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“I wouldn’t call grieving Theo a vacation.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant, but I’m sorry. But your recess from classes has been suggested so you can relax somewhere familiar. You’ve never been to California,” Mom says.
I know a lot about California from everything you’ve told me, from everything Jackson has told me. I know from my own research, when I was considering going to college out there to be reunited with you. I know from common sense.
“Have you outgrown your fear of flying?” Dad asks. “If you had a panic attack in your library, we can’t trust you to be okay up in the air for several hours.”
I’m about to suggest I take a sleeping pill, when more excuses come my way. They can’t afford a plane ticket on such short notice, especially given the money they’re saving for my therapy sessions. They don’t care that Jackson’s dad has already booked us both tickets. Neither of them can take off work right now to accompany me, like I’m some kid on a field trip in need of a chaperone instead of a seventeen-year-old who would be staying with Jackson’s mom.
“I’m not comfortable with this,” Mom says.
“Me either,” Dad says.
“Well, I’ll be uncomfortable here once Jackson leaves,” I say. I don’t get how they haven’t seen a difference in me. I’ve been able to watch a little TV without feeling guilty for not grieving and crying. I’m in a place again where I can imagine myself laughing again, really laughing, with tears in my eyes and everything. Besides, I want to see your dorm room, your favorite places, the places you avoided. I even want to visit the beach where you died. “I really want to see what Theo’s life was like out there. I swear I’ll give therapy a shot if you let me go.”
Mom grabs my hand. “Therapy has to come first, Griffin. We don’t like trying to pressure you into this, but we all have to face the truth here: you need to see someone professionally. You’ll be able to visit Jackson in California when you’re feeling better. I’m sorry.” She releases me and begins clearing the table.
I was delusional to think they’d let me go. But at least I asked.
It would’ve been nice to leave with their permission.
Oh well.
Saturday, December 10th, 2016
In the cemetery, Jackson and I pass a lot of elaborate headstones carved from rocks of different colors, their sharp angles poking out like the skeleton limbs buried beneath them. Maybe the families wanted to throw down as much money as possible to get the best headstone in the catalogue, one final splurge on the one they lost. Even though your headstone is pretty standard—flat-faced, gray, only knee-high—to me it stands out better than all the others, almost as if it would glow in the dark. I want to kneel before it, but then I realize I’m stepping on you. This is the closest we’ve been physically since November 21st, when we buried you. I don’t want to think about the state of your body under this frozen dirt. But I can’t help it.
“This feels right,” Jackson says. “Thanks for bringing me here. I can’t think of a better way to spend my last weekend in New York.”
“Do you think you’ll ever come back?” I ask him. “Maybe to make things right with Veronika and visit Anika?” I still can’t believe Anika never made time to talk things out with Jackson; there’s no way he could’ve known about Veronika’s abortion. If these are his friends, maybe he needs new ones. Maybe that’s me. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to you.
“Yeah. I would want to see you, too,” Jackson says.
There’s a flash of warmth in my face before the cold wind chews it away. “It’s weird, right? Us. Not bad-weird anymore, but still weird when you think about how much time we spent trying not to be friends.”
“Every morning I wake up without Theo, I think about how strange it is that I’m waking up in your room. It always takes a second to click, no offense.”
“None taken. I’m the same way. I want to ask you something. And you can’t lie to me or avoid answering because we’re pretty much standing on Theo right now and that’s deeper than swearing on a Bible.”
“Shoot.” Jackson doesn’t even stop to consider this like I would’ve.
“Did you worry Theo would ever break up with you and get back together with me?”
“Competing against his first love was so impossible sometimes,” Jackson says. “I know Theo would never cheat on me, but if he were going to do it, I know it would’ve been with you.”
You never told him what happened when you were here in June without him, did you? Sorry, that’s taboo. Even now.
Jackson bounces a little to warm up. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think I would’ve had it in me to be his friend if we’d broken up. I would’ve wanted him in my life, but I wouldn’t have been able to stand it. I would’ve said goodbye. I don’t know how you survived this.”
I’m not sure I actually did survive it. Look at me now, Theo: I’m about to run away from home and get on a plane, two things that had never crossed my mind to do. Maybe I will need therapy when I get back. I’m shattered and empty. I’m loyal to the end, but that’s the heart of my problem and may soon be Jackson’s too: when exactly is the end?
Sunday, December 11th, 2016
Jackson is folding his clothes, packing for the flight tomorrow. “Are you sure you want to go? There’s no turning around once the plane takes off.”
He’s whispering, but I almost panic that my parents will overhear us. Then I remember they’re both napping—or having sex, whatever—in their bedroom. “I’m definitely going. You’re more scared of them than I am.”
Jackson puts his shirts in his bag. “I don’t want to piss them off. I like them.”
