“That’s nice, actually,” Jem admitted. He was helpless to stop the smile, helpless to stop his imagination from painting the scene—Eric off the beat and swaying at the drums, River puking between sets. The three of them driving into the desert after and sleeping in a tent, or in the back of the van if there was room with all their stuff. “I mean, it makes sense, right? It’s not just the music that forms the bonds.”
“Oh, yeah,” River agreed, his smile soft in the orange sunlight making its final descent below the window frame. “Music’s one thing, but if you really want to bond with someone, you gotta get food poisoning from the same taco stand and spend a day taking turns shitting into a bucket in the desert off I-80.”
“Jesus fuck,” Jem laughed, reflexively clutching the pillow tighter. “On second thought, I changed my mind. I don’t want to bond with anyone, actually. I’m good by myself.”
“Jem! Come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?” River poked his side, right where Jem was most ticklish. He squawked and rolled away, and would have fallen off the other side of the bed if River hadn’t slung an arm around his waist at the last moment.
They collapsed back into the center of the mattress, still giggling.
“I didn’t think the suggestion was so bad you’d jump off a ledge about it,” River said teasingly.
Jem poked him back. “It’s not the taco suggestion, it’s the tickling.” It was too warm in the bedroom to cuddle, but he made no move to pull away. He wanted to soak up every minute of River he could. “You really have to go for seven whole weeks?”
River caught his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Duty calls,” he said ruefully. “But so will I.”
Rearing back, Jem feigned disgust. “Ew, no, how old are you? Text me.”
River narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you little—”
It was a good night, even if Jem didn’t get much sleep. He skipped his swim in the morning to spend just a few more minutes in bed, but eventually he had to get up, shower, get dressed.
Surprisingly, River was in the kitchen eating when he came out of the bathroom. The coffee was brewed and there was a second breakfast sandwich plated on the island.
The whole scene was too fucking good to be true. “You made me breakfast?”
“Purely for selfish reasons,” River clarified as he wiped crumbs from the corner of his own mouth. “The less time you spend feeding yourself, the more I get to kiss you before you go.”
It was a testament to Jem’s work ethic that he managed to get there on time.
Monday atwork was slightly more chaotic than usual.
The kindergarteners behaved, having spent the weekend running their parents, siblings, and nannies ragged, rather than Jem. The staff room was buzzing with gossip, and judging by the less-than-subtle looks, most of it was about Jem and River. They might’ve been able to keep under the radar when Jem was just occasionally getting photographed with River in public, but Tori had posted pictures to her Instagram, so now the rumor mill was alive and humming.
Jem was pretty sure Cathy, the seventh-grade teacher, was running a book on when Jem would quit to be a full-time househusband.
People Jem rarely spoke to, like the senior science teachers, suddenly wanted to know his business, how he was doing, was there a new man in his life. As though Jem hadn’t seen them freaking out on Tori’s Instagram. Cathy had literally used the termsugar daddy, which, hoo boy, if she ever knew.
Finally the first warning bell rang and they all had to go do their jobs. Jem texted Tori from his classroom:you’re taking me to lunch. He wasn’t braving the staff room again if he didn’t have to.You Instagram whore.
She reacted with a cry-laughing emoji and replied,worth it.
It was strange, that afternoon, leaving the school and hitting the grocery store because he knew he didn’t have any food at home, and then parking in his spot and going upstairs into an apartment that smelled stale because he hadn’t been there in ages. River’s latest bouquet was wilted and moldering in its makeshift vase. Jem’s house plants looked pathetic.
With a sigh, he hefted his groceries onto the counter and started putting them away, grateful he’d picked up a microwavable dinner. After so many meals with River, the idea of cooking for one made him feel pathetic.
He glanced at the clock above the stove. Just after six. It would be later on the East Coast. River would be checked into his hotel by now. He was probably with the band, though. As he should be—making the most of this last-ever tour.
But he probably wouldn’t mind a little note from Jem anyway, right? The show wasn’t until tomorrow night.
Some maudlin impulse made him take a picture of the dead flowers to send along.Should’ve brought them to your place to enjoy.
Then he shoved his food in the microwave and did his best to pretend he was hungry and not pining. He should’ve taken Tori up on her offer to have dinner with—well, make dinner for—her and Ivy, but Tori had mentioned how tired Ivy was these days. He didn’t want to intrude. They should enjoy all the couple time they had left, because soon they’d have a little one to look after.
While he waited for his dinner to heat, he cracked open a few windows, tossed out the slimy flowers, and watered his peace lilies and spike plants, all of which had thus far thrived on Jem’s benign neglect, but apparently even they had their limits.
The phone didn’t buzz before the microwave timer dinged. Jem told himself that was normal and forced himself to chow down on a meal he didn’t really taste.
He just had to survive the next seven weeks, and then River would be back.
