Mac got off the couch. He shoved Gideon against the wall.
“What’s gotten into you, Mac? Things were going great. We were having fun. Then you started acting all weird, and you haven’t stopped.”
Mac’s face broke in two, and hurt flooded out. “I like you, Gideon. Ireallylike you.”
“What?”
“I guess I’m out of my mind.”
“Fuck!” Gideon yelled for the whole campus to hear. He squatted down and grabbed his head. “Fuck! Why are you doing this, Mac?”
Mac was ruining everything. Everything! Gideon wanted to hold onto what they had, how perfect it was. Their relationship was a Jenga Tower of Junk, and Mac pulled the wrong crate.
Gideon knew the look in Mac’s eyes well. He’d seen it on row after row of templegoers that first Shabbat after the funeral.
Pity.
“I’m going to sleep at Delia’s tonight. I’ll work on finding a new apartment as soon as possible.”
Gideon gazed through the window into the night as Mac packed a bag and the front door clicked shut.
Oh, but that Gideon. He’s so smart. He got into Browerton early decision.
He’s a big shot on Wall Street. Earns a fortune.
He has a beautiful wife and three adorable kids.
He’s not gay. Only gay guys take a dick up the ass or in their mouth, and Gideon hasn’t done either.
Thank goodness for Gideon.
SIX WEEKS
Later
CHAPTER Seventeen
Mac
Mac rested on his bed on a cold night the first week of December. His bed and his nightstand were in the center of the room—the only pieces of furniture to his name. The rest of his junk splattered around the edges of the apartment.
He lived in a studio, and even with such small square footage, it felt large and empty, like a motel room. He could hear sounds echo off the walls. The kitchen was a fridge, stove, and oven against the wall. Paint cracked around the windows. One bad rainstorm could send the roof tumbling down.
He frowned at his humble abode. It wasn’t homey like Gideon’s. No fireplace. No chaise sofa. And no Gideon. Mac was proud of himself for telling him off last month and standing up for himself, but that still left him alone in a barren studio with a roof one rainstorm away from becoming a colander. He fired up his computer to watch some TV. He scammed Internet from the coffee shop next door.
Mac jumped up at the knock on the door sometime later. Delia held out a carton of eggnog in one hand and a box of saltines in the other. He took them and tossed them on the bed. She wrapped him in a tight hug.
“How are you holding up?” Delia ripped open the saltines and jammed a handful into her mouth. “Seth can’t eat these, and I’m staring down the barrel of finals. Let me have this moment without judgment.”
Mac held up hands up in surrender. “Eat away.”
“This place has a lot of potential. It really does.”
He pointed to the chipped paint and poorly patched cracks in the ceiling.
“Focus on the positive,” she said. “Hardwood floors. We can do a Target run.”
“I can’t swing it right now.” Aunt Rita was recuperating fine, but the medical bills had made money tight. Mac took on an extra shift at his work study job to help cover some of it. The money didn’t matter to him. He was just happy that Aunt Rita was improving after surgery. Color returned to her face and new hair grew on her head.
