School is out of the question, but I’m not worried about that right now. Mom and Dad aren’t either. They’re back to worrying about my health. Which is good for me.
Now I have bigger problems to deal with. Well, two bigger problems.
The pain is gone within the first three days. But my eagerness to get up and get moving—to be doing something—makes me strain my muscles, forcing my parents to remind me that staying in bed wasn’t just a suggestion.
Lying here, doing nothing, is against my nature. There are so many things I should be doing right now, but my body has other plans. Sit. Wait. And recover.
That’s all it’s been doing for almost a year. Waiting. Hoping. Pining.
When do I get to take charge of my own life? When do I get to be in control of my future?
And I can’t stop thinking about my last meeting with Michael. Michael, who loved life and music and wanted to fight for gay rights. For all I know, he could be dead. I guess I could try to find him, see what happened to him. But I can’t bring myself to do it, to know what outcome I might have caused.
But maybe I could change things. With just one more jump. Just ten more minutes.
A soft knock on my door turns my attention away from my own dark thoughts. Mom pushes her head in. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “Fine,” I say, sitting up. My abs hurt far less than before. I can walk around and do most things by myself. “Wish I could eat some solid food, though.”
“Next week,” she promises, slipping in. “Then you can have whatever you want.”
“You know the problem is with my liver, right? Not my stomach? I didn’t have stomach cancer.”
“I know what type of cancer my son had, Andre,” Mom quips back.
“And trust me, so do I. Considering I’m the one who lived with it and have a body that might be worse off for it.”
She lets out a frustrated sigh and takes in a deep breath. She pauses, looking anywhere but at me. I know she feels tense; I feel it too. It’s like it’s not the same between us anymore. Moms can detect when their children are different. I’m sure it’s some evolved sense of awareness or something. The usual suspects—drugs, alcohol, skipping school—those don’t apply here. She knows something is up, but she can’t place it, and she’ll never be able to.
I wish I could tell her. Tell her the truth, have her and Dad support me in this like they did with my cancer. But I can’t do that to them. They wouldn’t understand.
But right now, I’d kill for her advice. To know what she’d think I should do. She always has the best advice. The simplest of sentences to solve my problems or at least steer me in the right direction.
Maybe someday.
“You have a visitor,” she says softly and steps aside. Half a beat passes before I hear shuffling. I expect Isobel; she’s been texting me nonstop. But instead, it’s Blake.
“Hey,” he says, waving meekly, half hidden behind my mom. She quirks her brow, a silent exchange that he’s unable to see, asking if I want her to tell him to leave.
And, for a moment, I think about it. But curiosity gets the better of me, as it always does. Isn’t that what’s gotten me into trouble these past few months?
“He can stay.”
Mom nods and steps aside. “I’ll be downstairs if you want or need anything,” she says, talking to me, but I know the offer extends to both of us.
I listen to the sound of her footsteps retreating. Blake stands in the doorway, unmoving.
“You can sit.” I gesture to the chair by my desk. He nods and closes the door behind him.
Blake doesn’t just sit; he collapses, his whole body thumping down into the chair. His shoulders, usually perfectly straight, slouch slightly, and his gaze doesn’t focus clearly on me. It doesn’t focus on anything, really. It’s like he doesn’t know where to look or what to say.
“Me too,” I say, breaking the silence.
“What?”
“Me too,” I repeat. “I’m not sure what to say either.”
“Are you…okay?”
I shrug, shifting toward him with a hiss. “I haven’t jumped, if that’s what you’re asking, so I think I’m fine? Still sore. Mom and Dad are hovering over me like hawks, which I thought I was done with.”
“I get that.” He nods. “I mean, rejection is nothing to take lightly or ignore.”
“If only they really understood it.”
“If only.”
Silence fills the room again, but it’s not quiet, it’s loud. There’s so much unsaid between Blake and me that even the stillness is filled with words. Who should speak first? What should either of us say? We’ve both said things to each other that we regret. We both talk too much, act first, and don’t think.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Blake says. “Truly, Andre. I’m glad. I was…worried. And I’m sorry about how I acted before. I never should have spoken to you like that. I hope you can forgive me.”
I open my mouth to say, Really? But I can tell, when I see his face, that he’s speaking the truth. There’s heaviness in his eyes, a dark weight that reads like fear and guilt.
Guilt that he’s responsible.
Fear of losing me.
“Hey,” I say, swinging my legs over the side of my bed. My bare feet touch the floor. I stand up, ignoring the pain and swallowing a hiss, but I don’t make it more than one step before Blake’s gently pushing me back.
“Get back in bed, Andre.”
“Not until you hear me.”
“I’m going to call your mother up here, I swear to God. Get back in bed.”
I study his eyes, trying to gauge how much I can push back. The rigidness of his jaw tells me there’s no wiggle room.
“It’s not your fault,” I say, sitting down. “And I forgive you. We both made a lot of mistakes.”
Blake looks down at his feet, tapping his right foot against the wood in a beat I don’t recognize. It’s a metronome, of sorts, and the only constant sound in the room for half a dozen passing moments.
“Remember what we agreed on when we first started this? That I’d teach you how to time travel, and you’d grant me one free request? Remember that?”
My body tenses. “I remember,” I say quickly. “But—”
Blake looks up at me, and his foot falls still. “I’ve decided what I want to ask you to do,” he interrupts. “I want us to try, Andre. To really try. You and me, if you’ll have me again. No do-overs, because I don’t believe in those. But I want us to see if what I think there is between us, this feeling… I want us to see if it can become something, you know? If you and I can become something. That’s what I want. A chance for us. But I only want it if you want it. And I don’t want to be your second choice. I don’t want you to be with me because you can’t be with him. So… What do you think?”
I think about it. I think about a future, not only my own but a future with Blake. A life together, with ups and downs, highs and lows. Maybe I’m just daydreaming, or maybe I’m being too optimistic, but it feels so real, so tangible.
And, judging by the way my breath hitches, I want it. I want it badly.
“I can give you that,” I finally say.
Blake’s sharp features turn into a wide smile, one that reflects in his eyes.
“Really? You’re not joking? Oh, shit.” He laughs nervously. “I thought you’d say no! I seriously had a whole speech planned!”
“I thought I just heard your speech?”
“I had even more. I rehearsed it. Be honored.”
A throaty laugh leaves my mouth. “I’m going to need to hear that someday. But first…I need to do something.”
“Anything,” he says without hesitation.
He’s not going to be that eager once he hears what I’m thinking.
“I need to go back, Blake,” I whisper, so quietly that I’m not sure I even say it. “One more time.”
“Andre…you know…”
“I know.”
“The risk you’d be taking.”
“I know.”
Blake looks at me.
“I need to say goodbye. We left on such bad terms. I need to make sure he’s okay if I’m going to let him go.”
I expect him to say no. I’m ready for it. I wouldn’t blame him; he just got me back, I’m alive, and what would saying goodbye do for me, anyway? All reasonable answers. All logical answers.
But what I’m doing, what I am, isn’t logical anymore. It’s emotional, it’s feelings, it’s biochemical reactions fueling my motives in ways I didn’t know were possible. And I know this is something I need to do.
And I want Blake’s support while I do it.
Blake sighs, running his fingers through his hair. Slowly, he takes my right hand into his left one. Then he puts my left hand over his and puts his right hand on top. He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
“Make me your tether,” he says. “Think of me when you go, think of me when you want to return. I’ll be here for you. I’ll be there with you. I’ll make sure you come back in one piece. I promise you.”
Is this really happening? I hesitate, waiting for Blake to change his mind, to come to his senses. But as he pulls his forehead back and smiles, that warm, boyish smile, I know he’s not going to. I know he’s in this for the long haul.
I kiss his knuckles, letting my lips linger. “I’ll come back; I promise.”
He nods. “I trust you.”