History Is All You Left Me(27)

“I’m going to go ahead and guess you and Theo came here and made wishes,” Jackson says.

For that brief moment I forgot Jackson was here. I’m about to break down and cry in front of him. I shiver, not from cold, and step away. He’s not someone I want a hug from.

“Yeah, we made wishes. And the whole thing is kind of bullshit.” I flip off the fountain. “Look, there are so many coins in here. People actually thought their spare change could buy them stuff, like actual riches or something else. We’re all suckers.”

Jackson stares at the water. “I always thought it was more religion than fantasy,” he says. “Ignore everyone throwing in money for more money. Everyone else is praying. Throwing a coin into a fountain is a little less disappointing than praying in some church. You go straight to the Big Man’s house, you expect results.”

I turn to him. “Question: How the hell can you believe in God? After Theo?”

Jackson shrugs. “I don’t spend my Sundays at church, but I’ve always taken to the idea of bigger plans. I had big plans with Theo—now I don’t. There’s got to be something to take away from this. I refuse to believe he died pointlessly.”

“Theo didn’t die so you could personally learn some big lesson on life.” I can feel my face getting hot.

Jackson comes closer to me, and I take a step back because I’m shaking harder and he should be nervous about being left alone with me. “That’s not what I’m saying, Griffin. That would be a complete waste. I know that; you know that. I’m just not going to give God the silent treatment because I’m pissed off Theo is dead. Theo believed in God.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what Theo believed in,” I snap. I’m sorry, Theo. I should apologize to him, not just to you. “Sorry, I’m . . . I’m in a bad place and . . .” I don’t understand why he would be talking to God for comfort when he could be talking to you. “I should have known this, but being back here without Theo sucks.”

“Yeah. It’s one of the reasons I’m not excited to go back home.” Jackson turns back to the fountain. “I know it’s taboo to share, but what would you wish for?”

“I know you’re more interested in what Theo would wish for,” I say.

“That would require resurrection,” Jackson says.

“I guess it’s not that taboo to share,” I say. Some of my wishes would also require a resurrection to come true.

I tell Jackson some of the things I wished for, like your mom’s good health when she had that breast cancer scare. How I wanted you so badly to have a scholarship so your parents would have more money in their pockets to fly you back and forth to New York whenever you missed home. I don’t tell Jackson about some of the other wishes I made, like on this past New Year’s Eve, where I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe because I was wishing you would call at midnight and tell me you missed me and loved me and would come back to me and be mine again someday soon.

“That was really nice of you,” Jackson says. “Selfless.”

“I only ever wanted the best for him,” I say. I’m not sure I believe I was the best fit for you, Theo, but I do think I was better than Jackson.

Jackson digs around his coat pocket, pulls out a handful of change, closes his eyes, mouths something, and tosses all the coins into the fountain.

I’m not asking him what he wished for.

He steps side to side, his shoes sloshing, rubbing his arms. “It’s cold,” he says.

I can barely survive another minute of this myself. I’m ready to call it a night, but I don’t have much to look forward to alone in my room. “It’s also late. If you want, you can come back to my place for a bit to talk.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jackson says. “Maybe there’s a coffee shop open?”

“My dad is awake, and he’ll feel a lot more comfortable going to sleep if I’m home,” I say. “But if you think it’s weird, it’s okay.”

“No, I want to keep talking. Let’s go. Should we take a cab, though? I’m not sure I can survive a walk.”

I’d give your West Coast boy shit for not toughing it out, but a ride sounds nice. We head uptown along the curb, heading in the direction of my building as we wait for an empty cab in the dead of night. One finally pulls over beside us after a bit. Jackson jumps in first, warming up behind the driver—on what will be my left side if I get in. I consider settling into the right side, just angling my body so I’m facing him, but I’m already clawing at my numb palm, so I race around the other side and open the door.

“Stealing your seat,” I tell him.

He shifts to the right and I get inside. If he’s confused or troubled, he doesn’t show it. How much did you tell him about me, Theo? Does he know about my OCD? He closes the door on his side as I do mine. I give the driver my address and we’re there in eight minutes. I pay in cash and we get out, running into my building.

It was 2011 when you came over to my house for the first time. Your parents were spending the day with Denise at her classmate’s birthday party. They didn’t want you home alone. Your parents called mine, and I got really excited when my dad told me you were coming over for a few hours because we were on summer break and it was harder to hang. You brought over a puzzle of a medieval castle while we watched X-Men DVDs. As we put it together we made our own plans to see each other again soon—assuming my parents were cool with me running wild with you, of course—and I could feel how much you missed me too, and it was cool, even if we never said it.