“David?” he says, and some of the hardness has left his voice, but the way he uses my name makes a wave of cold wash over me. I have so many regrets, and hearing him call me David brings them all to the surface again. I lift the water glass to my lips and manage to swallow some of it, focusing on the cool slide of it down my throat. The buzzing in my ears gets louder. “David?”
I set the glass down and look around me again. The woman to my left smiles before she drops her gaze back to her meal, but otherwise everyone is eating and talking like nothing weird is going on.
“I’m sorry,” Jack says. “We shouldn’t have come here.”
“Because I liked you,” I say, surprised at the emotions that clog my throat. “I liked who you let me be. I liked myself—being David when I was with you—more than I’ve liked myself in a long time, in spite of everything I have. But mostly I liked you and you didn’t seem very impressed with people like me, so it seemed easier to be the person you thought I was. It was selfish, but I didn’t want to lose the time with you. And then I ruined it all anyway, so I guess I got what I deserved.”
Wow. I haven’t had to spell it out so clearly before. When I do, it leaves me feeling ridiculous. What did I think would happen by coming back up here? Was I satisfying my own guilt? Looking for absolution? Because I have nothing to offer someone like Jack. I can’t even take him out for dinner.
So I play the only card I have. “I’m starting a project. A production company aimed at getting more queer movies made by mainstream studios. I’ve been following a plan for so many years, and it gave me what I thought I wanted, but I didn’t like the person I became. I failed utterly at being a role model for gay kids who might watch my movies. Failed at being a decent human being, really. I figure if I can help make movies that show more queer experiences, maybe I will have helped in some small way.”
He nods. “I never saw anyone like me in movies when I was growing up.”
“Yeah, well, you never saw straight people in movies either because we’ve already covered that you don’t watch them,” I grumble.
His lips twitch, and he glances down at the table. “Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”
Is this... Are we having a conversation? Cracking jokes? Honestly, it’s probably the best I can hope for, but I press my luck.
“I hope you’ll watch our movies when they’re released.”
“I might.”
For a second, I wish someone really was recording this, because Jack just said he’d watch my movies. It feels like an achievement when it could be an empty promise. If I never see him again, how will I know?
“I’m thinking about setting up a screenwriters’ retreat. We’re working on an amazing project right now from this kid who wrote something they were really passionate about, but then had to change it before they could sell it because the studios didn’t want it. There are writers like them all over LA. Ones who have the talent, but keep having to water down their work because the studios don’t think the mainstream is ready for truly queer characters, and especially queer leads. I want to find a few of them, get them together, and write some incredible movies.”
“That sounds like a great plan.”
The server brings our fish cakes. They smell heavenly. Jack dives into his immediately, but I won’t let myself get distracted.
“I was thinking we might set the retreat up in Alaska. Somewhere we can get away and focus on the writing without the distraction and the games in Hollywood.”
He blinks up at me, fork halfway to his mouth, but he sets it down again, sitting up straight. He knows what I’m saying, even if I haven’t put the words to it yet.
But I will, so we’re perfectly clear.
“Jack. I was so selfish. I’ve been so focused on myself and doing what I needed to build a career and then stay on top of the game. I’ll apologize to you forever for that, but I’ll mean it every time.” I can’t help but look around me. The woman on my left is definitely listening, but when our eyes meet, she drops her hand to her lap so Jack can’t see it, and she gives me a tiny thumbs up that almost has me laughing out loud. “If we come up here, could I see you? Here. In the city. Wherever. We’ll take a train to Denali. I’ll get a jet to fly us anywhere you want to go.”
The woman beside me gasps. Jack flicks her a quick glance before he picks up his fork again. My heart sinks when he doesn’t reply. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. He eats, working his way through his fish cakes methodically and silently. I pick at mine, and I’m sure they’re delicious, but every time I put a bite in my mouth, it feels like it swells and turns into the consistency of day-old scrambled eggs.
The waitress looks disappointed when Jack declines dessert. My heart races, but he’s very clearly decided our evening is over.
At least I can say I gave it my best shot. There never was much hope to begin with.
We head outside. It’s still disconcertingly bright, but I use it to memorize every line of Jack’s face.
“Well,” I say.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
The simple request shocks me into silence. Does that mean we’re not done? But he doesn’t say anything else. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts walking down the hill, leaving me to follow after him.
