary anyway.
“Hang on, you can’t see the flecks in it unless it’s wet,” he said absently. He raised the rock to his lips and licked the flat edge of it slowly, tongue coming out as his blue eyes sparkled at me. It was undeniably one of the hottest things I’d ever seen.
When he held the rock out, I could see a riot of colors, from a dark brownish-violet all the way to a pinky-red, some crystals of peach and blue packed together and the whole back of it studded with the gold bits of mica.
Russell’s eyes darted down to my mouth and he stepped closer.
I flushed with arousal and the sharp promise of possibility. I liked Russell. He was handsome and nice and smart and maybe… maybe….
“I, um, I just want to say that I….”
I can’t kiss you because I’m in love with someone else. I’m a total wreck over someone else, and it isn’t fair. But Russell was leaving in a few months, off to grad school in Chicago. He wasn’t proposing marriage.
I closed the distance between us, and I kissed him.
His lips were as soft as they looked, and he cupped my elbows firmly as we kissed. He tasted earthy, mineral. It wasn’t awkward or strange. It was nice. Comfortable. Sweet. So I kept kissing him. And at some point, I dropped Russell’s favorite rock, spit-damp, onto the floor.
I’D SOMEHOW managed to forget about midterms when I’d given Layne my schedule at Mug Shots, and I knew it would make her life harder if I asked her to switch my shifts, so I just kept showing up to work totally harried, downing four shots of espresso and vibrating through my shifts. Then, knowing I’d have to work when I got back to my room, I’d down a few more at the end of my shift, leaving totally strung out with my heart pounding, work intently for a few hours, and then crash hard and have nutso dreams, which made being interrupted by Charles’ alarm even more unsettling.
I was tearing my hair out trying to write a paper for my English class—the last thing I had due for midterms, thank god—when my phone rang and Will’s name popped up. I’d texted him the day after my birthday to thank him for the shoes, but I had made it clear that we weren’t going to start hanging out again.
I still thought about him all the time. Of course I did. But I was neck-deep in “Goblin Market” with no idea what I was writing, and I didn’t have the mental energy to hide how hurt I still was while I tried to have a friendly conversation, so I let it go to voice mail. He didn’t leave a message and I pushed down my disappointment and got back to writing.
The next morning, having stayed up all night to finish the paper, printing it in dark blue ink because my printer had run out of black and I didn’t have time to run to the library and print it there, I sprinted to my class and slammed the paper onto the desk with the rest of them, collapsing in my seat and immediately falling asleep on my Anthology of Major British Poets along with about half the class.
At the end of class I dragged myself back to the dorms and fell asleep in point five seconds, relief at not having anything else due (and the fact that Charles and his alarm weren’t in the room) letting me sleep for twelve hours straight.
After a shower I felt almost human again, and I met Milton and Gretchen for dinner in the dining hall, where we were mostly silent until we’d eaten. Once we’d satisfied our basic human need for food, though, the giddiness of being off for a week set in and we talked excitedly, lingering over multiple soft serves and more Coke than anyone should really consume, relishing the leisure to drink it.
When I got back to my room, where I’d left my phone charging, I saw that Will had called again, and again left no message.
THE NEXT day while I was at work, I finally had time to think about the calls I’d missed from Will, and I started to worry. If he’d just wanted to ask me a question or say congrats about midterms or something, he would have texted. Besides, he’d totally respected my need for some space. What if something was really wrong? Or what if—just maybe—he’d changed his mind and was ready to take a chance on us? I almost slapped myself at that thought.
But, just like that, any distance that I’d introduced between Will and me was obliterated—a paper folded in half, its opposite edges becoming proximate as instantly and naturally as if they’d always been that way.
The fact was that we had unfinished business. I hadn’t been able to let myself think about it during midterms because I was trying too hard just to stay sane, but after I’d slept with Russell, things had… changed. It wasn’t about Russell, really, though he was a super nice guy. It was that I thought maybe I finally understood Will a little better. Could finally see past the hurt.
And, given how much he’d hurt me, it was ridiculous how much I still loved him. But none of the hurt touched that core of love.
My feelings for Will were a tender and naked heart beating tentatively in an iron cage, each expansion a risk, each deflation both relief and disappointment.
WILL CALLED for the third time that evening just as I was about to get on the subway to meet Milton at a late movie after work, and this time I scrambled to answer the call. Even after I ran back outside so I could hear him, I just traded no signal for traffic noise and the shouts of a basketball game on the court next to the subway steps.
In the din, Will’s voice, apologizing for calling me when I’d told him I didn’t want us to talk, sounded small and very, very far away. My heart was pounding in my ears, I was so ridiculously happy to hear from him. I walked around the corner so I could hear him better, phone clamped tight to my ear like I could pull him closer to me through it.
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s fine. What’s up?”
“It’s um… I just….”
Something was very wrong. Will didn’t stammer. Will didn’t trail off. Will didn’t sound this uncertain of himself.
“Will, what’s wrong?”
“I—you know what, never mind. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t’ve….”
I lost the rest of his sentence to the earsplitting drone of some douchebag revving his motorcycle.
“Sorry, sorry, wait. Let me just—okay.” I cut over to a quiet street and perched on a bench outside the door of a nice restaurant. “Okay, sorry, it’s quiet now. So, tell me what’s going on.”
He sighed. “I’m in Holiday,” he said. “I got here last night. Claire’s in the hospital, and I came out to stay with Nathan and Sarah.”
“Oh god. Is she okay?”
“She will be. She went off on one of her jags, disappeared. Nathan and Sarah couldn’t find her. I called everyone I could think of, but no one had seen her. They found her yesterday on the merry-go-round in that park at the corner of Willow and Grove. You know?”
“Yeah. Shit. What happened?”
“She’d driven up onto the grass and crashed the car into the swing set. Then she’d fallen asleep on the merry-go-round without a coat. Or maybe passed out. They couldn’t tell. I guess she’d been awake for like five days straight, and no one had been able to find her for the last two. She hadn’t eaten. She was so dehydrated they had to give her IV fluids. That’s why she’s still in the hospital, I think. I don’t know. They weren’t totally clear about it.”
Will’s voice had gone thin and strained, and I thought I heard him swear under his breath.
“Are you with Nathan and Sarah now?”
“Yeah. They’re pretty freaked this time. I guess… she was awake for a couple days before she took off and she got rid of a bunch of her things. She took all the pictures off the walls and destroyed them. Gave away a bunch of clothes. Nathan and Sarah had to lock their doors to keep her from giving away all their stuff. She donated everything that was in the living room and the garage. Their bikes and rollerblades and stuff. Nathan’s baseball stuff and Sarah’s soccer gear.”
I made a sound just so he knew I was listening.
“I guess Claire was saying some pretty weird things to them while she was trying to get their stuff. Like, stuff that just made no sense. I don’t know what exactly. They don’t like to tattle on her. But… she really scared them this time. I don’t know. They know she’s not herself when she has these episodes. Or, that’s what we’ve always told them.”
“Do you not believe that?”
“Well. It’s all part of her, you know? I think it’s kind of bullshit the way people treat mental health stuff like it’s separate from the person who has it. As if there’s some ideal ‘normal’ person trapped inside that needs to be chiseled out of the marble block, revealed when the ‘abnormal’ stuff is stripped away. I know it’s valid, to a degree—like, people compare it to intoxication and the way people act in ways they wouldn’t ordinarily act when sober. But I’m not sure. For me… I love Claire. I accept that it’s part of her. I accept that—” His voice was choked. “That I fucking hate her a lot of the time. But they’re kids. They shouldn’t have to hate her yet.”
I could hear that he was doing something while he talked to me, and I imagined him unloading the dishwasher or cleaning up a spill in his sister’s house, all alone in the dark while her scared kids were asleep upstairs.
“Do you know how long she’ll be in the hospital?”
Will made a sound in the negative, and I could hear his long, shuddery breath. When he spoke again, I could barely hear him, even cupping my hand around the phone and pressing my other ear against my shoulder to block out the noise of the city around me.
“And even when she gets out, there might be problems. I don’t know. Anyway, sorry. Oh shit, I forgot—how were midterms?”
“They were fine. Listen, Will, how are you?”
If we were in person, Will might blow this question off with an eye roll or go into the kitchen to do something else. Hell, even over the phone, he might ignore me; he might even tell me to fuck off. But he wouldn’t lie.
He was quiet for long enough that I thought he was going to ignore me after all.
“Leo. I—fuck, Leo, what if it’s always like this? Those poor kids. They’re growing up just as fucked as we did.”
Will didn’t call me by my name that often when we weren’t in bed. It was usually “kid” or “kiddo” or, occasionally, if I’d done something idiotic, “fuckhead.” It sounded different now. Everything about the way he was talking sounded so un-Will. He sounded scared, vulnerable. Like maybe he needed my help.
“I just, um… I don’t suppose you’re coming back to Holiday for spring break, huh?”
“Will—”
“Ugh, Jesus, never mind. Don’t listen to me. Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s this fucking house. All messed up and creepy with no stuff in it. There are like weird stains and shadows and shit and it’s making me go all Penny Dreadful, like there are monsters lurking in my periphery or something. Anyway, it’ll be fine. Everything’s… yeah, it’s totally fine.”
It was almost painful to listen to him try to reassure himself. Everything in me screamed that I needed to take Will in my arms and reassure him. Or just be there.
“Listen,” I began, but before I could say more, there was a voice in the background.
“That’s Sarah. She’s been having nightmares. Look, I gotta go.”
“Okay. Well….” But I couldn’t think of a single thing I could say to make any of it the slightest bit better. “Call me whenever,” I finished lamely.
Will’s whispered “Okay” was lost in the scream of a truck reversing on the next block.
THE SECOND Milton saw me, he knew something was wrong, and I ended up blurting out the whole story and then apologizing profusely when I realized I’d made us miss the movie.
“He’s just always so together,” I told Milton. “Or, like, I don’t know, he says how things will be and the world either falls into line or he rejects it. But he can’t really do that with this stuff. Oh shit, maybe I shouldn’t have told you about Claire. Fuck. It’s… whatever, scary to see him freaked out. I just hate that I’m not there. Maybe I could help. I mean, Milton, he called me. He called me.”
“But you’re not together…,” Milton said uncertainly.
“No, but….”
But Will’s distress was so immediate, his vulnerability so genuine. And the fact that he’d called me when he was upset, that even though we weren’t sleeping together—fucking, as Will would no doubt put it—I was the one he’d reached out to when things had gone wrong. That had to mean something, right?
“Well, it is spring break, so I guess you could swing it. Or does he not want you to?” Milton’s lip curled as he no doubt remembered all the times Will had turned down my invitations to come with us when we went out.
“Actually… I think he wanted to ask me. Kinda. I dunno, it’d be like the least Will thing of all time to ask for me to be there with him, but I swear he just about did.” Milton hit me with this look that said I was being pathetic and also potentially delusional so I swatted at him.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, there’s no way I can afford a plane ticket and even a train ticket’s hella expensive. I looked it up when I got off the phone with him. Besides, it takes forever to get to Detroit and then I’d still have to get up north….”
“You really want to go?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, sighing, sliding into full-on sulk mode. “I hate money. And time. And distance.”
Milton laughed. “Well, you’re a physics major. I guess you’ll have to do something about that. Uh, the time part, anyway. Or the distance part? Whatever. I have no clue what physicists do.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“Listen, I’ll give you the money for a plane ticket if you want to go. It’s not a big deal.”
“No way,” I said automatically. “I mean, thanks but—”
“Okay, real talk: I have a credit card. I have a shit-ton of frequent-flier miles. My parents have money. It’s seriously not an issue. So there’s no need to be all weird about it like you always are.”
“What? I’m not always weird about it!”
“You so are. You’re all pearl-clutchy oh-no-I-couldn’t-possibly whenever anyone even pays for a damn coffee. It’s kind of charming in, like, a wholesome small-town boy kind of way, but you take it to extremes sometimes.”
“Huh.” I’d never known I did this at all. “Do I?”
“Dude, you took us out to dinner for your birthday. You do know it’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“Um.”
“Point is, if this is the part in the movie when you fly across the country and rescue the hero or embrace on the tarmac while your mutual scarves blow in the wind or whatever, then do it. I got you. Mention me on your wedding day. No prob.”
I started to dismiss him again, but Milton clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Leo. Pause. Disregard cultural narratives about propriety and capital. Consider. Do you want to go to Michigan? Nod for yes, shake for no.”
I rolled my eyes. He left his hand over my mouth. I considered.
I knew Milton was joking about me acting like I was in a rom-com, running to confess my love before the plane could take off or whatever. But it hit a little too close to Will’s comments about me being a romantic for comfort. My only relationship experience was from books, movies, and TV, so of course I had absorbed that stuff. And maybe when I’d first gotten here my hopes for me and Will had kind of skewed in that direction.
But I was pretty sure that recently I’d—what? Grown out of it? Or, just seen that there were a lot of ways for relationships to go. A lot of ways that romance could look different.
So, did I want to go to Michigan because I had a fantasy of swooping in like the hero to the rescue? I… didn’t think so? It didn’t feel like it was about playing a role or imagining that I knew what Will needed because I was applying some formula. It felt like I knew what Will needed because I knew Will.
I knew how strong he was, how capable of dealing with anything that was thrown his way. I knew how much he cared about his sister and how much he worried about her. I knew he loved Nathan and Sarah and was scared for them. And so I knew that when Will called me after he’d promised to give me space, sounding lost and sad and scared, and asked me—even if he said it like a joke—if I was coming to Michigan… that he needed me.
Not someone. Not a blank, generic rescuer. But… me. Just me.
I didn’t know where that left us, exactly. I didn’t know what it would be like to see him again. But if he needed me, I had to be there for him.
I nodded at Milton.
“Okay,” he said. “Will you let me get you a ticket?”
I hesitated, and he rolled his eyes at me. I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded again.
“Glory hallelujah,” Milton said, exasperated.
I pushed his hand away from my mouth.
“Thank you,” I said, and I hugged him hard as the movie marquis flashed above us.
