The boy next door, p.13
The Boy Next Door, page 13
Reviewing the small novel he sent, possibly more words than he's ever texted combined, he's telling me some of his friends are forming a band. In New York City. A band they hope Hunter will join. In New York City.
My hands shake slightly as I respond.
Sam: When are you leaving?
Hunter: What? I didn't say yes.
I wait, though nothing else comes through. Does that mean he didn't say no either?
This isn't the end of the world. One of my art schools is in NYC. Well, I applied to one there. It may not matter anyway because maybe I'm enough for life here, but there's so many interesting, beautiful, gay people in big cities. He could find another guy.
Maybe I should say something supportive…
Sam: Why are you telling me about this if you aren't interested?
Hunter: Isn't this the boyfriend thing? Telling you about my day.
Sam: So you aren't going to accept?
Hunter: I'm not a rocker anymore.
Sam: Then what are you?
I hold my breath as I wait for a response. Hoping for any other answer. Professional waiter. Rodeo clown. Trash collector. Anything.
Hunter: I haven't figured that out yet.
Much as I wanna be supportive, my mind stalls before I get there, too caught up on the part where Hunter leaves. He's dreamed of being a musician for ages.
Him wanting me? Much more recent.
And when weighing the options, is it even really a contest? Sure, life there will be expensive and more of the same hustle he left behind, but it's still New York. It's still music.
Yeah, there's no contest. I'm on the losing side.
~
This day seems particularly long, so I'm grateful when the final bell rings. And exhausted. My limbs feel heavy as I drag my feet while everybody else rushes, so I'm a straggler.
I'm almost outside when I hear, "Hey, Sam!"
Turning, there's Dylan jogging the remaining distance between us in the hallway.
His brown hair is a few shades lighter now, fading back into his original color, and the blend suits him perfectly. Unlike the shirt that must be his brother’s, unless Dylan secretly loves Nirvana.
He tugs on the collar with a laugh. "Laundry day." Before I can comment, he notices my empty hands. "Don't you have photo club?"
Totally slipped my mind. "My camera isn't even here."
"Well, I'm glad I caught you. I wanted to talk." Oh god, the last time he wanted to talk he brought up my inconvenient crush. "And say thank you for patching things up between me and Hunter. Can I give you a hug?"
When I must nod, he does, though I'm too stunned to... do anything. Not expecting the gratitude and warmth from him, I'm off guard and unexpectedly touched.
"N-no, I can't take the credit. You two—"
"We cleared the air after you forced us. You put yourself in an awkward position to help, and you stood up to Hunter, that's not nothing." His smile is so sweet I remember why I once adored him. What a simpler time. "It means a lot."
"T-thanks."
"No, that's what I'm saying to you. Thanks." His cheeks heat suddenly and he looks away. "And the rest, well, it can wait."
"The rest?"
His smile is strained. "This isn't the best time."
"Are you sure? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Dylan starts shaking his head, freezing as he watches me and seems to debate something. "I guess there's never going to be a good time. So complicated as it is, you should know I think you're terrific."
"Thanks." I manage a genuine smile.
"And you should know I like you." The world slows down, everything focuses in on this moment when he says the craziest thing ever. "Not only as friends. I really like you, Sam."
Is this really happening? Did I stumble into an old dream? How do I wake up?
30.
Crushes and Choices
I used to consider my imagination healthy and creative. I envisioned countless scenarios where the cute boy I'd been friends with forever looked at me and finally saw me how I saw him. I dreamed of boyish enthusiasm lighting his face as he confessed his love and swept me into a passionate kiss.
Turns out, my imagination leaves a lot to be desired. Because I never once envisioned Dylan confessing his feelings to me when I'm seeing another guy. A guy who happens to be his brother.
Since we can't talk at our houses, we go to a coffee shop near school. I order a latte on autopilot before throwing myself into the nearest comfy armchair. This feels like a dream, but the mountain of whipped cream on my drink doesn't help wake me up.
"Sam," Dylan laughs awkwardly across from me. "Are you okay?"
Can I get an easier question first?
"What's going on in your head?" he asks.
"I'm... stunned."
I barely taste the mouthful of sugar as I drink.
"Not the worst reaction, all things considered." Dylan forces a smile. "Look, about Hunter…"
"Hunter, oh my god." The sweet taste in my mouth suddenly turns to ash. "What about Hunter?"
"That's the main reason I wasn't sure about telling you."
"But you did."
"I know, I know! You're with my brother," he groans, running a hand through his brown hair and tugging on the strands. "I hate myself, but I like you and it's not going away. At least I told you before it gets even more serious with him."
"And what am I supposed to do now?" Besides panic.
"Whatever you want." Dyl meets my eyes, hopeful and sweet. "In case there's any hope, I just needed to tell you."
Dylan waits for me to process this information and say anything, whether a rejection or that I need more time to think... I haven't even started thinking yet.
Dylan likes me? Dylan likes Sam. Nope, it won't stick. It's not possible.
Actually? 'Stunned' was an understatement.
As we head out, Dylan holds open the door for me. Not paying attention, I trip over the door jamb and basically fall right into my friend's arms. He catches me, our faces are close, and I think he might kiss me. I'm not sure whether I lean forwards or backwards, but I snap out of the moment a second later and jump away.
"Don't worry." He raises his hands innocently. "I'm not gonna kiss you."
"Oh?"
If he likes me as he claims, why not?
"Look, being the guy who comes on to his brother's boyfriend?" He grimaces. "I've decided that's the lesser evil, and it's all I'm willing to stoop to. So, I can't kiss you, not yet anyway."
Yet judging by the look in his eyes, he longs to press his lips to mine. Ah!
"I have to go!" I exclaim and rush away, not even caring how abrupt and frantic my exit is.
Though I retreat to my car, I don't go anywhere. I sit there, staring ahead. My brain is broken. Dylan likes Sam. The thought is laughable.
However, didn't it once seem just as insane that Hunter might like me?
~
After Dylan's confession, there's really no pulling myself back together. Mom asked if I was on drugs when she came home and saw me staring at a turned off television. I texted my friends something, which apparently got their attention because—
"Sam!" Maggie waves a hand in front of my face.
Maggie and Clay are sitting in the living room with me. The TV is still turned off. I glance out the window.
"Whoa, it's dark out."
"Yeah," Clay agrees, not surprised by this development. "We're gonna need you to focus and stop freaking out internally."
"What the hell is going on?" I wonder.
"Now you have two guys." Clay sounds proud. "It's not the worst problem ever."
"Except they're brothers and I have to hurt one." My heart seizes in my chest at the thought. "God, what should I do?"
"You have to decide," Maggie says kindly, huddled under a blanket on the couch. Isn't she hot? It feels so warm in here.
And the walls are closing in. Standing, I need to flee or do something, but there's nowhere to go. Another glance tells me the walls are actually still right where they're supposed to be. Maggie and Clay seem about two seconds from locking me in a padded room and throwing away the key.
"Haven't I already decided?" I sit back down. "Hunter."
"You thought Dylan wasn't an option."
Still doesn't feel like he is. He shouldn't be. Except he is? Which means I could have either Cruse brother. I thought Dylan was off-limits. I fell into a date with Hunter. And now? Comes the impossible. I get to choose.
Life works in strange ways. My wildest dreams are coming true just when I've given up on them and started making new dreams.
"Can I make a suggestion?" Clay begins. "Maybe work a little faster? Don't keep them waiting too long."
"Right," I agree. Great, more pressure. But he's right. "That's not fair to them."
"No, Samuel. They live in the same house. Hunter's eventually gonna find out they're both going after the same guy."
Holy—even if it spares me from making the choice, I'd rather not have them kill each other.
"Oh, hello everybody." Dad steps into the living room, blinking in surprise at my guests. "Did your mother approve a co-ed sleepover on a school night that I don't know about?"
"No."
"Yeah, that doesn't sound like her." He nods to my friends. "So maybe you two should head home?"
31.
Crushing
For some reason, I watch from the window as Maggie and Clay get into her old station wagon and drive away. Then I stare out into the night.
Dylan likes me, but anytime I wonder if there's any lingering feelings on my part, if I start thinking about Hunter or trying to compare... I can't. Anything I realize or decide isn't just idle speculation, it could lead to a decision, lead to somewhere I'm afraid of going.
Keeping Hunter in my life, sending him away. It's too huge a burden on my shoulders. Of course, he may already have his bags packed. He could head off to New York any second.
"Boy drama seems like the end of the world," Dad says, apparently still in the room. "But remember, college decisions are important too."
"Don't start." That's the last thing I need tonight.
"I'm sure balancing everything is difficult. Still…"
"Did you talk to Mom about me going to school in New York?" I ask, turning around and catching his look of surprise.
"Sorry, seems like you've had a stressful night. I shouldn't have mentioned anything." He mimes zipping his lips.
"That's not an answer." Watching him, I already have an idea and it's not good. I keep pressing anyway. "Did you talk to her about letting me make my own decisions?"
"Son," he starts and hesitates.
He loves you enough not to tell you the brutal truth. Mom's words from earlier come back. And I love you enough to break the news.
"Do you agree with Mom that I can’t handle being so far away on my own?"
"Hey, you're my only child," he says lightly. "You can't blame me for hoping you stay close."
What that means? It means Mom was right.
"Can't believe you," I mutter, a cold feeling settling over me.
"I should have told you about my concerns, but—"
"No, nothing makes this okay!" I explode. "It's my decision, you—"
"I'm terrified!" he hollers. Dad jumps at his own volume, clearing his throat and slumping down on the couch. "Being out on your own, especially if you're far away... Can you really handle yourself? Your mother and I don't want to risk the answer being no."
"Maybe I do. I'm growing up and I should find out what I'm capable of."
Standing up for myself, asserting my adulthood, it should feel empowering. The words feel somewhat hollow. Dad won't even look at me.
"You've built a careful life," he offers quietly. "Why change it now?"
"Because it's my life."
"I know. And maybe you can handle more," he chuckles sadly. "But I can't. Going to art school across the country... You're technically an adult but so unprepared, so many things could go wrong. Do you have any idea?"
He fixes me with a stare—I got my eyes from him—and there's something fierce yet frightened in his.
"I'd lay awake every night, praying you're safe in your dorm. If anything happened to you, it would kill me." The look in his eyes hurts my heart. "I don't want you to be braver. I want you to be scared just like me. I want you to be safe."
We have the same eyes, so it’s like my eyes are pleading with me to see reason. And I...
I'm not so sure of anything anymore.
Mom not believing I could handle life in the big city hurt, though wasn’t a total surprise. Dad’s doubt is crushing. What if they’re both right?
~
In the morning, I never get up for school. Surprisingly, nobody bothers me about this. Maybe I'll stay in my room staring at the ceiling all day. Or until noon when there's a knock at my door.
Seeing Hunter on the other side is a shock.
"Did you break in?" I wonder immediately.
He leans against the door with a sly smile. "Hold on, I'm trying to decide whether I should feel flattered or offended."
"O-oh, one of my parents let you in?" I connect the dots as he looks expectant, clearly waiting for me to allow him inside. Inside my bedroom. "I'm not really in the mood for..."
"Which is probably why I'm allowed into your bedroom."
Hunter's wearing a dark blue sweater, and with his messy blond hair, he just looks so soft. He isn't exactly safe, only tempting enough. Enough to make you come closer, sure he won't bite, but you never really know with wild things.
Still, I move aside to allow him in.
Hunter jumps back when he's halfway inside because I suddenly use the door as a barricade and force him back.
"Wait, you can't come in! My artwork—"
He almost pouts. "You're not going to let me see anything?"
"I'm not exactly getting rave reviews right now."
"Good thing I'm not an art critic." He edges closer with a smile that could steal hearts. "Hey, don't worry. I'm already your biggest fan."
Unable to turn him away, I check over my room quickly. Nothing seems too embarrassing, and I shove most of my art into the closet. My lone R-rated piece, painted due to sudden inspiration after a surprise show from next door, is hidden safely in the very back.
Hunter sits on my bed while I select my VIP painting, the one done in the expressionist style. I chose it partly because I'd once been so sure it would wow, so it'd be nice to get some praise for it. And if he hates it, the excuse that it's not my usual style is ready and waiting.
When I flip the painting around and set it on the easel, I watch for his reaction.
"Huh." His eyes widen as he takes in the painting.
"Not exactly the reaction I hoped for," I say lightly, feeling the frown I try to fight.
"I like it!" He jumps up, stepping closer to the easel to view the 'masterpiece.' "Seriously, it's great. Not what I expected, that's all."
"Yeah, I was assigned expressionism."
His head tilts, looking so serious, as he gets closer and closer to the painting until his nose nearly brushes it. I make a noise and he steps back but keeps on staring. This might be adorable if it weren't my creation he's staring at.
"It's... nice?" he finally decides, not very sure. He seems sheepish. "Sorry, it's only now hitting me that I'm totally clueless about how to react. It's pretty? Is that an okay thing to say?"
"Yeah." I step away, suddenly tired. "Pretty, safe art."
"Oh, I don't know about that."
"I've been reliably informed." Yes, I sound a bit bitter.
Sitting down on my bed, I can't help crossing my arms around me, feeling exposed and unsure.
"Alright, fortunately we've already established I have no business being an art critic," Hunter says, sitting down next to me. "So I can tell you I don't really understand that. Whether it's a picture on the wall or a song on the radio, art is supposed to make you feel, right?"
"I suppose."
"Well, 'safe' is a feeling, so there you go." He nods to the painting. "You did it."
"Thanks..."
"No, look," he insists. "Maybe it wasn't the feeling you were going for, but there's a time and place for safety."
He grabs my hand, waiting until he has my attention before continuing.
"What about a comfy chair by the fireplace, a bowl of something hot cooked by a loved one on a cold day? The arms of somebody you trust giving you a hug? Capturing that feeling, reminding the viewer of a time when they felt safe and warm? There's value there."
Struck by the emotion on his face, the conviction I can suddenly read in his eyes, I look away. I try to see my painting the way he does and it takes my breath away.
"Especially to a person who hasn't felt that way in a long time," he continues quietly. "It isn't always easy to come by, a moment of peace where nothing bad can hurt you. To the right audience, safety isn't nothing. It's everything."
My room becomes so profoundly quiet, I swear I hear both our heartbeats. I can't look at my painting anymore. I feel so overwhelmed I'm afraid to move.
"I'm sorry," Hunter apologizes. "I wasn't trying to be negative."
"I know."
"Oh." He touches my face with his thumb, swiping through the tears on my cheek. "Then why are you crying?"
He may not be an art critic, but it doesn't matter. He's absolutely right. For some people, safety is everything. And whether I want to be or not, I'm one of those people. I’ve tried taking risks and being bold and all I have to show for it is a giant mess.
Hunter is the one bright spot. But he doesn’t need me holding him back. He could have a future in New York. For me, staying close to home, playing it safe, that might be the best I can do.
32.
What Could Have Been
Not everyone is a lion tamer, rock star, hero, or... an artist. This realization hurts now but will work out better in the long run. What was I thinking? I'm no match for sexy older guys or for moving across the country... Even Hunter gave up on his dreams eventually. If he quit, what hope do I have?
