“Hey, I’ve never said that to anyone but you before! I don’t even say it to my parents when I talk to them on the phone. And I don’t know…it just feels like a big deal.”
I soften a little at that. “It is a big deal,” I agree. “So did you do a whole thing? Flower petals on the bed? Champagne? A mariachi band?”
“Oh, I just went with the classic method: yelled it at him in the shampoo aisle of Wal-Mart.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m not kidding. I ran out of shampoo, so we were there and I usually just get the all-in-one stuff, you know? But Luke was allyou have to have separate shampoo and conditionerand then he wanted to pick out the perfect scent, so he was pulling every bottle off of the shelf and sniffing them. He was beingsoridiculous.” I nod, because Luke is always being ridiculous. It’s his default state. “And he picked out shampoo of one smell, conditioner of another, and held them out to me and said something likenow you’ll smell like a burning Christmas tree.”
“I can see where this is going,” I muse dryly. “Honestly,I’mtempted to tell Luke I love him after this story.”
“Fuck off, okay?” He shoves me, grinning. “I just…I don’t know. I’ve been wanting to tell him for a while, and I guess the shampoo aisle was the tipping point. I just blurted it out at a totally inappropriate volume for a public place.”
“What did Luke do?”
“Well, he dropped the bottles on the floor, and kissed me in a way that was also totally inappropriate for a public place.”
“No puedes llevarlo a ninguna parte,” I mumble, and Max laughs. “Well, I’m glad the pair of you have finally told each other what the rest of the world already knew.”
“You and Nate can do a double date with us.”
“I thought we were friends, Max.”
Chuckling, he unfolds himself from the couch and walks over to the front door to answer the knock. While he’s thanking the delivery driver, I grab a pair of plates and two forks. Meeting back on the couch, we spread everything out on the coffee table the way we usually do. Max groans around his first bite of garlic bread. The sight of him eating and actually taking pleasure in it is a straight endorphin rush. I have the strangest desire to hug him.
“This is so good,” he mumbles, reaching for the eggplant parm. I slide it closer to him. I ordered two, knowing it was his favorite. “You know, I’m pretty sure carb loading and Mario Kart tournaments count as self-care. Just what the doctor ordered.”
I snort, barely managing to swallow a mouthful of pasta before I choke.
“Well.” I gesture toward the TV. “Queue it up, then. I call dibs on Toad.”
“You can have him! We all know Mario is the superior character, seeing as the game is literally named after him.”
“It’s not going to help you, either way. I’m going to kick your ass,” I tell him as he hands me a controller. He laughs, grinning at me with eyes full of joy.
“Good luck,” he says, and starts the game.
Lyingon my back in bed, I link my fingers over my belly and stare up at the ceiling fan revolving slowly above me. Down the hall, I can no longer hear the low murmuring of Max and Luke. I’m tired enough that I should be able to fall right asleep, but I can’t seem to get my mind to stop talking. I can’t seem to stop thinking about Dr. Radford’s suggestion of coming up with a list of things I do for myself and for others. I don’t need to write it down to know exactly what my list would look like.
Almost everything I do these days circles back to Max. I plan everything around his schedule so that I’m available and home for him, were he to need me. I monitor his location obsessively when he’s not home, and I don’t ever talk to him about things that might distress or remind him of what happened at that party sophomore year. I don’t need Dr. Radford or anyone else with an M.D. behind their name to tell me that none of these habits are particularly healthy, but I’ve been doing it for so long now I don’t even know how to stop.
I definitely can’t delete the tracking from my phone. Not when he goes out with Luke or travels for hockey so often. He’s not wandering around at night so much anymore, though, so maybe I don’t have to watch it so obsessively. Cross that off the list. It might also be possible to plan less of my time around his days now that Luke is in the picture, and iftoday was any indication, I likelycanstart opening up to Max about things that are going on with me.
We used to talk about everything. There wasn’t a single topic of discussion we avoided. I knew him inside and out and he knew me the same. We’ve lost some of that these past couple of years, and I’ve been so damn hesitant to try and bridge the gap. The last thing I want to do is bring up something that’s bothering me, and cause him any more distress or anxiety. I’m not going to trade my well-being for his. I won’t set him on fire just to keep myself warm.
But tonight felt good. Really good. It felt like we could laugh and enjoy ourselves, without the specter of Theo and Cruz hanging over us. If I could only have more days like today, I’d be able to convince myself that things would turn out all right.
My phone buzzes on the bed next to my shoulder, lighting up the dark room. I don’t move to pick it up right away, already knowing who is texting me.
Nate—the one thing I’ve allowed myself to have recently that is for me and me alone. The single item on the “just for Marcos” list.
Tapping my fingers on my belly, I watch the ceiling fan perform a dozen rotations before I reach for the phone. Nate texts me every single day, and every single day I feel a shiver of surprise. It’s astounding that he hasn’t lost interest by now. Surely he has better things to do than talk to me.
Nate
Hello Marcossssss. I know it’s late there so you’re probably asleep, but look!
Underneath the message is a photograph of a stunning sunset. Red and orange paints the sky over grassland dottedwith fences. When I zoom in, I can see horses grazing. It’s ridiculous to feel disappointed that Nate isn’t in the picture, but I am. I’ve saved every selfie he’s sent me, like a fucking creep. I should stop trying to kid myself, and just set one as the background of my phone.
