I want to ask what friends, because no one’s been by since he’s been staying here, but if he says he’s got friends, I have to believe he’s not lying to me.
I sit at the foot of his bed, facing him.
“You don’t have to tell me everything, Jake, but tell me something,please.”
“I really thought I was gonna die,” he says.
I take his hand and hold it tight. “I know.”
“And it’s frustrating that my brain constantly feels like it’s wrapped in cotton. Like am I even smart anymore? This doesn’t feel like me. I’m not like this.”
“The doctors said it might take a little longer for all the concussion symptoms to resolve.”
“I’m not suicidal or anything, I just don’t ever remember hating myself this much.”
That hurts like hell to hear. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Honestly, try not to worry about it.” He lets go of my hand. “You’re stressing me out. If it’s not working out, I’ll call you.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah.”
“Because I’ll drop everything,” I tell him.
“Dude. I know.”
“Can I buy you lunch?”
“Where’s Deacon?” he asks.
My stomach twists the same way it does every time I think about Deacon and Evan being together. It’s a sick mix of dread, hope, anxiety, and jealousy. “Out of town. He’ll be back tonight.”
Tomorrow is Easter, and Jake specifically wanted to move back to campus when it would be mostly empty and quiet. While our asshole father wants him home and in a church pew next to him, Jake played the concussion card. I took a little more convincing. I don’t love him being alone in an empty frat house, but he’s got some girl he’s planning to have over to stay with him.
Since he’s been living with me and Deacon for a month, I can’t fault him for wanting some company of the oppositegender. It’s the only thing that convinced me to take him back today.
This conversation has eased my mind some. I really needed to hear that part about him not being suicidal—so I suggest lunch again, and he agrees. Once we’re out of the apartment, he brightens up a little, and we talk about Valerie and hockey and his classes. Maybe one day he’ll tell me what started the fight that night, or maybe one day it won’t matter anymore, and I’ll stop wanting to know. I just want him to be okay and, most importantly,safe.
After lunch, Jake finishes packing. I drive him through Napa Valley in the rain. His friend—girlfriend?— is waiting for him on the frat house porch. She’s the same goth girl I caught him “studying” with a while back. She’s on the taller side, and when Jake re-introduces me to her, instead of a handshake, I get a curtsy. He’s grinning, and she’s picking up his suitcase.
He gives me a quick hug and doesn’t invite me inside, but he does thank me for “everything.”
I send him a text when I’m walking back to my car.
Me
You better keep up with your therapy.
Jake
ok
Me
And call me
Jake
