Big Guy (6 page)

“I really like this guy a lot,” I said. My voice sounds low and choky, and I clear my throat.

“So why did you end it?” Aaliyah asks. Her eyebrows are pulled together in a puzzled frown.

“He was going to visit,” I say slowly, watching her face. “The thing is, I haven't always been like this. I haven't always been fat. And, uh, I sent him an old picture.”

Aaliyah's frown clears and an expression I can't read takes its place. “You mean you're dumping him so he won't find out you're fat?”

I squirm inwardly. She makes it sound so pathetic. “Yeah,” I say. “Basically.”

“That is seriously the stupidest thing I've ever heard.” She wheels her chair a little closer to me and looks at me straight on.

I can't meet her eyes.

“You guys have been talking online, right? I mean, you know each other from conversations. It's not like he fell for you because of how you look.”

I shake my head. “I guess not. I mean, no. We didn't even exchange photos until we'd been talking for a few months.”

“So don't you think you should give the guy some credit?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe he's not totally shallow. Maybe he might care about more than whether your body is perfect or not. Maybe you should give him a chance.”

Aaliyah is leaning toward me, her dark eyes intense.

“I don't think so,” I say. “I don't really need the humiliation of getting dumped in person.”

She bangs her fist awkwardly on the arm of her chair. “Don't be a coward.”

“Excuse me,” I say. “I don't think you get to call me a coward. Not after you just dumped your boyfriend for the same reason.”

Her eyes are daggers. “It's not the same,” she says, spitting the words out.

“Your body's not perfect. Neither is mine. So what's the difference? If I'm a coward, so are you.”

“You don't understand anything,” she says.

Impulsively, I put my hand on her arm. “Maybe I understand more than you think.”

Aaliyah stares at me for a long minute, and I can see her dark eyes starting to shine with tears. She blinks them away and puts her hand over mine.

“Maybe you do,” she says, so softly that I have to lean close to hear her. “Maybe we're both cowards.”

As I wipe clean the tables in the dining room, I can't stop thinking about Aaliyah's words. Am I a coward?

Duh. Obviously. But if I think she should give her fiancé a chance—if I think he deserves a chance—then doesn't Ethan deserve one too?

It sounds good in theory. If this was happening to someone else—like Aaliyah, say—I know what my advice would be.

But when I imagine actually meeting
Ethan, all I can see is the disappointment on his face when he sees what I look like now. “You lied to me,” I imagine him saying. I realize that I've never even heard his voice. I watch my wet cloth making smeary circles on the table and feel kind of dizzy. Is it possible to be dizzy from missing someone? More likely it's just that I've forgotten to eat all day.

“Derek?”

I look up. “Mrs. Buckley?”

She's back, leaning on her walker, wearing a blue tracksuit with a thick white housecoat over top and looking around the dining room like she owns it.

“I heard you were sick,” I say. “I guess you're better?”

Mrs. Buckley cackles with laughter. “Of course I am,” she says. “I wasn't going to hang around that hospital any longer than I had to. One night was plenty.” She leans closer to me. “The nurses were terrible,” she says. “They kept taking my food away before I'd finished with it. Wouldn't even let me save a few bites for later.”

I remember the moldy bagels hidden in her dresser drawers and can't help smiling. “That's too bad,” I say.

She smiles back at me. “My grandson came to bring me home. And at least it's finally stopped raining.”

I turn and look out the window. I hadn't noticed, but she's right. The clouds have parted to reveal a sky such a pale shade of blue that it looks like it's been bleached clean by the rain.

“Everything okay, Gran?” A guy has stepped into the room behind her. He takes her arm protectively.

I do a double take. He is seriously good-looking. Dark hair and eyes, long lean muscles, blue jeans that fit like they cost a lot of money. “You're her grandson?” I ask stupidly.

“Uh-huh. And you're Derek. I've heard all about you.”

“You have?”

“Oh yeah. Gran says she showed you my baby pictures.” He grins widely, showing straight white teeth. “She said you thought I was cute.”

I blush furiously. Is he flirting with me? I look at Mrs. Buckley, who is nodding happily, and figure out what he's talking about. “Oh. The baby with Santa.”

He nods and holds out his hand. “I'm Keenan.”

I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He grins again. “Thanks for taking care of my gran. She's pretty special, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she is.”

He guides Mrs. Buckley toward the door. Then he turns back to me. “Maybe I'll see you around,” he says, winking.

I manage to smile but to tell you the truth, I'm kind of stunned. Keenan is seriously hot, and I'm 95 percent certain that he was flirting with me. For a second I feel really, really good. I turn toward the window. Even through the glass, I think I can feel the warmth of that high winter-white sun.

Then a wave of longing hits me like a brick wall, and all I can see in my mind is Ethan's face.

God, I miss him.

Gabi and I make a huge pot of vegetarian chili. After eating dinner with her folks, we head down to Java Joe's. I need to go by Dad's place tonight to get my stuff, but I'm putting it off. I really don't want to see my father.

It's clear and cold outside and Java Joe's is busy. Music is playing loudly and the windows are all steamed up. It's my turn to buy: regular coffee for me and something strawberry flavored and frothy for Gabi.

“Do you think I'm a coward?” I ask her when we're sitting at our favorite corner table.

She looks surprised. “Of course not. Why?”

“I met this woman,” I say slowly.

Gabi opens her eyes wide. “Derek! You're kidding!”

I make a face at her. “Please. Not like that. She's a friend. Well, a client I guess. She's one of the residents at the place I work.”

She looks curious. “Okay.”

I take a sip of my coffee. “Well, she said I was a coward for dumping Ethan. For not
at least trying, you know? Not giving him a chance.”

“That's a bit harsh,” Gabi says.

I make a face: half grin, half grimace. “She says it like it is, you know? She doesn't pull any punches.”

Gabi looks at me, head tilted to one side. “What do you think?”

The radio is playing some old love song. I put my elbows on the table and rest my chin on my hands. “I think she might be right.”

“So?”

I avoid her eyes. “So nothing. So I'm a coward.”

“Derek! You can't just give up. It's too important to you.” Gabi's practically jumping off her seat in frustration.

I shrug. “It's not that big a deal.”

Aaliyah's right. It's way easier just to pretend you don't care.

It's almost ten o'clock when Gabi taps her watch, tilts her head to one side and says, “Well?”

“Yeah. I should get moving.” I make a face. “I just don't feel like dealing with my dad tonight, you know?”

“Can't say I blame you. Still, you have to get your stuff sometime.”

She's right. I don't know what I was thinking when I packed, but I've got nothing decent to wear to work
tomorrow. “If I'm lucky, he'll be asleep on the couch.”

“If we're going, let's do it,” Gabi says as she gets up.

“If
we're
going?”

“I'm coming with you.”

“Gabi.” I look up at her for a long moment. “You let me stay at your place, you listen to me and let me dump all this crap on you... You're the best. If we were even slightly straight, I'd ask you to marry me.”

She laughs. “Yeah, yeah.”

I push my chair back and get to my feet slowly. “You know what though? I think I need to do this on my own.”

The lights are all still on when I get to my dad's place. My place until last night, but already it doesn't feel like home. The truth is it hasn't felt much like home since Mom left.

I hesitate at the door, wondering whether I'm supposed to knock. It's tempting just to walk in. If Dad's passed out, I might be able to sneak past and grab my stuff without
having to say a word. On the other hand, Dad made it pretty clear that I'm no longer welcome here.

I knock loudly. Then I wait. My heart bangs around,
thump thump thump
, all fast and hard and uneven, like it's lost its rhythm. Finally I hear footsteps, and then the door swings open.

Dad stands there, hand on the door knob, not saying anything. He's wearing saggy burgundy sweatpants and a white T-shirt that's a size too small.

“I've come to pack up my stuff,” I tell him.

He steps backward to let me in and then closes the door behind me. I don't take my shoes off, although this is one of the many things Dad has big control issues about. I just walk right past him down the hallway to my bedroom.

What used to be my bedroom.

Dad has dumped all the clothes from my closet, all the books from my shelf, all my stuff, in one jumbled heap on the floor. I don't say anything. I just start packing. Socks,
photo albums, sweaters, school yearbooks, winter coat, pack of markers—I don't sort it out. I just cram it all into my backpack and the extra bags I brought.

I can feel Dad standing there, in the hallway behind me, watching. His eyes are burning holes in my back but I don't turn around. I just keep packing, keep breathing, keep telling myself it's just a few more minutes until I'm out of here.

Dad clears his throat. “Derek.”

I don't answer. The only thing he could say that I'd want to hear is
sorry.

“Look,” he says. His voice is cracked and high-pitched. He doesn't sound like himself at all. Despite my intentions, I turn around and look at him. Those skinny legs and that sticking-out stomach, those track pants pulled halfway up to his armpits.

“Look,” he says again. “This isn't how I expected things to be.” His face crumples. He looks lost. He looks
old
. “This isn't how it was all supposed to turn out,” he says.

“Yeah, well.” I start to turn away, to pick up the next armful of crap to stuff into a bag.

“I just want you to know that,” he says. “I didn't choose this.”

“You think I did?” It comes out in a weird croak, and to cover up I raise my voice so that I'm practically yelling. “I haven't had a whole lot of choices either, Dad.”

There's a long, long silence.

“This gay thing,” he starts to say.

I cut him off. “You know what? I'm not really interested in discussing
this gay thing,
as you call it.”

He sighs and folds his arms across his chest. “Your mom would know how to handle this.”

He just doesn't get it. “Mom's gone,” I tell him. “She's gone. When are you going to get it through your head that she's not coming back?”

Dad stares at me. His face is pale and he has dark baggy circles under his eyes. He looks like hell. I feel a flicker of pity and, beneath it, some crazy mixture of feelings, anger and sadness and I don't know what else, all bubbling up inside me and threatening to spill over.

I take a deep breath. “It's just us now, Dad,” I say, more softly. “It's just you and me.”

“I'm tired,” he says. “I'm going to bed.” He starts to turn away. Then he hesitates and looks back at me. “If you decide to forget about the gay thing, I guess you could move back in.”

It's so stupid I almost laugh, except I feel more like crying. So I just nod and keep on packing.

After a few days of having me in the spare room, Gabi's folks ask if I'd like to stay with them more permanently. They've got a basement suite and they've been thinking about renting it out but don't really want a stranger living there.

The amount they want to charge me is ridiculously low. Pocket change. I know what they're doing. They don't want me to go back to my dad's place unless things between him and me change a whole lot, and they know
me well enough to know that I'm starting to worry about overstaying my welcome. It's exactly the kind of thing that Gabi's parents would do.

I think it over for about three seconds before I accept.

Gabi's mom gives me a big hug. To her, I'm still the little kid who fell out of Gabi's tree fort in the second grade. She's still trying to put Band-Aids on my scraped knees.

I squirm away, but not too quickly. The truth is, her hugs feel pretty good.

Mom used to hug me like that
. I usually try not to think about Mom, but the thought just pops into my mind. Maybe, I think, I will try to find her after all. Not hitchhike to California or anything too crazy, but just make some calls. You never know. Maybe I'll get lucky.

And maybe Dad will change.

But I'm not holding my breath. For now, I'm pretty happy to stay right here.

That night, my mind keeps drifting back to Aaliyah. It's bad enough to be stuck in a
body that doesn't work the way it should, the way it used to. But to be stuck in another prison as well, with someone like Francine controlling every little thing about your life... The thought makes my stomach twist with angry frustration.

I can't sleep. Finally I get up and go to the computer. For once, I'm not thinking about Ethan.