“And now, Owen wants to get back with you,” I said, not wanting to walk through the Laramie minefield right then.
“He said he worried about me the whole time I was deployed. That knowing I was on Mars, without word if I was dead or hurt, ate him alive, and he had to call me now that I’d gotten back.” Jackson snorted, an angry bull sound. “Then he told me he’d spent that time realizing what he threw away. Thinking about how he’d fucked up when he went back to his ex. He was immature, didn’t consider the consequences of his actions, didn’t realize how important I was to him….”
I rolled my eyes. “I hear better excuses from overwrought teenagers who got dumped by a boyfriend in the hallway between classes.”
“That’s Owen. Peaked in high school and slid downhill from there. I was an idiot to think he’d change.”
“We’ve all been that idiot, Jackson. Dating someone, knowing thatwewill change, so naturally the other person will, too.” Not how it works. Not how any of it works. The only worse thing, I think, is when theydochange, and it’s for the worse.
It is possible to grow in retrograde. Just ask the humble potato about expanding deep beneath the ground, and only showing the pleasant greenery above the surface. There’s a world underneath that leafy green façade.
All right, yes, I did compare my ex-girlfriend to a potato plant. I was still mad at her. Cut me a little slack.
“I guess so.” Jackson took a deep breath and let it out again, forcing his tension to leave with the puff of air. “I’m not getting back with him, by the way.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“Do you worry about anything?” I caught his smile in profile. “Because so far, if it weren’t for the secret bombs you keep dropping, you’re the most laid-back motherfucker I know.”
I laughed. “Of course I worry. I’m just good at compartmentalizing and keeping up a calm façade. It’s a great trait for doctors and teachers. Besides, I have perspective on my side.”
“Perspective.”
“Sure. ‘Huh. My husband’s ex-boyfriend called and wants to get back together. Have I been run over by a truck today? No? Then it’s probably going to be fine.’”
Laughter burst out of Jackson, loud and relieved and close to the line ofhysterical because I need to blow off steam. It shook him hard enough that we almost had to pull over so he could get his shit back together. I joined him, because it was funny, and because we should always take whatever chances we have to laugh.
“I’m lucky to have you, Bastian,” Jackson said, once his lungs could do more than howl with glee. “So damn lucky to have you.”
As he said those words, I felt a tingly hope in my heart rise up, then fall like a stone. I didn’t understand why, at first. He’d said he was lucky to have me. A compliment. Abigcompliment, in fact. Yet I still felt like I’d expected a trip to Disneyland but ended up at a shady traveling carnival with rides that promised an imminent trip to the trauma ward.
I pinpointed the reason, after a moment. Those were nice words. Words that said I was getting that whole “make life great for a soldier who needs a spouse” thing right. Success! Gold star!
Except that I wanted him to say different words. Words that allowed me to admit that I’d fallen for that soldier I’d sworn topretendto love. No pretending necessary. I’d failed upwards! Success. Gold star.
“Thanks,” I said, lame as could be but here we were, him grateful for my presence and me hidden in a ghillie suit of denial. If I stayed very still and blended in with the gratitude, perhaps love wouldn’t spot me and I could creep off towards contented detachment. “I’m really lucky to have you, too, you know.”
“Nah.” He stared down the road, into the middle distance with all its shrouded portents, then seemed to make up his mind. “I want you to come to that barbecue with me.”
“What?” I’d missed his mental left turn and had to scramble to catch up. “The one for your fireteam? I thought you wanted to go by yourself. Do fireteam things.”
He looked sheepish. We both knew I’d figured out why he didn’t want to take me. “I changed my mind. I want to introduce you to the team.”
The mixed bag of emotions dumped over my head again. Happiness! He wanted to introduce me to the people he fought alongside! Possibly the second on the list of the most important people in his life.
Side-eye! (Is side-eye an emotion? I think it ought to be.) He didn’t want to introduce me until I admitted I’d been in the military! Did that mean he’d been ashamed of me, or if not ashamed, a wee smidge abashed that he’d ended up with a history teacher?
Self-reproach. Here I’d just been wishing he’d say, “Gosh, Bastian, I really love you,” but I couldn’t accept an invitation to a simple backyard barbecue without doubting his motives. Love is a journey. Love walks hand-in-hand with trust. I hadn’t offered him that. Why would he love a man who’d throw him the side-eye for progressing in trust and acceptance?
Gold star removed. I did not deserve it.
“I’d love to meet your fireteam,” I said, and reached out to put my hand on his leg. “Thank you. I’m really excited to get to know them.”
They weren’t the words I’d wanted to hear. Still, they were closer, and again, I hadn’t been run over by a truck that day. It would probably be fine.
Ten miles later, Jackson said, out of nowhere, “You know what I really want to know?”
“If it’s string theory, I can’t help you. Not my field.”