History Is All You Left Me(42)

I nod. “I hate that we complicated his life the way we did . . . and I hate that maybe it would’ve gotten to a point where Theo would’ve felt forced to say goodbye to me or you—or even both of us since we couldn’t get along.”

It’s one of many reasons I’m sorry, Theo.

“Yeah.” That’s all Jackson can say.

I pat him on the shoulder and turn away, inviting him to follow me. The stories I’ll tell him about you are good for him to hear and good for me to talk about. It’s okay that he’s not as forthcoming tonight. I sort of like being in the pilot’s seat, flying us through the skies I know. I think Jackson and I risk crashing if he’s in total control.

“This is a better send-off than I was betting on,” Jackson says on our way out, through the very exit where you and I once took turns pissing, late at night, keeping watch for each other. “I didn’t even think I’d get to see you again. I wanted the chance to say sorry for trying to cut Theo out of your life.”

I know I have plenty to apologize for too, but something deeper is clawing at me. “Do you have to leave tomorrow?”

You heard that right, Theo: I, Griffin No-Middle-Name Jennings, have asked my former nemesis, Jackson Wright, if he can stay in New York.

“I can’t impose on Theo’s family anymore. They need their space,” Jackson says.

“Stay with us,” I counter. “It’s not like you have school to worry about.”

“I’m not sure your father would be cool with that,” Jackson says.

“He will be. I’m sorry he was a dick to you. He was just being overly loyal to me.” Unlike my mom, who wasn’t being loyal enough. But she’s in the right. I know that.

“My flight is already booked, though,” Jackson says.

“Your father works for the airline. Don’t you get free flights?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

“Look, if you want to go back home, I’m not stopping you. But if you want an escape, I’m giving you a chance.”

“No, it’s not that I don’t want to stay, but—”

“I’m so ready to shoot down this next excuse.”

“I have a question, not an excuse.”

“You want to know why I want you to stay, right?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re the only person who gets what I’m going through, what we’re going through. Theo’s family is grieving harder than us, no contest. But we lost him too, and I feel like people are surprised that I haven’t just moved on already. I don’t know if that’s the same for you. I don’t really care about those people anyway. I have zero intention to forget about Theo, ever. If some genie popped up and was like, ‘Hey, you want to use one of your wishes to forget Theo ever existed and cure your heartbreak?’ I would probably make two wishes and then kick the genie in his nuts for saying something that stupid.”

“You really wouldn’t use your third wish?” Jackson asks.

I shake my head. Unless I was guaranteed another go at the genie so I could have a total of six wishes, I wouldn’t ever use my third wish, even if it left me in the company of that asshole genie forever. “My point is, you get me and I get you,” I tell him. “I think we can help each other through this, and, even better than that, I think we can legit help each other heal. You game?”

He smiles, but he looks shaky in the cold lamplight. “I would have to be an idiot to reject healing. You’re right that going back home would really suck right now. It’d be so lonely, and I’d see Theo everywhere.” He pauses. “Are you sure about this?”

I see you everywhere now, too. I’m hoping talking to Jackson about you might help lessen the pain, though. It’ll definitely help with the loneliness.

“I’m sure.”

We’re closer to my house, so Jackson and I head straight there with a plan to get his stuff tomorrow when I get back from school. As we approach my building, I quietly say, “I’m sorry for everything, too.”

Monday, November 27th, 2016

Jackson can’t sleep either. It’s been almost a week since your funeral, so it’s probably fair to stop blaming his sleeplessness on West Coast time. No one can sleep because you’re keeping us awake: me, Jackson, your mom, your dad, your sister, Wade probably. It’s 6 a.m. and even though I should do my damn best to at least get a power nap in since I have to get ready for school in an hour, Jackson and I chill by the closed window and watch a plane sail across the dark skies.

“It’s been two weeks,” I say. Two weeks since you’ve been gone.

“I know,” Jackson says. He moves away from the window and settles into the air mattress.

I keep watching the plane. Jackson should be at the airport now, getting ready for his 8 a.m. flight back home, back in time as he gains three more hours in his life. But instead he’s here for me to talk to, and, unlike you, Jackson can talk back.

My dad pulls up right in front of your building. I let Jackson know I’ll see him after school. He’s tired as hell. I’m no monster; I considered letting him stay over while I’m out, but all our stuff is there, yours and mine. I don’t think Jackson is going to rob me; the only thing he’s ever stolen from me is you, and you were fair game. But I don’t want Jackson touching my things or your things when I’m awake, figuring out the history without me there to inform it.