In my hand is one of the silver skipping stones that I gave him. There is a folded note, too, that reads,So that you always have what you need.
21
HARD TO HOLD
LATE FEBRUARY BRINGSbrutally cold weather and even blizzards. It’s always like this, but I’m more aware of the bitter cold this year, not to mention the never-ending snow and ice, because of how it impacts my running. The indoor track is virtually empty on this Saturday afternoon, exactly how I prefer it. My guess is that almost nobody else wanted to brave the storm that hit today to walk across campus to the gym. It’s that bad out. But it’s half the reason that I’m here. The dorm feels claustrophobic to me today, so I had to get out. It probably took me as long to bundle up in protective clothing as it will to complete my run.
There is one other girl on the track with me, and a few guys lifting in the weight room. The glass wall to the room affords me an easy view when I run past, and I spot Chris when I run by. We don’t usually overlap because I often run in the early morning and he usually works out in the late afternoon, but today I’ve spent most of the day finishing schoolwork.
He waves as I near the weight room on this lap, and I wave back. He’s got on a tight blue nylon shirt and black shorts, and I can’t help slowing my pace a little as I take him in. Knowing what is under that shirt and shorts is distracting. I look away and turn up the volume on my music. The most recent playlist from Chris blasts loudly in my ears, and I refocus on my run. The timer that I’ve set reads sixty-three minutes. Another twelve and I’ll stop. I know that I’m still not very fast, which is why I make myself run for so long, so I push hard for the last few laps until my legs and my lungs are burning.
After a cooldown walk and a shower, I stand in my bra and underwear in front of the locker room mirror and dry my hair. Usually I throw my curls in a ponytail, but today I’ll turn into a walking icicle if I go outside without drying it. As I run the brush through my hair and work the blow dryer on high heat, I am noticing the scar on my left forearm more than usual. It’s not that I’m self-conscious or embarrassed about it again, but I’m more… I don’t know what I am. Confused. Bewildered. I haven’t told Chris how our scars match up. I can’t begin to make sense of it.
I halfway want to tell Chris about it, but I’m afraid he’ll be dismissive. For me, there is meaning in how we fit together, there has to be—but I know he won’t see it the same way. Estelle would make too much of it. Sabin would get it. But Chris? No. Besides, the reentry back to school after our days in the hotel was hard enough, and there is no reason to complicate what is over for now. It’s not the right time to talk about scars, mine or Chris’s. And I don’t need details to know the profound significance of Chris’s scars, physical and emotional. What may have happened to him, and to Estelle, Eric, and Sabin, is more than I can stand. But I don’t know the story yet, and imagining details is not smart. I need facts, but I have an unwavering respect for privacy, so I will not ask about this.
It’s taken us a little time to find our footing again with each other, and some of that struggle is probably from the fact that Sabin, Eric, and Estelle make no secret of staring back and forth between us at every given opportunity, waiting to see what might happen. I don’t know about Chris, but I haven’t talked about our time together with any of them. I don’t want to talk about it, and luckily, none of them has asked me directly. What went on between me and Chris is ours and ours alone. I can’t even tell Sabin, and I tell him everything else. I’ve listened to his many one-night stand stories, but I will never talk to him about the hotel.
But despite the curious stares from the Shepherd siblings, Chris and I are now finally back to normal. Well, whatever is “normal” is for us. We joke and hang out, we study together sometimes. It’s easier in a group because there’s less opportunity for any loaded eye contact. I try not to touch him much because the electricity that I still feel from any brush of his skin—or, hell, the fabric of his clothing—can make me catch my breath. I’ve accepted that the heat between us is just a part of who we are. But that doesn’t make it any easier when I’m trying to pay attention to Dostoyevsky and feel him put a hand on my shoulder to ask if I want a cup of coffee. Because then all I can think about is how that hand can move so skillfully over my breasts, between my legs… So, that’s challenging. But we have not so much as kissed since that last night in the hotel. As much as I wouldn’t mind a repeat of a number of things, we are in a good place with each other. Being on hold is not an unhappy place to be.
Just as I finish layering on my clothing, down parka, and hat, I get a text from Sabin saying that I should come meet them at the union.Of course I will, I text back. I’m relishing our time together, knowing that graduation is nearing every day. I’m getting closer to applying for the internship that my old friend Nichole Rains talked to me about back in Boston. The reality is that I need to make plans for after graduation, and those plans have to include going home: I need to build a home base for James. Iwantto be there, I do, but I also am not ready to leave this group of friends. To leave Chris. He has no firm idea about what he’s going to do after graduation, either, but I suspect that he’ll stay in the Madison area and get a job of some kind. After the summer, though, both of us could theoretically be free to go anywhere.
As I swing open the door from the gymnasium, I am hit with blizzardy snow. Just before the door blows back into me, Chris puts his hand out and stops it from smacking me in the face.
“My hero!” I clasp my hands together and bat my eyes.
“Damn straight.” Chris grins. “You going back to the dorm?”
“Student union. Sabin said they’re all there. Want to come?” I have to yell through the wind to be heard. It’s dark, and I’m already fantasizing about having a giant cup of cocoa with whipped cream.
“Definitely.”
I groan and lean forward, covering my face with my hands, as a howling wind whips over us. “Motherfuck!”
Chris laughs and throws his arm over my shoulders. “Suck it up. Only another month or so of this.”
It feels good to have this happen, because while I don’t necessarily want to throw him down in the snow and screw him, I do like the closeness between us, so I lean into him while we walk. We make our way through the stormy weather, each of us nearly taking a spill on different ice patches, and I cheer when we tumble into the overheated student union relatively unscathed. “Heat! Thank God!” I sigh happily.
I scan the room, excited to see all the Shepherds, and Zach, too, whose company I’ve really been enjoying lately. He’s genuine, and fun, and passionate, especially about Eric. He’s also…well, Zach is normal. He’s got nice parents who live in the suburbs of Minnesota, and the fact that he’s gay has never caused the slightest issue for them. Zach is so devoid of emotional baggage that it’s a joy to hang out with him. He’s also a great companion because he gets statistics—and we’re in the same class this semester. Having him hold my hand through it is amazing, since I seem to have zero grasp on anything mathematical. Mostly, though, my academic performance is soaring. My adviser, Tracey, actually dropped me an e-mail to say that she’s been watching my grades since our meeting last fall, and she’s impressed, which makes me happy.
Chris yanks off my hat and shakes it at me, throwing snow in my face. I laugh and chase him over to the table where Eric, Zach, Estelle, and Sabin are sitting. Chris flops into a chair, and I clap my snowy mittens over him to repay the favor, but I jump into Sabin’s lap before he can retaliate again.
“Sabin! Help!” I squeal.
“You’re freezing and wet!” Sabin complains, but he lets me stay where I am anyway, even helping me take off my coat. I love the lap spot that he always provides. Sabe is like an inappropriate Santa Claus. “Look at your cheeks! You’ve probably got frostbite.” He puts his hands on my face and tries to warm me up. But then he’s rubbing crazily and smooshing my face while I try to get away.
“Boys are impossible.” Estelle stares into a compact as she reapplies lipstick. “Leave her alone, you two, because payback is a bitch. Blythe and I will get you when you least expect it.”
Sabin takes his hands from my face. “Okay, okay, I know better than to mess with that tag team.”
He is super scruffy today, even for Sabin, and while I am finding his squishy lap very comfortable to sit on, he has definitely been gaining weight. I can’t resist, so I poke him in the belly. “Might want to come to the gym with me or your brother once in a while.”
The table lets out a collective, “Ohhhhhh!” and I get another face squish.
“Sabe, seriously,” Eric says. “The belly is really getting out of hand.”
“Yeah, come lift with me at least,” Chris offers. “Or go run around the track a few times.”
Sabin rolls me into him, stands with me holding him like a koala baby, and shakes my backside to the table, making me laugh again. “Why? So I can have an ass like Blythe’s?”
