“For fun.”
“Ithought it was fun.”
“You would.”
“It helped me finish pre-med in three years. After that? You know the story.” I crossed the space between us so I could put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all this. I should have. I don’t want to keep secrets, it’s just that- This one has already hurt me once.”
He glanced up, one eyebrow arched, and waited.
“You know I was going to propose to Joan.” That sentiment hadn’t aged well. Still not sure what I was thinking. “I’d decided I needed to come clean with her before I gave her the ring. So I sat her down over a nice breakfast and I told her about my past. It was like a switch flipped. She heard ‘Van Horn’, and dollar signs lit up in her eyes.”
Jackson winced. “Not gonna lie, babe. The Van Horns have alotof money. Not justfuck youmoney.Fuck you, fuck them, and fuck offkind of money.Fuck you very much for five generationskind of money.”
“They do. Neither of us were wealthy, either. I understand where she was coming from, I really do.” She was coming from the same place I lived now. The place where a few thousand dollars can change your life in disproportionately profound ways.
That much money so close to your grasp can change a person. Constant desperation and worry over how to pay basic bills or afford medical procedures wears you down. Only one of us had chosen to give up billions and live on a teacher’s salary. I understood Joan’s reaction better than I wished I did.
“She wanted you to go back.”
“She did. If I went to my parents and apologized, what would it matter? I’d be marrying her. The ‘kissing men’ thing wouldn’t be relevant, because I’d have a wife and no chance for it to come up. My parents would be happy, she and I would be happy together, and we’d have all the money and work we needed.” I looked away. “I spent a lot of sleepless nights wondering if I were being selfish and stupid. Petulant, you know. Defiant like a child who hadn’t gotten what he wanted.”
What price can you put on your mental and emotional health? Was the constant tension and anxiety worth the money? My father didn’t want my opinion, or my thoughts, and he didn’t care about an emotional connection not shaped in the precise mold he preferred. He wanted obedience, rigid respect, and the perfect amount of veneration he believed a son owed to his father.
Johann had refined the good son act into a masterwork of art. I never had. I’d spent semesters dreading going home and having to see my parents. I had dreamed of finding a way to disappear from their lives, flee to Denmark, change my name, and start over.
It had taken that final eruption to show me that I didn’t need divine intervention or a Scandinavian haven to get them out of my lives. All I had to do was walk away.
I heard the chair creak. Warmth preceded Jackson himself, who reached out to tuck his fingers under my chin and turned me to face him again.
“You weren’t selfish,” he said in a low tone. “You were brave. Money’s nice, but look at you. You’re doing just fine. You didn’t need them. You had integrity. You stood up for yourself. And I’m proud as hell of you for it.”
No amount of money could have paid for the wild emotion that spread through me when Jackson said he was proud of me. I smiled, and the heavy weight of doubt I had gotten used to carrying over the last few months lifted away.
“Thank you,” I said, and leaned in to kiss him.
He kept me there, kissing him, lost in his nearness, for many seconds. Then he pulled back and smiled. “You’re so much more than I ever thought you were. Like opening presents at Christmas. Corporal. Doctor. Biologist. You sure this is the last secret?”
“As far as I know. It was big enough to break my last relationship, though.” I leaned my head forward to rest against his chest. “That was why I didn’t tell you. Joan gave me an ultimatum. Apologize to my parents, take back my spot in the Van Horn hierarchy, and launch us out of the middle class on a billion-dollar trebuchet, or she’d leave. I told her they didn’t have enough money for me to feel like I did around them. She left.”
“Trash took itself out.” Jackson draped an arm around my shoulders. “That bitch can fuck straight off in whatever direction she wants. Hey. I’ve got an idea.”
I picked up my head. “That’s kind of an ominous segue, you know.”
Jackson flashed a grin at that. “It was, wasn’t it? But no. Let’s go buy some picture frames.”
“We’ve gone from ‘ominous segue’ to ‘bizarre segue’ in record time, so congratulations for that.”
“For your diplomas, you ass. And the papers that made your name change official. Maybe our marriage certificate, too. And a shadow box for a medal.” He poked my chest. “I am proud of what you did, no matter what name was on the papers or why you got them, and you should be, too. We’re gonna hang them up. Get a nice ‘Bastian’s Weird-Ass Life’ wall theme going.”
I chuckled. “All right, all right. We can hang up my diplomas. They look impressive anyway. But a box for a medal? My medal isnotthat impressive.”
“Not yours. Mine.”
"Your medal? I thought we had boxes for all the ones you wanted to put up. Not that I mind, I’m just confused.”
Jackson’s lips pressed into a grim line. A cousin to the tension from last night had returned, less explosive, but more final. “I have one more. One that goes with that mission where I had to leave a soldier behind. I didn’t want to put it up. I was ashamed of it. You’ve showed me I don’t have to be.”
I put on a curious expression to urge more from him.