The Storm Before the Calm (23 page)

“Hey,” Max said, turning my head so I would look at him. “It’s going to be okay. I love you.”

The tears I’d done such a good job of holding back until now freely fell, sliding down my cheeks to fall onto him. He pulled me in closer and I wept, my body shaking as he held me. I felt him kiss my head, and all I could do was cry. This was the last time he’d hold me like this. My heart was torn apart, and there was no putting it back together again.

Neither of us said anything. There was nothing left to say.

T
HE
FINAL
performance went better than I expected. We had all spent so much time preparing, hours of practice, blood, sweat, and tears poured into each and every rehearsal, and all for this. Three months of our lives culminated in two hours of performance where we danced our hardest. I gave it everything I had, but my heart wasn’t in it. I kept my place, maintained my extensions, made sure my turnout was perfect, but the soul was missing.

As the curtain fell, the audience applauded, giving us a standing ovation. We all stepped forward for one more bow before leaving the stage. It was the best and worst night of my life.

After the performance I changed back into my street clothes in the dressing room, Max’s eyes trained on me the entire time. My hands ached to touch him, but there was no time. I had to meet my mom and aunt upstairs. They were waiting for me.

Max came with me, holding my hand as we ascended the stairs to the theater lobby. I spotted my family across the room. As we walked over to them, I tightened my grasp on Max’s hand. I didn’t want him to let go. I knew these were our final moments together. Our flight left early the next morning. We’d have to get up before 3:00 a.m. to catch a cab to the airport, so there was no way I could stay over with Max. The night before had been our last one together.

As we approached, my mom spotted us and hurried over, pulling us both into a hug. “You were
wonderful
,” she gushed. “Every time I see you dance, I’m amazed. You keep getting better and better.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said as graciously as I could. It was difficult to be gracious when all I wanted to do was break down and cry.

“You really were spectacular, Sprout,” Ginny added. “And you too, Max. You dance beautifully together.”

I could feel my throat tightening. I felt like a man waiting in the gallows.

“We should probably get going,” I heard my mom say, but her voice sounded like she was speaking underwater.

I turned toward Max, my eyes brimming with tears. This wasn’t how I wanted our last moment together to be, surrounded by people, my mom and aunt looking on as we said good-bye. In that instant, though, I didn’t give a shit who was watching. I stepped into his arms and kissed him. I wanted him to know how I felt about him, even if I couldn’t say the words here. He was the only man I’d ever loved, and in that moment it felt like he was the only man I would ever love.

“Good-bye, Charlie,” he whispered, pressing one last chaste kiss to my lips.

All I could do was nod. My gaze was locked on him as he walked away. I watched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped forward.

I
WAS
silent the whole way home in the cab. I knew if I spoke, I’d cry. Mom and Ginny didn’t seem to notice, or if they did, they didn’t let on. We climbed out of the cab and waved hello to Henry as we stepped into the elevator, Mom and Ginny still chattering about Great-uncle George and how bad his diabetes had gotten.

When we got upstairs, I grabbed my sweats and headed into the bathroom for a shower. I needed some time to myself to breathe. I stripped down and stepped in, sagging backward against the cold tiles. I barely felt the water as it pounded my skin.

By the time I stepped back out and wrapped the towel around myself, I was completely empty. I quickly dressed and trudged to the bedroom, where Ginny had made up an air mattress for me on the floor. I called out a good-night, then sunk down into my makeshift bed and turned over, burying my face in the pillow. I was so emotionally shattered that within minutes I was asleep.

Chapter Thirty

B
EACON
WAS
as I’d left it. Even in the summer it seemed dull and dreary, everything a little brown around the edges. We drove down the main street on our way home, past the Dairy Queen and the hardware store. Pulling into our driveway, I noticed the house looked the same, and yet somehow smaller, sadder.

My mom parked, and we grabbed our things from the trunk before going inside. I took my bags directly up to my room to unpack. Seeing my things in my suitcase would only serve as a reminder that, for a short time, I’d gotten out of there.

My phone chirped from my pocket. I didn’t bother taking it out. I knew it was Max. He’d been texting me since I left, and each message felt like another stab wound. I loved him. There was less than zero doubt that I did. He meant everything to me, and I’d walked away. Keeping that shred of contact with him would kill me.

I put my things away and went back downstairs. Mom had made chicken potpie for dinner. Well, she’d heated it up from frozen anyway. It didn’t much matter to me what we ate, so I sat down at the table with her and pretended to have a nice conversation. I couldn’t tell you what we talked about, though. I think she asked me about New York. I relayed some of what I’d seen: the park and the High Line, Coney Island, and the studio. All of it hurt. All of it held memories of Max. I was grateful she didn’t mention his name. I likely would have started crying. I pinched the palm of my hand under the table, using the sharp pain to maintain my focus.

After dinner I helped my mom clean up the kitchen.

“I’m feeling pretty jet lagged,” I said putting the last of the dishes away in the cupboard. “I think I’m going to make it an early night tonight.”

“Are you all right?” my mom asked, the concern evident in her voice.

“Yeah, just tired….”

“Okay.” She dried the glass in her hand and placed it on the shelf.

I went upstairs and changed into my sweatpants. As I stood there, my shirt crumpled in my hand, I eyed the desk drawer where I kept the razor blade. I hadn’t cut myself since before I left. I’d gone the full three months without needing that release of endorphins. I shook my head. I’d come this far, and as much as I hurt right now, adding another white scar to my ribs wasn’t going to change that.

I pulled the T-shirt on, smoothing it down over my chest, flicked my lights off, then climbed into bed. My phone sat on my bedside table, screen down. I tried not to look, but my willpower was so fragile, it was only moments before I was lifting it and turning it on.

I had three messages from Max.

Max: I wish you weren’t leaving.

Max: I think you’re on your plane now. New York feels empty without you in it.

Max: I miss you. I will find a way to make this work.

His last message left me hopeful and miserable at the same time. I fell asleep to thoughts of Max.

I
T
TURNED
out, applying for jobs is the worst thing ever. My third morning home, I’d gotten up, put on a nice shirt, and printed off a stack of copies of my résumé. I found an old blue folder in my desk and tucked them inside to keep them from getting creased. There were a few places in town I knew were always hiring—none I actually wanted to work at—but any of them would serve the purpose. Walking down the stairs, I found my mom had already left for work, but she’d left a note on the counter.

Charlie,

There is apple cinnamon oatmeal in the fridge… you just have to heat it up. Good luck! I know you’re going to be great. We will celebrate tonight.

Much love,

Mom

I couldn’t imagine any outcome that would lead to feeling much like celebrating, but I smiled, taking slight solace in the knowledge of how much my mom loved me. I opened the fridge door and found the breakfast she’d made before she left, heating it quickly in the microwave before wolfing it down. The air outside was still cool, the sun not yet having warmed it when I stepped out the front door.

The first stop on my list was the grocery store. It was only a short walk from my house, and when I arrived the parking lot was nearly empty. I entered through the front doors and found Mitsy Birmingham standing behind the customer service desk. I’d known her since I was barely out of diapers, and she smiled when she saw me.

“Charlie! How are you? I heard you were in New York for the summer.”

“I’m doing well, thanks. And yes, at a dance company in Manhattan.”

“Well, good for you. You must be happy to be home, though. I can’t imagine living in a place like New York. Far too busy for my tastes.” She made a face like she’d smelled a bad tin of sardines.

“Yeah, it’s good to be home,” I lied. “I’m actually here to ask about a job.” I handed over a copy of my résumé. Mitsy took it with a plastic smile and looked it over.

“Well, I’m not in charge of the hiring. That’d be Doug, but he won’t be in until noon. I’ll pass this along for you, though.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Somehow I doubted Doug would be giving me a call. I didn’t know him well, but the few times I’d seen him around town, he hadn’t been overly friendly with me. Oh well. There were plenty more places on my list.

I thanked Mitsy again and left the grocery, stopping in at a diner, a gas station, and a bakery before finally making my way to the sporting goods store in the strip mall. A Help Wanted sign sat in the window, which gave me hope as I walked in through the door. I approached the front counter. There was a man behind it, stooped down, fiddling with something beneath the counter. I waited patiently for a few moments, and when the man didn’t notice me, I gently cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me?”

The man stood, and when I saw who it was, I wanted to bolt from the store as quickly as my legs could carry me.

“Morning, faggot.” The slur spewed from Dylan’s mouth, a sneer on his face.

The words cut right through me, and suddenly I was back in the hallways of my high school, two inches tall and terrified of the big bad bully. My heart began to race. As I stood there, all I could think of was everything that had happened over the summer and how happy I’d been. I thought about how for years, this shithead that was standing in front of me made me miserable, and how I’d handed him the power to do that. I’d never stood up for myself, never told anyone, never gotten help.

And then I got angry.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I spat, kissing any hope of employment there good-bye—not that any amount of money in the world would ever be enough to entice me into a job with Dylan as a coworker.

“I don’t like faggots. And I’m sure you spent your summer sucking cock and taking it up the ass from one of your dancer homos.”

“You know what? Not that it’s any of your business, but I did.” I took a step toward him. “And I liked it.”

Dylan looked at me, an expression of shock plastered on his boar-like face. His mouth hung open like the missing link that he was, but he didn’t respond.

“You know, you might want to try it sometime. Maybe you’d dislodge whatever’s shoved up your ass and you wouldn’t be such a fucking dick anymore.” And with that, I stormed out of the store, leaving the wreckage in my wake.

A
S
I
walked home, I thought about New York. I thought about how easily I had fallen in love with Max and how impossible it would be to fall out of love with him. I thought about the city with all its quirks and character and how much I’d loved scratching the surface and discovering its idiosyncrasies. Most of all, I thought about how comfortable I’d become there, that I could be myself, out in the open, and people accepted me—embraced me even. I didn’t know if I could ever find that in Beacon. Maybe one day. It didn’t matter, though. The important people loved me for who I was, and that was the only thing of consequence.

There would be a million details to work out, but I resolved to tell my mom I was moving to New York for good. I felt shitty about it, like I was being the most selfish son in the world. She’d given up so much for me, and here I was, bailing on her the first chance I got. But I couldn’t stay. I would miss her fiercely, but this wasn’t where I belonged anymore. I could work in New York, send money home to help her, but I couldn’t stay in Beacon. The summer had changed me.

I swung by the grocery store on my way back to the house, picking up some things to make dinner for my mom. Mitsy was still there, behind the customer service counter where I’d seen her earlier.

“Hello, Charlie,” she said as I walked past with my bags. “I was just about to give your application to Doug. I’m sure he’d be happy to talk to you now if you’d like to wait a moment.”

I waved my free hand. “That’s all right. You can actually throw the application in the trash. I won’t be needing a job here after all.”

Walking out the front door, I felt lighter than I had in days. This was going to happen. And I knew who I was going to tell first.

Chapter Thirty-One

I
WAITED
until I got home to call, wanting a little privacy for when I told Max I was coming back to him. The anticipation tore through me. I felt like I’d downed sixteen cups of espresso on an empty stomach. I was shaking so badly my teeth were chattering. I picked up my phone, misdialing three times before I got it right, and waited, listening to the rings. I counted them—three, four, five—and then his voice mail recording clicked over.