Monsoon Season (11 page)

‘You pay too close attention,’ I grumbled, dipping the spoon into the oatmeal, lifting it to my mouth.

‘I wish I could stay longer,’ he said.

‘Me, too. But it’s okay. You have a life to get back to. Ethan must miss you.’

Jack shrugged. ‘He’s probably using this as an excuse to spend the weekend watching TV in his underwear.’

I smiled. ‘I’ll miss you,’ I said, and I meant it. Still, a part of me was eager to be alone. Having Jack to talk to meant thinking about things, feeling it all, and I didn’t want to. It was too much.

‘I’ll miss you, too,’ he said, standing up. He’d already put his bags in the car. I’d only got up this early so that we could say goodbye. In moments, I would be back under the covers, leaving the oatmeal to turn to cement.

‘I’ll be calling you,’ he said. ‘And you’d better not feed me a bunch of bullshit.’

‘I won’t.’ I placed the bowl on the coffee-table.

He raised an eyebrow.

‘I won’t, Jack. Come on. Give me a hug.’ I stood up and Jack hugged me tightly.

He pulled back, holding my shoulders and looking in my eyes. ‘I love you.’

‘I know. I love you, too. Thanks for everything. I don’t know how I could have made it through the last few days without you.’ We walked to the door, arm in arm.

‘Well, that’s why you have friends – so you don’t have to be alone.’ He stepped off the porch and turned back. ‘Think about calling Laura, okay?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Drive safely.’

The gravel crunched beneath his tyres as he backed out of the driveway. He waved and shifted the car into drive. I stood on the porch, holding my sweater around my body, watching as his tail lights got smaller and smaller in the distance.

Then I went back into the house, slipped into bed, and tried to forget.

If it wasn’t for Gracie, I could sleep all day.

As it is, she starts whining at eleven. I get up and feed her breakfast with my eyes partly closed, let her outside and then go back to bed. I lie there in half-sleep for another few hours. I block out the light with a pillow over my head.

When the phone rings, I let the machine get it. It’s almost always my mom. Hawaii is beautiful. They’re drinking piña coladas on the beach. Dad has had a bit too much sun so he’s sitting under the umbrella today. Tomorrow they’ll go snorkelling. She hopes I’ll pick up the phone one of these days. She wonders how Gracie is doing. Maybe we’re outside. She’ll call back another time. She hopes everything is going well here.

I’m glad my parents have cable: there’s always something on to distract me. I don’t mind commercials. I’ll even watch an infomercial with interest, but I change channels quickly when the diaper ads start.

Time goes by much faster this way.

I had always been the black-sheep liberal of my conservative family. Debates never got too specific; my mom didn’t allow politics at the dinner table, and that was about the only time the four of us spent all together. Mostly, they treated me like my ideology was simply adorable.

One night last summer while my dad was watching the news over dinner, I complained that the conservatives were trying to restrict abortion rights.

My mother placed the salad in the middle of the table, like a gift. It was shades of green topped with halved cherry tomatoes.

My father looked across the table at me. He held his fork midway between his mouth and his plate, elbows on the table. ‘And is there some reason that should matter to you?’

I don’t remember what I said, back when my concern was hypothetical. In my feminist theory class, I’d learned how ‘the political is personal’. Now it transcended theory. I would never be able to get on that particular soapbox again. My father and his Catholicism could knock me off with a raised eyebrow. It didn’t matter what I believed or didn’t. To the people who had always loved me the most, I was a sinner.

Ethan was painting when Jack returned, standing in the light from the big window, wearing paint-speckled cargo pants and a formerly white tank top. Long arms and long fingers, his skin pale for summer. That window was about the only thing the place had going for it. Water stains on the ceiling. Layers of flaking white paint on all the wood trim. A bathroom so tiny, there was barely room to turn around. Ethan didn’t see any of that. It was all about that window. The light. His painting.

He smiled over his shoulder when Jack came through the door. ‘You’re home.’

‘I’m home,’ Jack agreed, sighing.

‘Long drive?’ Ethan asked, setting down his brush and wiping his hands on his hips. He shook his white-blond hair out of his eyes.

‘Long weekend,’ Jack replied, standing behind him and wrapping his arms around Ethan’s waist. He kissed his neck. ‘Is this for class?’ he asked, resting his chin on Ethan’s shoulder.

Ethan was an art major at NYU. A sophomore. He was three years younger than Jack, and it made Jack nervous.

‘Yeah. I was about to quit for the night anyway. I’m just making it worse at this point.’

Ethan was always talking like that. Overly modest. Or self-deprecating. Jack hadn’t figured out yet if he meant it or not. If he knew how talented he really was. Hadn’t figured him out. ‘I like it,’ he said, examining the canvas. A figure in deep shades of blue was reaching or turning or dancing. It wasn’t clear whether it was a man or a woman.

Ethan turned around, held Jack’s head in his blue hands and kissed him. ‘I missed you,’ he said softly.

‘Good.’ Jack smiled.

Ethan’s hands dropped to his sides. ‘I was going to make some tea. Want some?’ he asked. His shoulder brushed against Jack’s as he walked past.

Jack followed him to the kitchen. ‘Sure.’

Ethan reached into the cabinet and got two mugs. ‘How’s Riley?’

The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. ‘She’s okay . . . Well, she’s not okay yet, I guess. But she will be.’

The microwave buttons beeped against Ethan’s fingertips. Two minutes and twenty-two seconds to heat water. It seemed that was how long it took to heat everything. He saved his fine motor skills for painting. ‘So then, that’s good?’ He tilted his head at Jack.

Jack shrugged. Sat down at the folding metal kitchen table. ‘I didn’t want to leave her,’ he confessed. ‘I’m worried. She seems so . . . sad.’

Ethan sat down across from Jack, placed a hand over his on the table. ‘You’re a good friend,’ he said. ‘She’s lucky to have you.’

‘But she doesn’t have me. I’m here. I can’t do anything from here.’

He squeezed Jack’s hand. ‘What can you really do now besides listen to her? And you can listen from here.’

‘I guess.’ Jack felt like arguing with him.

‘Is she okay physically?’ Ethan asked.

‘Huh? Oh. Yeah. They do abortions, these days, like they’re getting rid of your tonsils. Takes an hour or so.’

‘She isn’t having regrets, is she?’

‘No. I don’t think so. I mean, it isn’t the fact that she’d regret it. It’s just, you know, such a permanent decision. Such a clear shift in her life’s path.’

Ethan nodded, like he understood. The microwave beeped. He got to his feet, put the steaming mugs on the table and got two teabags. Green tea. No sugar. Jack had never drunk tea before Ethan.

Ethan sat down again. They dunked their teabags,, synchronized, as if one was a reflection of the other. ‘Do you think she did the right thing?’ he asked.

Jack took a sip. It was bitter and hot on his tongue. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I mean, I would have supported her either way but I really don’t think she was ready. And, to be honest, I am so relieved. If she’d had this creep’s baby, he would have had a hold on her for the rest of her life.’

‘So you think she won’t go back to him?’ Ethan held the mug to his lips, looking at Jack.

‘Of course not. Why would you say that?’

‘It’s just that . . . don’t they usually go back several times before they leave for good?’

‘Riley is not “they”.’

‘Okay. I just read that somewhere.’

‘Well, she’d better not. I’d have to go to Tucson and drag her home.’

Ethan raised his eyebrows. ‘Would you?’

Jack’s tea was getting too strong. He pulled out the bag, set it on the table. ‘Yeah, probably,’ he answered. ‘That’s my job.’

‘Is it?’ Ethan asked.

‘Uh, yeah. She’s my best friend.’

‘I know. But is it really up to you to protect her? Doesn’t she have to make her own mistakes?’

Jack rolled his eyes. ‘She’s done enough of that. I mean, she shouldn’t have to be alone any more. We’re responsible for each other. You think we should just stand by and watch while the people we care about are drowning?’

‘No. I guess I just think it’s hard to find a balance. That’s all.’

‘Yeah. Well. She’s not going back to him.’

‘Okay,’ he said softly. He didn’t want to fight. ‘Like I said, she’s lucky to have you.’

Jack sighed, reached for his hand across the table. ‘I did miss you.’

Ethan smiled. Cocked an eyebrow. ‘Good.’

Ethan was the craziest thing Jack had ever done.

In addition to his studies, Ethan worked at a health-food store called the Good Earth. They had met in April when Jack was trying to be a vegetarian. Ethan had recommended his favourite brand of rice noodles. Seemed like ages ago. Jack had long since given up tofu and bean sprouts for burgers and fried chicken. But his kitchen was still a good place to find sunflower seeds, rice cakes and kidney beans. It was also a good place to find Ethan, stirring something monochromatic and mysterious in a pot on the stove. Blending carrots in a juicer. Recycling.

They’d only known each other for two months when they’d moved in together. The lease was up on the crappy apartment Jack had been sharing with another grad student. Ethan had wanted to get out of the dorms. Now he was working more hours at the health-food store while taking summer classes. Jack was trying to figure out how he’d afford the rent if Ethan left, come the fall.

Ethan taught Jack how to slow-dance in the living room, without music. He named paintings after him.
Jack Reading the Newspaper
.
Jack Sleeping
.
In Love With Jack
. The apartment was covered with rags and brushes and stacks of old canvases. Whenever they fought, Jack got loud and Ethan got quiet. Ethan brought Jack dandelions he found growing in a crack in the pavement outside their building. Jack got used to finding paint on his body after they had made love.

Ethan slept naked. They’d lie together in the dark, talking about their childhoods, their first loves, how much they loved New York. Ethan always fell asleep first. Jack felt he could never get close enough to him. He wanted to rip open Ethan’s chest and lay his head inside. To hold Ethan’s heart in his hands. Squeeze out the steady beat himself.

During Jack’s first year of college, Riley had come out to visit him. Since their school breaks were on different schedules, she attended classes. She was particularly interested in his psychology class. Jack was dating Howard, the teaching assistant.

Jack watched her out of the corner of his eye through class. She sat back with her arms folded. Unreadable. As they filed out of the classroom, she muttered, ‘He’s cute.’ That was all Jack was getting.

They met him for dinner and conversation flowed. Riley was taking a psychology class and was considering making it her major, or so she said. She picked his brain and he lectured confidently.

When they’d finished eating, Riley mentioned dessert.

‘Oh, Jack’s not allowed to have dessert,’ Howard said, patting his stomach.

Riley had been reading the menu. Her head snapped up. ‘
Allowed?
’

That morning Howard had grabbed the flesh above the waistband of Jack’s boxers, had held it between his thumb and first finger and shaken his head.

‘Jack, you’re the last person who needs to be watching your weight.’ Riley scowled.

‘You haven’t seen him without a shirt on.’ Howard snorted.

Riley’s eyes bulged. She turned to Howard with her mouth open slightly. Took a breath. ‘Howard,’ she cooed, with a big phoney smile. ‘Ever heard of transference?’

Howard lifted his head from the menu.

Riley placed her hand over his on the table. A passer-by might have mistaken this for a tender moment. But Jack could see her eyes. Ice. ‘Maybe you’re the one who needs to skip dessert.’ She patted his hand twice and scrunched her nose in false sympathy.

Howard made a sharp noise in his throat and his eyes darted toward Jack, demanding support.

‘So, Jack,’ Riley removed her hand and picked up her menu again, ‘let’s both get something different so we can share. What do you think?’

The first night Jack called Riley she didn’t answer the phone. Even after the machine picked up and her mother’s voice asked him to leave a message. Even after he’d said hello, given her time to get to the phone. She wasn’t ready to talk. Fine.

The second night she picked up when she heard his voice on the machine.

‘Finally,’ Jack huffed. ‘Why didn’t you pick up last night?’

‘I don’t know. I guess I didn’t really have anything to say.’

‘Well, you still could have answered so that I’d know you were okay.’

‘I guess.’