History Is All You Left Me(54)

“You’re staying home from school tomorrow with me,” my mom says. She’s trying to make eye contact with me, but I continue staring at the TV, even though it’s off. “You’re too vulnerable in that environment right now.”

“I don’t want to go back next week either,” I say. I’m done pretending anything I do in class actually matters for my future. I could ace all my classes like you did and complete all my homework assignments and still find myself the victim of a random and fatal accident. If you knew you were going to die young, would you have spent as much time studying, Theo? I’d bet two dollars you would have, actually. But we’re different. I can’t even sit on someone’s right without having a panic attack.

“Okay. We can see how you’re feeling on Monday,” Mom says.

Dad nods. He looks worried, not that I can blame him. “We understand how hard it is being somewhere where you spent so much time with Theo,” he says. He’s right, but school isn’t the only place where I spent so much time with you. He turns to my mom. “Maybe next semester we can get Griff transferred to another school. Fresh start.”

“This isn’t some out of sight, out of mind thing,” I say. “It’s Theo.”

Jackson nods. “Transferring is too easy. I’ve thought about it too, but it feels wrong. Like I’m trying to forget him.”

My parents look at each other. They’ve always had a way of wordlessly consulting. They’re honestly both good cops. The closest my dad has ever come to playing bad cop was when he shrugged Jackson off after meeting him, but now it’s my mom’s turn. “Jackson, would you mind if we speak to Griffin alone for a second? We need to talk to him about something sensitive.”

“Whatever you’re going to tell me I’m just going to tell him,” I say.

“It’s okay,” Jackson says. “It’s a family meeting, I get it. Sorry.” He gets up and heads straight into my room, closing the door behind him.

“That wasn’t called for,” I say.

Mom looks at me. “We’ve been very accommodating, but I’m honestly not sure if Jackson’s being here is what’s best for you right now,” she says. “You’re going through a huge loss—”

“Jackson is the only one who understands,” I interrupt.

“—and it might be time for Jackson to go home to give you a more stable environment. More importantly, we need you to see a real therapist.” She stands and takes Jackson’s seat, your seat, beside me. My parents rarely falter on this left versus right business, thankfully; you never did, either. “If Jackson’s presence is affecting your compulsions, it’s a problem. Regardless, you need to see a therapist and psychiatrist soon.”

I can’t tell them that I’ll be fine, that there’s really nothing wrong with me. I hate even recognizing myself as wrong. But I also doubt words and exposure therapy will make the compulsions stop. I think it’ll be the opposite, like seeing a psychiatrist will only drag the compulsions more into focus. The real problem is that my parents are too normal to understand this.

“You can’t make me,” I say. And I know I have them there. There’s no way they can punish me any more than I already punish myself.

“Therapy isn’t a bad thing, or anything to be ashamed of,” Mom says. She reaches for me.

“Then you go.” I shake her hand away and go to my room. If she wants to go see a “mental health professional” and report back on how I’m supposed to be doing according to the seven stages of grief or whatever bullshit they’ll feed her, she can be my guest. I don’t need that in my life any more than I do Wade’s telling me everything about you I already know.

I just need you and Jackson.

I close the door behind me and throw myself onto my bed.

Jackson is sitting on the air mattress, texting someone. “They want me to go, don’t they?” I don’t answer him, which says everything. “It’s okay. Don’t get mad at them. It’s probably for the best, anyway. It’s like we said out there, that we have to face Theo, wherever he is. We can’t hide from him.”

“But Theo lived in New York,” I say. I sit up. I can’t believe my parents have made Jackson so uncomfortable he’s ready to go. “Sending me to a different school isn’t going to change that.”

“But I don’t live here,” Jackson says quietly. “Theo isn’t here for me the way he is for you.” He wobbles from the center of the deflating air mattress to the edge and sits with his elbows on his knees. “I already texted my dad, and he’s looking into getting me a ticket this weekend. It might be hard because of the snow and cancellations, but we’ll see.”

So that’s it, then. Once he’s gone, I know I’m going to end up back in that black hole of worthlessness. I can already feel his support being sucked away. I lie back down and stare up at the ceiling.

Jackson fills the silence with a list of everything he’s been missing back home anyway, always in pairs because, like you, he’s grown hyperconscious of my needs. He misses his mom (a lot) and dad (a little); his dog and the runs they go on; his bedroom, your dorm room; his school halls and classrooms (not enough to resume classes, though); his car and driving in general; the sun and sleeveless shirts; iced coffee and popsicles; digging his toes into the grass at the park and into the sand at the beach.