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“Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald
~&~
August 2003
“Hey, mom… No, no, I’m doing fine. I just got the last box up, and Ellen’s on her way– yeah, I’ll tell her to call you later. She’s alright. I haven’t… no, they’re not here yet. I don’t know. Some guy named Bob, and two guys named Mickey and Reuben, but they’ve already claimed one of the bedrooms, so I’m stuck with Bob, I guess… Nah, it’s alright. They probably know each other… Yeah, I’m going to dinner soon. I– I know, mom. I miss you. I know it– oh, please don’t cry. I know you want to be here, but… I know. I know. I’m sorry, mom. It’s all gonna be over soon, right? I’ll be home for Christmas, you know I will. Nothing’s gonna stop me. Mom, I– just think about what it’ll be like when it’s over… Miss you too. I love you.”
September
It’s funny how, on a campus with thousands of people, you see the same faces pop up again and again. Not just the ones in your classes, the people you get to know slightly over the course of a dozen Tuesday afternoons, but the ones that pass you by on their bikes, or snatch your seat on the bus, or hold the elevator for you but don’t tell you about your untied shoelace. One of those faces belonged to Bradley Bradshaw, and for Jake Seresin, standing some twenty feet from him leaning against a beer-splattered wall, a spot of misery at an otherwise thrumming house party, it was a blessing and a curse to see it every other day. It represented everything he couldn’t have, a sort of freedom just outside of his reach that smelled faintly like woodsmoke.
As for why it was a blessing… oh , what a face it was.
They were a little more than strangers – not friends by any definition, but they had the same English lecture/discussion, and, because Jake’s luck was shit, the other man was the closest thing he had to a companion, if only because he could let his snark run free around him.
Bradley stood at the edge of the kitchen, the only room with sufficient lighting in the house, chatting with a few girls, drink in hand. Jake watched him with deluded misery; a few stray locks of tousled brown hair, done just right to get that boy-next door look, kept falling over Bradley’s face, a perfect match for his stupid mustache and Hawaiian shirt, both seemingly plucked straight from the goddamn Seventies.
Jake felt sick, not just from the sweaty humidity in the room and his awful drink (some unholy combination of fruity vodka and cheap whiskey that made his stomach churn) but from his own desires. He shouldn’t have come. He could have left half an hour ago, but some force kept him there. Maybe it was his holier-than-thouness, his disdain of all matters social and alcohol-based, the satisfaction he got from not knowing any of the pop songs that pounded through the house like a heartbeat and worsened his growing nausea, or maybe it was some kind of sadistic voyeurism, deriving pleasure – or jealousy – from spying on the objects of his attraction.
God, he was a fucking creep. Bradshaw was as straight as they came. Even now, he had an eager audience of four blondes hanging on his every word as he charmed them with a wave of his beer-can hand. He was perfect in just about every sense, and Jake was the loner who dreamed of him like a schoolgirl. He was an idiot for even looking. Staring. Making eye contact, while the subject of his attention recognized him from a distance and– shit .
Recognition flickered in Bradley’s eyes, and something tightened in Jake’s chest.
No, absolutely not. The last thing he needed to do tonight (aside from be at this party) was start pining again. The alcohol meant he was about a hundred times more likely to burst into tears at any moment (why did he take it?), and just from the combination of overdriven bass and how much the whole scene reminded him of the parties his father used to take him to, that moment seemed sooner and sooner.
No one will know. No one will notice you left. No one knows you’re here at all.
Jake deposited his near-empty cup into either a trash bin or a potted plant – it was hard to tell in the dark – and slipped between bodies, dodging flailing limbs and chair legs, until he felt a rush of cold air. Unlike the backyard, which he’d visited briefly and, to his embarrassment, left as soon as some girl offered him a tab of acid, the front lawn was mostly deserted. Other than the two people lighting up on the driveway, he was alone. He breathed in slowly, feeling sweat cool on his back. What a lovely night to spend cooped up in a petri dish like that. There was a salty tinge to the air, one that reminded him of–
“Hey, man,” Bradley said.
Jake whirled around, startled. “Hey. Didn’t expect to see you here.” As though he hadn’t been very obviously staring at the man all night. “I take it you’re as sick of it as I am.”
“What, the party? It’s alright. Wish they had better drinks.”
“I dunno. I went ‘cause someone from my lab invited me. This’ll probably sound ridiculous, but it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, y’know? I know movies aren’t real, and everything in fiction is overblown and dramatic, and all that, but I feel like if I really wanted to get drunk and listen to NSYNC, I would’ve just gone to the room next to mine and asked to join their neverending party.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Bradley replied. “You’ve got loud neighbors?”
“They never sleep, I swear. I can’t even get the RA to do anything about it, ‘cause she’s never around.”
“I know . It’s like, don’t apply to take care of people if you don’t care. What were you expecting, though? It’s just a frat rave.”
“I don’t know! Maybe something more than a few kegs and shitty music.” Jake shoved his hands in his pockets and took a look around at the house and its vast lawn, perfectly trimmed grass killed by a dozen cars parked over it. “A real Gatsby blowout, why not?”
“Oh, don’t remind me,” Bradley said, indignant. “I still haven’t started on that paper.” They’d been collectively assigned, earlier that week, to analyze the major themes of the book that most of the people in that room hadn’t thought of since their sophomore years of high school; that is, if they even bothered to read it at all back then.
“That man’s really starting to get on my nerves,” Jake grumbled, in reference to their professor, Dr Aleeck. “He just yaps and acts like it’s something worth writing down and studying, as though anything he says means anything.”
“Agreed. Can’t believe he said what he said about you, though.”
“What, that I’m a ‘real Gatsby type’?” Jake spoke in an overly sophisticated tone. Aleeck had singled him out the other day in discussion because, naturally, Jake and Bradley were among the unlucky seventeen students whose section was taught by the professor himself. Jake continued, “it’s just because I’ve got the face of someone who’s here on an ‘athletical scholarship’.”
Bradley laughed. “You sound just like him. No, I wasn’t even thinking about that. I just remembered he said he wouldn’t take any,” he made air quotes, “‘speculative’ essays that didn’t have some academic background already, after you asked him about your topic idea.”
“Guess he didn’t want to hear my excellent interpretations of Nick’s sexuality just because I couldn’t find anything about it at the library.”
“It’s bullshit, honestly. Now that you mention it, though, I think he was wrong.”
“About what?”
“Calling you Gatsby.”
Hell does he know about me , Jake thought. “How so?”
“Dude, have you seen Brig Lennox?” Bradley rolled his eyes. “Came in on the first day with a leather satchel, put a brand-new Mac laptop on his desk, and then announced to us all that he didn’t care for the new Hamlet movie because he saw it – the play, I mean – when he was in London. At the Globe theater.”
“I think my brain forgot about that on purpose. I couldn’t believe it, honestly.”
“I know! I half expect that one day, it’s gonna come out that he’s faking it all, he’s actually from Podunk, Nebraska, and then he’ll drive his new Corolla into the bay, or something.”
Despite himself, Jake grinned. “Wait, hang on,” he said, drunk enough to play along, “isn’t he in a frat of some sort? One of the expensive ones?”
“I dunno, probably.” Bradley sipped his room-temperature beer and made a face of regret afterwards. “Why, you don’t think…?” He trailed off, setting the can on the front step of the porch.
“What are the odds,” Jake snickered drunkenly. “What are the odds that we’re standing around here, talking about him behind his back, at his party, getting wasted and never actually seeing him?”
“If that’s the case, then I’m calling a cab. I’d rather write a thousand words about capitalism than mingle with the people outside my tax bracket. Did you hear that he said his safety was Yale? He got into fucking Yale and still turned it down?”
“He knew if he went to the east coast he’d be outmatched by everyone else’s household incomes.”
Jake didn’t find his own remark very funny, but Bradley laughed again, and Jake found himself on the verge of a truly embarrassing blush. “If you want to leave,” he offered, “the library’s open all night. We could find some real academic literature to base our awful papers on.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m not such a bad writer myself.” Bradley gave him a soft jab in the shoulder with his elbow. “My classmates in high school used to hate me, ‘cause I’d bang out an essay in an hour while they were still complaining about it.”
“Perhaps you could give me some pointers.” He smiled, but internally, Jake was kicking himself for talking about classwork at a house party. Well, lousy house party, if he had to categorize it. “Yes or no, Bradshaw? It can’t be worse than this.”
“If you insist…” Bradley smiled. “Lead me on, then.”
As far as Jake remembered (which was only partially), the library wasn’t too far off from sorority row. As they crossed the dew-covered lawn, stepping over discarded cans and items of clothing, the thrum of the party fell away into a distant buzz. They lapsed into silence as they walked, taking in the ambience of the night: cicadas, screeching from the trees; distant cars; airplanes, coming to land at SAN; the wailing sirens of cop cars racing in the opposite direction.
“Guess we got out at the right time,” Jake remarked.
“That’s the last thing I expected, honestly,” Bradley said. “I wonder what happened.”
“I might have a few guesses.”
“Oh? Insider information, have we? Did you get up to anything illicit?”
Jake waved him off. “Nah. I just stood against the wall the entire time and watched things happen around me. I’ll bet you it was either a failed keg stand which ended in some kind of injury, someone got violent, or some dweeb ratted them out over the weed.”
“They had weed in there?”
“Do you live under a rock, man? Of course they did.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.” There was a pause. “Wait, are you sad ‘cause you didn’t get any?”
“No!” Bradley looked away. “That’s definitely not the reason.”
“Yeah, and dreamers often lie, Romeo.”
“Shut up , man.” They walked on, content to let the quiet of the night devour them, until Bradley asked, “So, are you an English major, then?”
“I don’t think I’d be in 107 if I was,” Jake huffed. “Nah, I’m just a loner and a reader. I haven’t decided on anything yet. Or, at least, decided on what I do want. I’ve got a long list of absolutely nots .”
“Like what?”
“Business, math, physics, anything biology related…” He gritted his teeth. “Political science.”
“Not one for physics, huh? Couldn’t be me. I’m in aeronautic engineering.”
“Jeez. Aren’t you the guys that get no sleep, ever?”
“No, those are the mechies. Mechanical engineers,” he clarified. “We get confused a lot. Really, though, with all the classes I’ve got I shouldn’t sleep as much as I do.”
“Why make yourself suffer?”
Bradley shrugged. “Who doesn’t suffer for their art? I do love what I do. Despite everything, it’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s a lot of math and a lot of failure, but at the end of the day, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I” – he looked up, pointed to a plane passing overhead – “could make something like that one day.”
“Huh,” was all Jake said in reply. In the dim light of streetlamps he watched Bradley’s eyes follow the plane, gleaming with enthusiasm. What he wanted to say, what the words in his head wouldn’t form, was that to have that kind of passion was all he really wanted. That, and a friend, but that would probably happen on its own, give or take the next twenty minutes.
What he ended up saying was, “Planes are cool, huh?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“I mean, is there some other reason, or is it just, ‘planes are cool’?”
“There’s a bit more to it.” Bradley’s voice wavered between mesmerized and sentimental. “It’s not important.” He stared a little longer, waiting until the blinking tail lights disappeared over the edge of distant buildings, and turned back to Jake. “So, why not English?”
“It’s– it’s not so much that I’m against it as I am unsure. I don’t know what the hell to do with a degree in reading old books, other than become a professor and replace Dr Aleeck someday.”
“If only. I’d rather listen to you talk over him.”
Jake lost his train of thought briefly, grinning like a dork. “I– thanks, man.” He felt that tightness again, that awful feeling that one way or another he’d find a way to mess this up. He pushed the feeling down, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and kept walking.
~&~
“Why Gatsby, d’you think?” Jake said, handing a dusty book to Bradley, who placed it on top of a precarious, ever-growing stack on an empty shelf.
“Beats me. Maybe it’s just his favorite book, and he thinks this is the best way to share the wonders of Fitzgerald with a room full of med students and jocks.”
“Oh, I’ve got it. Maybe he thinks that there’s some lesson in reading it that we’ll all magically get by the end of the unit.”
“Maybe he’s giving us something easy at the start of the year, so that we don’t kill him immediately.” Bradley added under his breath, “Unlike all my other professors.”
“Maybe,” Jake said, adding another book to the pile, “this is all just propaganda to get us to go come here and check out books that no one’s read since they were written. Look at this.” He cracked open the cover of one, turning stiff pages as he did. “ Twentieth Century Sexuality: A History . At least this one’s only been here a couple years.”
“We’re in pretty niche territory, aren’t we?”
“What, you’re saying the average person doesn’t want to read overexplanations of why people find shit sext and make art about it?” Jake took one more look at the shelf, straining to make out titles and barcodes in the dim basement light. “Let’s move, I think we’ve exhausted this area.”
Bradley picked up the now-hefty stack and followed. “I think it’s a bit more than that.”
“It is, I’m just being reductive.” Jake pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket, on which he’d written down the Dewey decimal sections for various topics relevant to his needs. “I’m sure he’s got lots to say about why everyone else wants to suppress the sexy shit, and why we still can’t talk about gays without turning it into some overtly religious moral debate, and…” He froze. “Anyway.”
“No, I see what you mean. I just don’t think you need” – he set the books on an empty shelf, landing with a thunk – “ all of these. Or, at the very least, you should carry them.”
“I didn’t make you– I’m not gonna check all of them out. I just grabbed whatever seemed useful, and I’ll skim them before we leave. I mean, you could, too, if you want.”
“Hang on,” Bradley said, raising one eyebrow, “has this all been an elaborate ploy to get me to write your paper for you?”
“Oh, so, when I don’t tell you I have a major, you think it’s English, and now that you know I’m undecided, I suddenly lose the ability to write?” Smiling, Jake took half the books from his research stack and tucked them under one arm. “No, I’m saying that, well, since you seem at least a little interested in my, as Dr Aleeck would say, outlandish idea, then if we both write an essay about it, maybe he’ll take us seriously.”
“Alright, I’m game. As long as you answer me one question, though.”
“Um. Alright.” He’s figured it out, hasn’t he , Jake thought. This is the moment when it all goes downhill.
“I’m sorry in advance if this is offensive, or I’ve misread you, or something like that, but…” Bradley hesitated for a second, gears turning in his head, before he finally said, “Do you… play for the other team, so to speak?”
A thin pang of fear sounded through Jake’s mind. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean. You’ve spent half the night telling me that the only thing you can think of when you read The Great Gatsby is how much you think Nick wants to fuck the man, and you’ve led me down to the section where they keep books on sex and gender. I can see the signs.”
“You can tell? I mean– fuck. I meant, do I give off some kind of signal, or– shit. You know what I mean. Do you?”
“Yeah, that’s the point.” Bradley placed a careful hand on Jake’s shoulder. “That’s why I ask. It’s not that you’re obvious about it, but I do see the signs. You and I are on the same side here.”
“I… oh.” Jake shifted, adjusting his hold on his books; Bradley retracted his arm and did the same. A ghost of his touch lingered on Jake’s arm. “I’m just not used to meeting other guys like me. Out ones, anyway.”
“I’m not out, if that matters. You’re one of four people who know. Five, now.”
“Oh. I guess you’re part of my five, also.”
“Yeah?” Somehow, in the glow of ancient fluorescents and must of old paper and mildew, Bradley shone like a star, hanging low enough in the sky that he looked deceptively close, as though Jake could reach out and catch him if he ever fell from the heavens. “I guess it’s our secret, then. I’ve got your back, you’ve got mine.”
Jake bit his tongue, doing his best not to tear up right then and there. “I’d like that, a lot. I don’t have a lot of friends, if you can’t tell, ‘cause you’re the only person who can stand my rants about literature, but… It means a lot, Bradshaw.”
Bradley smiled, and Jake’s heart skipped a beat. “Same to you, Seresin.”
October
“It’s not that I don’t like it, per se,” Jake said from the bathroom, where he was leaning over the sink staring intently at his own face, “I just don’t find it very appealing. Like, I’ll eat a lasagna if it’s placed in front of me, I won’t turn it down, but if I go to an Italian restaurant, that’s not what I’ll order. You get me?”
“You think women are lasagnas?” Bob asked.
“That is so obviously not what I mean, man.”
“That’s the metaphor you went with, though,” Reuben said. “There really aren’t a lot of other ways of interpreting that, other than–”
Jake interjected, “Okay, but, you said metaphor . You acknowledge that I’m using a non-literal statement to get my meaning across. I’m speaking poetically–”
“– No the hell you aren’t –”
“– and with humorous intent, clearly. It’s what the kids are calling a joke , Rube.”
“Ah, well, clearly , that’s my mistake. Speaking of, I think it’s time you should declare your major and pursue your dreams of getting that doctorate in English. You’re so good with your words, after all.” Reuben grinned a truly shit-eating grin. “Women are lasagnas.”
“Fuck you, man.”
“You started this!”
“ You started it when you asked why I like Bradley. Honestly, I think I’d prefer it at this point if you told me you wanted me to move out, ‘cause I just know you’re never going to let me live this down.”
“So you admit that it was a stupid remark.”
“I admit that I’m close to being late. Bob, you’re the neutral party. How do I look?” Jake stepped out into the main part of the dorm, where Bob and Reuben were sitting on the couch. “And if it’s a comparison to Italian food, I swear to god–”
“You look fine,” Bob said. “Though I’d ditch the belt.”
“It’s a statement.”
“White on black isn’t a statement. You look bad.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” Jake muttered, reluctantly slipping the belt off. “Other than that, am I presentable? Do I look straight enough that people aren’t going to look at the two of us and immediately know that we’re on a quasi-date of some kind? Is this first date attire?
“I think you’re overthinking this whole thing,” Reuben said. “Does the guy like you?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“ He thinks so . Did he ask you out?”
“Yes, but only after I puked in front of the library.”
“Is he taking you to an upscale place?”
“Not particularly, but it isn’t bad, either. We’re not even getting dinner. It’s more like a dessert date.”
“Then you’re fine. You look… decent, you’ve got chemistry with the guy, and this seems to be a mutual thing and one some one-sided attraction. I think you’re going to be alright.”
“Easy for you to say.” Jake shoved his wallet into his pocket. “You’ve never dated a guy before.”
“It’s not that different, is it?”
“We were just talking about this.”
“Right, yeah. Whatever. You go out and have fun, we’ll stay home and watch whatever thing Bob brought home from the video store.” Reuben sat back, flicked the TV on, watching Jake head for the door. “Oh, one last thing.”
Jake stopped halfway over the threshold. “What’s that?”
“Don’t order the lasagna.”
He shot Reuben a nasty glance and walked out, leaving the door to loudly shut on its own.
It was colder out than Jake expected, what with it being southern California and all. Fall had set in in full force, and he was quickly starting to miss the hot afternoons and sunny beaches he’d been so sold on in all the brochures. Traces of sand and seawater still hung in the air, but the chill had dulled them. Even their taste in the air was gone (a strange phenomenon he’d discovered on more humid days). Nonetheless, something stirred inside Jake that warmed his spirits, and the sight of Bradley pulling up in his stupid Jeep made him feel like he’d been set on fire. Or maybe that was the embarrassment of seeing the other man in a (slightly nicer) floral button-down that wouldn’t have been out of place at a Jimmy Buffet concert, while Jake had starched and ironed his own shirt to perfection. He undid the top two buttons and got in the car.
Bradley didn’t say anything for a few minutes, leaving Jake to sit in near-silence for a few minutes, planning out conversation starters. He’d already developed a mental list of things to ask, topics to avoid, and ways of getting out of questions that would lead their conversation in an unsavory direction. Although, watching him as they passed through darkened streets and neon alleys, Jake felt like he could talk about the contours of Bradley’s face all night and not stop to breathe.
“What’s the surprise?” Jake finally asked. “And don’t say it’s Italian.”
“Why not?”
“No reason.”
“I’m not telling you,” Bradley said, “although I will say that it isn’t that. I don’t want to break the suspense, now do I?”
“Can I get a hint? Is it sentimental, or is it going to be a steep change in tone from what I’m expecting?”
“I don’t know what you think’s going to happen, but I’m not here to throw you off.”
“Can I buy a vowel, at least?”
Bradley made an illegal left. “No.”
“You’re no fun,” Jake pouted. He fiddled with his shirt collar, realizing only then that showing off his chest the way he was would either have the effect of making him look infinitely gayer or make Bradley stare at his neck all night, though neither of those outcomes seemed all that bad in the long run. “How’s that roommate of yours?”
“Javy?” Bradley shrugged with one arm. “He’s alright. Walked in to find him on the couch with a girl the other night, but he’s alright otherwise. I think you two would get along well, actually.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“You’re both a couple of snarky schmucks, for starters.”
“Come on, Bradley, don’t sell me too short, now.”
“It’s like he’s here with me,” Bradley muttered. “Seriously, though. He’s also undecided, but he’s more of a do-whatever-the-hell undecided. You should see his class roster; he’s got figure drawing and calculus back to back.”
“Does he know?”
“What, about us?”
“My roommates figured it out last week and now they won’t leave me alone about it. I appreciate their support, but they just don’t get it.” Jake absently picked at a hangnail. “Or maybe they do, and I’m just being bitter.”
“But they’re not being jerks about it.”
“Mickey was a little weird at first, but he came around. Unlike some people I know.”
Bradley nodded and took his hand off the wheel long enough to grab Jake’s left hand, squeezing it for just a moment. “I get it.”
“Thank you,” Jake said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear himself. He thought briefly of a moment so similar to this one, three years ago. Had it been that long already? Bradley’s touch was like white-hot comfort, scorching, yet burning away the mess of thoughts swirling around in Jake’s head. Maybe this time the night wouldn’t end with a bloody knee, scraped from running in the dark, and a locked bedroom door.
~&~
“ – and then,” Bradley continued, struggling to keep his composure, “I look around, Hartman’s got his hands around Joey’s neck. He’s not choking him or anything, but he’s got him backed up against a wall.”
“Hot.”
“I– shut up. I’m standing in the back of the room, not saying anything, right? I look out into the hall, and Mr Delgado’s on his way. I don’t know whether or not to say anything, just in case Hartman decides to take his ire out on me next, so I don’t. He walks in – Delgado, that is – he walks in, and he says to those two, ‘You lovebirds should find a spot anywhere else except my classroom.’ Then,” he snickered, “then Joey, ‘cause he’s got that long hair, he turns around and says, ‘Wow, sir, I didn’t know you were so open about your preferences!’”
Jake laughed, slapping the table just hard enough to jingle his utensils. “He really said that?”
“I couldn’t believe it, either. He never gave me shit after that, and Hartman steered clear just in case one of us tried to blackmail him, or something. Not that I’d do a thing like that.”
“Of course not. It’s so cool that your school actually had a GSA, though. That never would’ve flown where I went.”
“Oklahoma, right?”
“Private catholic school in Oklahoma,” Jake gritted. “With a uniform and everything. Most miserable four years of my life.” Three, techincally, but that wasn’t important.
“I’m sorry,” Bradley said.
“Eh, I survived. That’s all that really matters.”
“I can’t imagine what it was like being, y’know, and going there.”
Jake took a drink from his soda and sighed. “Imagine if, instead of having a regular sex ed class when you’re a sophomore, or however old you are when you’re supposed to get it, you took sex ed every year. Only, it’s not sex ed, it’s someone vaguely alluding to sex and telling you to do it, but also not to do it, and that you’re supposed to be a proper, Godly man, and if you look at another guy you’re an awful person.”
“Jesus.”
“Don’t get me started on him.”
“Sorry. Force of habit. Was it really that… intense?”
“Not all the time. Some days I faked being sick so that I’d miss that class. It was so hard to deal with, being told to your face that you’re sick and wrong and every other thing you’d hear from some Republican senator.”
Bradley pursed his lips, searching for the right thing to say. His mustache curled into a compassionate shape. “I wish I could’ve been there for you.”
“I had friends who knew.” Jake bit the inside of his mouth. “They saved my life a few times. Mostly, they just gave me a hand and a tissue when it got to be too much. My parents never found out,” he lied. “It was just me and Archie and Matt. I miss them.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jake shook his head. “It’s alright.”
“No, it isn’t,” Bradley insisted. “And don’t argue with me. Whatever anyone said about you, you didn’t deserve it, alright? You’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever met, and if you’re a sinner, then so am I.” He reached across the table and brought his hand close enough to Jake’s that the tips of their middle fingers touched, the smallest, most subtle, but still present connection.
“Matt actually gave me this when I left school.” Jake reached under his collar and revealed a thin silver chain with a hammer-shaped pendant on it. “I used to be a big dork about Marvel comics, and he knew I loved Thor. He said someday, in my time of need, it’d become a real hammer and I’d defend myself.”“Has it happened yet?”
“No. I learned to defend myself instead.”
Bradley smiled. “Are you sure you’re not going to end up being a writer someday?” They’d had a conversation along those lines the other night which, somehow, had ended with the two of them attempting to draft the world’s worst novel while getting progressively drunker. “You’ve got a lot of good lines in you.”
“A book isn’t just one-liners, Bradley, and neither is my life. It’s a series of irrational events that ends with me losing one way or the other.”
“Why do you say that?”
Jake waved it off. “That’s for another night.”
“But that’s– that’s not how you see this, right?” Bradley gestured between the two of them. “This isn’t nothing to you, is it?”
“I’m not saying that at all!” Jake snapped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… that’s not what I meant. My life hasn’t made sense in a long time. I’m used to getting one little victory and then everything else crashing down around it. This is… you’re the happiest I’ve been in a long time, man.”
“I’m glad I can be here for you.” Bradley nudged Jake’s hand again, pinching one finger between two of his own. “No one’s looking. It’s just you and me, and we’re safe here.”
Jake felt himself smile in return. “You don’t know what this means to me. Being…” He hesitated to use the L word so soon. “Being liked like this. Almost publicly. No fear of shame, or recognition, or anything.”
“Can I pry? Into your high school experience, I mean.”
“Go ahead.”
“I take it you didn’t really date anyone.”
“I did. A girl. Her name was Judy, and we had awkward sex on her couch. That was in my senior year, and really it was only for me to save face and have a date to prom. I, well, got caught with some other guy a couple years before that. My dad…” Sighing, Jake said, “Can we talk about something else?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, I don’t mind that you did. It’s just, our waiter’s gonna come back eventually and I don’t want to have to order a slice of cheesecake through my years, y’know?”
Smirking, Bradley said, “You’ve got interesting priorities.”
“What can I say? I’m pragmatic. If I can avoid the embarrassment, I will. That’s why I don’t go out.”
“I think you’re too hard on yourself. Around other people, at least. When I’m with you, I don’t see what it is that you’re so afraid of when it comes to the way you are. You’re really charismatic, you know?”
“You’re only saying that ‘cause you like me.”
“That’s why I like you.”
Something stirred in Jake, a feeling that spread over his entire being and made him want to claw his own heart out and present it as a gift to the man sitting across from him. Bradley grinned, and Jake saw himself, reflected in hazel eyes, and somewhere within them was Elias Horne, still fifteen and tanned from that long, hot summer. He stammered out a, “Thanks, man,” and later that night, when their lips met in a darkened street corner, repeated it for good measure.
November
Jake stared out the passenger side window. “How much longer?”
“You’re like my mother,” Bradley said. “Another ten minutes. We’re nearly there. You’re not nervous, are you?”
“Every day of my life. Should I be?”
“Only if you’re particularly afraid of people grilling.”
“On Thanksgiving?”
Bradley raised his eyebrows. “You’re in for a treat, then.”
“Sure.” Jake resumed his mindless staring, watching as grassy knolls arose from the once desolate desert-ish landscape, filling with little houses and one-car garages punctuated by the occasional middle school or church. “And they’re alright with this?”
“If you mean us dating, I haven’t told them yet. Otherwise, yes.”
“Should we?”
“I’ll do what you’re comfortable with. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. No rush.”
“I’m not sure if we should or not.”
“Why’s that?” Bradley asked.
“It’s me overthinking things, is what it is. It’s either gonna hang over us all week and make everything all weird, or… I don’t know. I’ll freeze up and regret it and then we’ll spend another two hours in the car in silence.”
“You’re nervous.”
“No shit, Poirot,” Jake retorted. That old gnawing feeling bit at his brain, leaving an anxious itch at the back of his head. “Maybe we should. Let’s not over-complicate things more than I already have.”
“You haven’t. Nothing’s happened, so nothing’s been complicated. I wish you’d told me you were worried, though.”
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize, it’s alright.”
“Sorr– fuck.”
They pulled up a few minutes later to a simple, one-story house with a small yard. An American flag hung off of the porch, casting shadows over a small bed of flowers. Bradley shut off the engine and got out to get their bags. Jake hesitated for an extra moment, wondering how he let himself be talked into spending fall break with a house full of strangers, before he stepped out, stretching his legs.
“Catch.” Bradley tossed Jake’s duffel at him, which he narrowly caught. “You ready for this?”
Jake nodded. They walked up the front sidewalk together, dropping their bags on the edge of the porch. Bradley knocked on the screen door and stepped back. The street was quiet otherwise, a lonely row of paper-doll houses and chirping bugs.
The door swung open, and almost immediately two people stepped out and hugged Bradley.
Not wanting to interfere, Jake stepped back a bit. They exchanged all the usual pleasantries, all the ‘it’s good to see yous’ and the ‘welcome home, sons’ that could fit into the span of twenty seconds. When Bradley pulled back to pick his bag up, Jake finally got a good look at the other man’s parents. His mother was taller than he expected, with faded blonde hair and her son’s eyes (or, rather, he had his mother’s eyes, but Jake was only noticing that retroactively), and his stepfather had crow’s feet around his eyes and a soft face that had taken a beating or two in the past.
“And you must be Jake,” Bradley’s father said. He extended a hand. “Pete Mitchell-Bradshaw, but if that’s too much, you can just call me Mav.”
Jake returned the handshake. “Thank you for having me, sir.”
“Oh, please, the pleasure’s ours,” his mother said. “He’s told us so much about you. Has he told you about us? I’m Carole.” He greeted her as well and followed them in. She continued, “The guest room is down the hall, next to Bradley’s. Feel free to go get comfortable before dinner; take all the time you need.”
“We won’t be long, mom,” Bradley said from behind Jake. He tilted his head, beckoning for him to follow. When they were a little farther down the hall, he asked, “You want to sleep with me, instead?”
“Gee, Bradshaw,” Jake said, jokingly scandalized, “at least buy me dinner first.”
“It’s not the first time.”
“Are you sure they’re not gonna know?”
“This is for your own good. The guest bed is the second hardest thing to diamond. C’mon, we’ll be alright.” Bradley led Jake into his own room, which was exactly as he’d expected it to be: gentle blue-papered walls, covered in posters of musicians and planes; a bookshelf crammed with nerdy novels and technical manuals; and intricate model planes resting on whatever surface had room.
Jake set his bag down and looked out the window to the sizable backyard. “You’re way too casual about all of this. I hope you know that.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Nothing’s alright. It’s just…” A vision of a near-empty house came into his mind. “It’s nice to feel like I’m in some semblance of home.” He thought of his mother then, a thousand miles away, and the part of him that was still there with her.
~&~
“Bradley tells us you’re studying English and writing,” Carole cheerfully said, passing along a large bowl of salad. “What are you thinking of doing after school?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Jake said, subtly shooting Bradley a nasty look, “but I’m keeping my prospects open. Might go for another degree, who knows.”
Mav chimed in, “Has he taken you out to the airfield yet?”
“The what?”
“Bradley’s godfather is in the Navy. Your college is down the road from an air base I used to be stationed at. If you ask nicely, you might be able to see some of the nonresticted areas, and maybe a couple hangars. With a good word, of course.” He winked.
“Some other time, dad,” Bradley said. “I’ve been a little swamped lately.”
“Midterms. Gotcha. Sometimes I’m jealous I never went to college and have to live vicariously through what you tell me, and then sometimes I think man, I’m glad I didn’t have to worry about finals.” Mav laughed. “But I’m proud of you for getting through and not stressing yourself out, kid.”
“So, what do you do?” Jake asked. “He’s mentioned your service, but that was in the past, I take it.”
“Long time gone. No, I’m a law clerk now. I did my time, I served my country, but it just didn’t pan out in the end. I miss being behind the nose of an F-14, but then I remember I don’t have to worry about someone locking a missile on me, I just need to make sure I file the 1094s right. Carole teaches at the community college.”
“English, mostly,” she added. “That’s why I asked. What eras interest you the most?”
Jake thought for a moment, chewing on a particularly fatty piece of steak. “20th century American,” he said. “I’m obsessed with Fitzgerald and Updike, in particular. Just their themes of real American life and the relationships their characters have with one another. They’re not broken, but they’re far from normal. They have everything they want, yet they wish for a life they don’t have. It’s compelling.” Relatable, even , he thought.
“Our professor hates him,” Bradley added, “because he keeps finding new ways to interpret stories.”
“He doesn’t hate me, he just has a small mind and is unwilling to accept that his perspective isn’t the only one that exists. That’s the beauty of writing, y’know. It’s all open to interpretation. Unlike other subjects I could mention.”
“You’re lucky that planes aren’t built by interpretation.”
Mav nodded. “I can sure attest to that.”
“Oh, there’s always one of those at every college,” Carole said. “Naysayers and cynics, that’s all they are. My advice: don’t let their resistance discourage you. If you’ve got a love of something, no one can take it from you.”
“That’s true. Speaking of…” Bradley trailed off. He made quick eye contact with Jake, giving him the tiniest of nods. He waited until the other man gave a hesitant nod back before he continued, “I – we – have something to say.”
“You’re dating,” Mav and Carole spoke in unison.
Jake nearly choked on his water. A hot, creeping flush came over him, no doubt making his face bright red, and a glance at Bradley told him he felt the same as well.
Carole smiled. “You seem so shocked that we figured it out.”
“Yeah, kinda,” Bradley said, voice slightly strained.
“Come on, you’ve been telling us about the wonderful guy you met in class, and how much time you spend together.” Bradley didn’t respond, still slack-jawed. “Sorry. Should I have let you two say it?”
“No, it’s– it’s alright, ma’am,” Jake stammered. “I just– we weren’t expecting you to have guessed and prepared for it, though.”
“Well,” Mav said, “you made it a little obvious when I went to put something in the guest room and didn’t see any bags in there.”
Burying his face in his hands, Bradley mumbled out an, “Oh my god, dad.”
“That’s what dads are for, Brad. Embarrassing you and knowing too much.”
“I, uh, heh.” Jake paused, waiting for words to become coherent in his mouth. “It’s good to know you’re alright with me, er, dating your son.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? He calls home and sings your praises. You’re a right upstanding kid and you study well. Frankly, the only thing you could do to disappoint me now is break his heart and leave him for a girl.”
“Pete!” Carole chided.
“I’m kidding, but really, you seem like a wonderful person, Jake. A man like me would be proud to have a son like you. Which I do, but another one couldn’t hurt.”
“That’s terribly kind of you, sir.”
“Hey, you’re family now.” Mav said something else afterwards; Jake could only pick out ‘grill’ and ‘appreciate’ over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, from nerves or excitement, he wasn’t sure.
~&~
“That could have gone better,” Bradley muttered. He and Jake slipped into his room, shutting the door behind themselves.
“I disagree.”
“I thought you were about to choke to death, man.”
“Listen, I got no shovel talk and your dad said I’m his other son now. As far as I’m concerned I’ve just won the family-in-law lottery.” Jake slumped onto Bradley’s bed, back against the headboard. “What’s Mav short for, anyway?”
“Maverick. He used to be a real rule-breaker, kind of a rebel, or so I’m told.”
“Wow.” Jake stared at the patterns in the mottled ceiling. “Nah, I don’t believe it. That guy?” He reached over and picked up a plastic model of an F-14 on Bradley’s nightstand. “He used to fly these, and now he files peoples’ lame-ass paperwork. And he’s your father.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re nothing like the man! Or maybe you are, I don’t know yet. You’re so careful and clean-cut, y’know. If it hadn’t been for that night with the essay I’d’ve never figured you out.”
“That’s because you have no gaydar.”
“Someone’s been reading their literature,” Jake muttered.
Bradley leaned against his desk. “What can I say? You got me into it. Maybe after all of this you’ll go for some double major in English and gender studies.”
“Won’t that be a story to tell my advisor. You know,” Jake said, setting the model down, “you’ve never really told me why you’re doing aerospace. You’ve always alluded to some other reason, and looking around here, I see why, but…”
“But there’s always some reason, isn’t there?”
Jake shrugged. “Something like that.”
“I know what you mean.” Bradley slid off the desk and walked over to his dresser. Pushing aside a few folded shirts and bottles of hair product, he revealed a small photo in a wooden frame. “This is why,” he said, and handed the photo to Jake.
There were four figures in the photo, all standing together and smiling: a tall, blond man with a mustache like Bradley’s and an awful Hawaiian shirt; his mother and Pete, both much younger; and a boy of maybe two or three, held aloft in Carole’s arms. Jake turned the frame over, careful not to scratch himself against a broken edge, and saw May 1986 written on the back.
“So… what…” Jake hesitated to say the words.
“He died about two months after that. Freak accident. Dad and… well, Mav, my dad, were pilots in the Navy together. Mav flew, Dad was his backseater. They were training at Miramar, flying F-14s, and one day, during an exercise, they flew into a jetstream and lost control. The plane went down, Mav pulled the ejector handle, and Dad…” Bradley set the photo back on his dresser. “The verdict was cervical-cranial fracture. ”
“I’m so sorry.”
Bradley shook his head. “It’s alright. Long time ago, like Mav said. They put him on trial, but after they actually fished what was left of the plane out of the ocean they ruled him innocent. No involvement. It was a faulty mechanism, that’s all. Something that should have been tested out and corrected. That’s why.”
“That’s why, what?”
“Why I study. No one should ever die like that, ever again. Not from carelessness.”
“How are you so…” Jake bit his tongue. Part of him was screaming not to pry, but Bradley had already opened the gate far wider than he’d expected. “How can you just go with the flow, all the time? You’re so casual about everything.”
“I wonder about that sometimes. People act so sad when they hear I lost my dad, and it is sad, but, to tell you the truth, it doesn’t really affect me the way people think it should.”
“There’s a right way to feel about that?”
“Apparently. Thing is, I never really knew my father. I miss him, of course, and I miss the things that I could have done with him, but then I think about Mav, and everything he’s done for me. He was so afraid to ruin my life that he made himself a part of it, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“You never want that to happen again.”
“I don’t, and it won’t.” Bradley smiled. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“You’re doing it all for your dad, huh?”
“Not for him, but because of him, I guess. He’s gone, but he’s never really left me.”
“Wish that was me.” Jake leaned back, sighing. Outside, the setting sun cast orange light onto his face, with strips of shadows from the half-closed blinds. “I just…” he began, then stopped. “You and I are very different people in that regard.”
Bradley joined him, sitting at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Look at you, man. The spitting image of your old man, not directly following him but trying to be better than…” This was too much. He’d said too much already. “All I’m saying is, I’m doing everything I can not to be anything like my old man. Y’know, I wish I had a dad – dads? – like yours. A family like you do, all these uncles and weird friends and people who send you back letters instead of losing them in the shipping process.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your life is the life I’ve always wished I’d had. Quiet, normal, all that jazz.”
“It’s been anything but,” Bradley said, frowning. “There’s a difference between grief and fallout. Dad’s death nearly killed my mother. That stupid trial just about killed Mav, too, and put my mom into debt for years . I had to live knowing that my father died because he gave his life for his country, and lost it because that country” – he pointed to the triangular frame holding a faded flag – “didn’t care enough about him. He’s a ghost that’s hung over me my entire life, one that I can’t even say I live up to him. You have no idea.”
“No, I think I do,” Jake bit back, “because my father just won a Senate re-election last year, and everyone with a brain between their ears hates his guts, and, by extension, mine as well.”
Bradley’s face did a funny thing at that moment, where it cycled through the stages of grief, first in order, then in reverse order, until finally settling on a puzzled yet agitated expression, one eyebrow raised both from curiosity and mocking anger. His mouth, struggling to form itself around any coherent words, finally managed to say, “Your dad’s a politician?”
“Eric Seresin. Republican. District 25.” The words were mechanical coming out of Jake’s mouth. He sat forward, spine rigidly straight. “Just won his second term. Voted for that stupid war resolution. Called me his stupid gay son on live television and divorced us ‘cause we disappointed him. That’s my life.”
“Your dad is Eric Seresin,” Bradley intoned. “Like, no gays in government jobs, Eric Seresin?”
“Yeah! And I’ve spent the last three years standing under his shadow. No friends, no one on my side, ‘cause everyone thinks I’m just like him. The perfect son, except I’m gay and not good enough for him. Mom wasn’t even good enough for him. He made an example of us in his campaign, how faithless women and ungodly sons, or whatever he said, will ruin your life and turn you away from the path of righteousness.”
“I had no idea.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know. Everyone does. That’s why I don’t talk to people, and people don’t talk to me. It’s simple. I don’t have to pathologize because I already know everyone hates my guts from the second I walk into the room. It’s an open secret, and you’re just the last person to know.”
“Okay, okay,” Bradley said, holding his hands up in defense. “It’s not like I don’t know who your dad is. I know well enough that he’s, pardon my saying so, a dickbag–”
“No offense taken.”
“ – but how did you expect that I’d know you and him were actually related?”
Jake tapped the side of his head. “Uh, hello? Oklahoma? Won’t talk about my family? Alluding to hating my father? We literally have the same last name?”
“There’s a lot of Seresins in the world! I’m not going to accuse you of being related to some homophobic senator just off of a name.”
“You literally know who he is. I do not understand how you’ve gone this long without connecting the dots.”
“Maybe I just think better of you than that. Maybe, unlike what you seem to think, I actually know you and won’t come to the conclusion that you’re just him, but younger, and that maybe, just maybe ” – Bradley lowered his voice – “I didn’t want it to be true.”
“So you did know.”
“God, I–” Bradley leaned forward, face-to-face with Jake. “Listen. This isn’t about whether or not I knew who your dad was, alright? This is me saying that I’ll never care enough to leave you because of it. You could be the son of Saddam fucking Hussein and it wouldn’t matter to me. Could you get that through your skull?”
Jake sat back, struggling to breathe normally without revealing how close he was to crying at that moment. “That’s not why I’m upset, though.”
“What is it, then?”
“This is…” A stray tear fell from Jake’s face. “This is the closest to family I’ve felt in years. Your mom’s too sweet, and your dad’s corny and rugged, and you’re everything perfect about them combined. Your parents don’t care that you’re gay. You don’t worry about reputation and voter appeal and perfection. You’re normal .” His voice broke on the last word. “You’re a happy American family, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Hey, c’mere.” Bradley pulled Jake into a tight hug, feeling the other man shake with the force of unrestrained sobs. He didn’t say anything after that, letting Jake hold him in a crushingly tight hug and slowly wrap the rest of himself around Bradley like a koala. Jake burrowed his face into Bradley’s shoulder, trying to muffle the sound of his anguish as much as he could.
“You just,” Jake muttered, struggling to breathe without shaking. “You have no idea. He just… he left, and he couldn’t leave well enough alone. Had to– had to ruin our lives, too.”
“What did he do? Or, no, I shouldn’t ask.”
“It’s alright,” Jake said. His mouth was right beside Bradley’s ear, and his voice came out strained and thick with mucus. “He was campaigning. It was right after he found out about me and that guy I went out with. He was doing an interview with some evangelical group, or something, I don’t know. He brought it up. Mom found out, yelled at him. He… I don’t want to say it.”
“Don’t, then.”
“She told him to leave. He did. No one ever let me live it down.” He snorted. “I don’t want to say any more. I don’t want to think about it.”
“That’s alright.” Bradley pulled back just enough to look Jake in the eyes. “What’s done is done. Does he have custody of you, at all?”
“No, but I’m scared to go home. It got so bad that I did my last year of high school in Santa Barbara. Moved in with my aunt Ellen. Haven’t been back. Mom’s dealing with all the legal stuff. He wanted to see me and I– I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean he hasn’t already.” Jake took a shuddering breath in, then said, “I didn’t even want to tell my mom that’s why I wouldn’t come home. I lied to her, said I couldn’t get a flight out. I didn’t want to have to see her be miserable, but look what I did.” He covered his eyes with one hand. “I’m such an asshole.”
“You’re not, but alright.”
“I’m here, and I should be with her, ‘cause she’s dealing with all that fallout on her own, and–”
“Jake.”
“What?”
“I know this will sound pithy, but this isn’t the end of your life. I know it seems like it, but–”
“But nothing will ever be the same.”
“ – and that’s not a bad thing.” They shifted around, unfolding the tangle of limbs they’d created until Bradley was more or less comfortably sitting in Jake’s lap. Bradley said, “I was young, but even years after Dad died I knew it hurt Mom a lot. She told me later that it was actually big news in the area. I won’t act like I know what happened to you, and if you don’t want to tell me, that’s also fine. But will you believe me if I say it gets better?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s just, the future being good doesn’t make the now any less shit. That was then, and this is now, but now is a nightmare.”
“Alright, S. E. Hinton.”
Jake finally cracked a smile at that. He swiped a line of snot off of his lip and relaxed his shoulders. “How’d I find a guy as good as you?”
“The way I remember it, you just sort of appeared in my field of vision and never left.”
“Caught in your sights. Missile lock engaged.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.” Bradley kissed Jake’s forehead tenderly. “People forget their nightmares. They’ll forget yours, someday.”
December
“Okay, run it by me one more time.”
“We just did this.”
“Please?”
“Fine, but you have to remember this time.” Bradley pointed to a tall, grey-blond man chatting with Mav. “That’s Iceman Kazansky, or my uncle Ice. Those two over there, the ones sharing one glass of nog between them, are Rick and Leo, and yes, I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
“What, that I want that atrocious candy cane cowboy hat?” Jake clutched at his chest in shock. “Can’t believe you think I have that bad of taste.”
“I stand corrected. Anyway, the guy with the mustache is Mike Metcalf, who’s talking to Slider, and over there is your mother, who I can only assume is telling my mother all sorts of embarrassing things about you.”
“Oh, let her.” Jake caught his mother’s gaze and waved at her. He said to Bradley, “I’ve decided that my new year’s resolution is to give up on being embarrassed.”
“Not declare yourself?”
“Already did, thank you. What’s yours?”
“To schedule and pace myself more effectively. No more all-nighters.”
“Of course it is.”
Bradley scoffed. “You think I’m predictable?”
“No,” Jake said, gently elbowing his boyfriend – god, what a liberating thing to say, “I think I know you too well. In fact, I know you enough to know that you’ve put a sprig of mistletoe somewhere in this room that’s conveniently out of my range of sight, and you’re just waiting for me to notice it.”
“Guess again.” Bradley grabbed the front of Jake’s atrocious sweater and pulled him in for a kiss that tasted like sugar and cinnamon. He resisted the urge to lean in any further, knowing that a dozen pairs of eyes were now on them, smiling in return. “Was that alright?”
“Better than alright.”
“Everyone saw you, though. Public embarrassment.”
“Let them stare. I’ve spent long enough hiding my face to do it now.”
“Alright, well, if you insist.”
They kissed again, with less urgency this time, and between the incidental chatter in the background, the smell of cookies and rum, glittering lights and sparkling decorations, it felt like, for one moment, everything in the world was right where it needed to be.