“It’s a day ending withY.” He leans against Charlie for a minute. “I realized you’ve never been here.”
“You should give me the tour.” It’s not a huge house. You can see about eighty percent of it from the kitchen. “No, seriously, show me around. I mean, I’m coming back, so I need to know where everything is, right?”
It’s not quite a rhetorical question. “Yes,” Simon says, firmly, and proceeds to show Charlie around.
Simon drives Charlie home.
“I’ll talk to you tonight?” Charlie asks. Simon leans in and kisses his cheek for some cursed reason, like that’s something they evendo.
Charlie gets out of the car before Simon can do anything even weirder, like follow him inside. Simon waits until the front door shuts before pulling out of the driveway.
Back home, he sits on the sofa next to Jamie. “I missed you.”
“Me too,” Jamie says, closing his laptop and tossing it onto the cushion on his other side. “But we don’t have to pretend I wasn’t getting on your nerves before you left.”
“No—”
“Don’t lie.”
“It isn’t you. It’s my brain.”
“Your brain is, in fact, attached to you.”
“It’s a real shame.”
Jamie sighs. “I’ve been looking at apartments, so I’ll be out of your hair soon.”
“It isn’t you that’s bothering me.”
“Okay,” Jamie says, sounding dubious. “Then what is?”
Simon buries his face in a throw pillow and explains about the sink and the dishes, the rituals and routines, the way his nerves sometimes feel fried, like one additional stimulus is going to tip him into oblivion. “Until you came to stay, I didn’t even realize how bad it’d gotten. You being here set off trip wires I hadn’t even known about.”
“When did it get bad? When you went off the meds?”
“The whole last year was... really not good. But it got worse as the season was winding down.” He’d known that he was facing a big change, and it didn’t matter that it was something he wanted—his brain doesn’t know good stress from bad stress.
“So, I’ll clean as I go when I’m cooking, not leave anything inthe sink, et cetera. Earbuds on low. And you’ll tell me if there’s anything else.”
“I’m not asking you to cater to my whims.”
“You mean, take an extra two minutes to help my friend with an actual health issue?”
“I’m not supposed to make it your problem. Margie’s orders.”
Jamie’s quiet for a minute, his fingers tapping a rhythm on his thigh. “Why didn’t you tell me all this months ago?”
“Mostly because I didn’t want to think about it. And I didn’t want you to know what a wreck I am. Sorry.”
“You aren’t a wreck.”
“I think, sometimes, maybe I am? Or at least it feels that way? And I’ve tried not to let you know.”
“Then you’re a generous, funny, loyal wreck and I love you,” Jamie says, no hesitation. Simon kind of slithers a little closer, so his head is in petting range of Jamie’s hand. Jamie takes the hint and strokes his hair. “I thought you wanted me to go away.”
Simon winces. “I’m sorry.” He should have guessed that Jamie might take it that way. It’s what anyone would think if a friend started acting irritated and refused to talk about it. And Simon’s spent so much effort driving people away that it’s no surprise Jamie thought Simon was up to his old tricks.
It’s kind of a stark wakeup call.
