We spoke all the time. Yeah, a good portion of it was phone sex but it was more than that. I knew all the things bubbling up in his head. I knew where he was going and what he was doing because talking it out helped him mentally prepare. We did this almost every night, me in my pull-out bed and him in his apartment. I'd ask, What do you have going on tomorrow? and he'd fill me in on all the things cluttering his mind. That way, I could hold his worries and give him a break for the night.
But this was probably nothing. He was waiting for a parent or some other visitor. Maybe a delivery of science-y stuff like beakers and chemicals and creatures for dissection. And though visitors and deliveries always went through the main office without us waiting in the parking lot for them—
"What do we do when we're done, Coach?"
I turned my attention toward the sixth grade speed demon. "Back of the line, Santos. The prize for first place is an extra lap."
As I glanced back to Jory, I nearly stumbled over my own feet when I found him—Jesus Christ—walking into some dude's open arms.
What the literal fuck was that?
I gathered myself, righting my stride and finding my breath in time to watch him cross the parking lot with this guy and—holy shit—get inside a high-end electric car.
"What now, Coach?" Santos shouted.
"I don't fuckin' know," I muttered to myself.
"Okay. Let's unpack this," Mallori said as I paced the length of her kitchen. "Maybe he's planning a surprise for you. Yeah! Have you considered that? Maybe he didn't tell you because it's a surprise."
"And he was hugging some guy because why? That's not the kind of surprise I want."
Mallori rolled a mug of tea between her palms. "That is…not something I can easily explain." Before I could jump in, she continued, "But it's probably nothing. How do you know it wasn't his brother?"
"Because he doesn't have a brother."
"Uncle, cousin, stepdad, stockbroker, frat brother, minister. Could be anyone he knows in a deep, friendly way. It doesn't have to be sinister, Max."
Just this morning he was riding the struggle bus about his eval meeting and now he was secretly running off with strange dudes. Like any of this made sense.
"What am I supposed to do, Mal?"
She frowned down at her tea. "I hate to state the obvious but have you asked him what's going on?"
"And ask what? 'Oh, hey, no big deal but are you cheating on me because it kinda seems like it.'"
"Given everything you've been through, it's a fair assumption to think Jory is cheating."
"Yay for me," I muttered.
"But being fair doesn't make it valid or true," she continued. "The real question is whether you trust Jory. Do you trust him to embrace another man, to get in that man's car with him, to keep a portion of his life private from you? Do you trust him to know beyond a doubt he'd never betray you?"
I didn't know how to answer that. I loved Jory, and I wanted to believe he'd never, ever hurt me. I wanted to believe I was as precious to him as he was to me. And I wanted to trust him. I really, seriously, wanted to trust him, but everything inside me was frozen solid, braced for impact.
At the same time, I knew this was different. I knew Jory wasn't my ex; he wasn't anything like Teddy. I knew he wanted our relationship to make it—and I knew he didn't have the temperament to go behind my back. The stress of juggling men would eat him alive.
"Since you're struggling with your response to that, here's what I'd recommend," Mallori said. "Communicate. Don't let your mind run away with itself. Call him up and ask—plainly and without hedging—what happened this afternoon."
"Right. Like I can ask him what it was all about without looking like a total creeper for watching it happen from across the street."
"The thing about healthy relationships," Mallori started in that I know what I'm talking about and you should listen voice, "is everyone involved has to be willing to make a fool of themselves sometimes. Everyone has to be vulnerable, be comfortable with the discomfort, has to put themselves out there in bare, naked ways."
"Is that so?" I droned. "Why don't you bottle that and sell it on Instagram, then?"
"Such a pain in the ass you are," she muttered. "Go call your boyfriend. I have to get the kids bathed and into bed."
I didn't call. I texted.
Nothing big, nothing to show my completely freaked-out hand. Nothing like Mallori recommended.
And an hour later, Jory still hadn't responded.
With most people, this wouldn't have been an issue. With Jory, it was hella strange. Unless he was truly incapable of responding—driving, showering, frying bacon—he always acknowledged messages, even if only to say "I'll get back to you in a bit." He couldn't deal with giving anyone the impression he was ignoring them.
I didn't want to think about why he was truly incapable of responding now. I'd done enough of that with Teddy. I'd let myself imagine what he was doing with those other guys and why he wanted them so much more than he wanted me.
Instead of thinking, I tried to keep myself busy. He'd respond eventually and there was nothing I could do to make time pass more quickly. Watched pots and all. I tidied my room, lifted weights, downed two cups of yogurt while standing in front of the open refrigerator, read a bedtime story to my niece and nephew. I did it all with an eye on my phone, holding my breath for anything.
Not anything, exactly. I'd fully ignored a bunch of school emails, texts from friends, and a wicked good deal on the newest flavors of Built bars.
None of it was what I wanted.
I turned in a helpless circle as I surveyed my basement confines. This wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to be here. Not in this basement, not in this holding pattern of in-between life with Teddy and life after Teddy where I was still waiting for those scars to scab over before I could stop gasping and flinching at every unexplained afternoon hug.
I didn't want to be here, not when it meant driving myself up the wall trying to figure out what Jory was hiding from me, why he hadn't told me, and whether I was the kind of man who attracted cheaters. Whether I invited this into my life.
I wanted to finally get on with my life and if Jory wasn't the one because I'd misunderstood everything about him in a major way then I needed to know now. I'd waited too long for—for everything. I couldn't wait any longer.
Without thinking beyond instinct, I dashed up the stairs and out of the house, grabbing my keys along the way and charging toward my car. It didn't occur to me until reaching the sidewalk that I'd forgotten my shoes. That slowed me down but it didn't stop me.
Fuck shoes. Shoes didn't matter. It wasn't like I was walking over hot coals or broken glass. The Quincy neighborhood Jory lived in wasn't that bad.
And—because I wasn't a total beast—I knew my gym bag was in the trunk and I always had an extra set of running shoes in there.
The dashboard clock informed me it was after nine, which was the middle of the night as far as Jory was concerned. On any other day, I'd care about that big time. I couldn't care about it right now. I couldn't assume responsibility for Jory's needs if it meant displacing mine tonight.