20. “Do not swear by the moon, for she changes”

20

"Do not swear by the moon, for she changes"

Then

I'd been back at college for two weeks, and instead of fading, the memory of Romeo's face when he thought my mom had caught us grew louder. More intrusive. More upsetting. I felt like a wild animal that was caged. I paced my room, and when that wasn't enough, I took to walking the streets late at night. There was an LGBTQ+ center on campus, and most nights, that's where I walked. I didn't go in. I just stood in the shadows and looked at the door, but that's where I ended up night after night.

At the end of my second year I'd applied for an exchange program on a whim. I had no expectation of actually getting it, and I didn't, but in the third week of my third year, I got a call from the head of my department saying the person who'd been successful was no longer able to take the placement and that if I wanted it, it was mine.

I said yes on the spot, and a week later, I'd given up my room in the dorm and was on a plane to England. Destination: Cambridge. I was as shocked by my impulsiveness as I was by the person I became while I was there. Not became, that's the wrong way of putting it. I was shocked by the fact I allowed myself to be who I really was. The first Friday night in Cambridge, a group of people in my class invited me to a pub just off campus. We were having a chill time, drinking pints and cracking jokes. I was scrambling to keep up with the witty British banter when someone asked me if I had a girlfriend back home. I didn't skip a beat. I said, "No. I have a boyfriend."

I held my head high as I said it and took in each of the faces around me as I spoke. Reactions ranged from mild ambivalence to total acceptance. It was like I'd disclosed nothing more important than my favorite color.

There was a freedom in having said it that made me realize there was part of my lungs I hadn't used before. A small pocket that had never been filled with air before. There, in a tiny, timber-clad pub with freakishly low ceilings, on a rainy as fuck night in a country that wasn't mine, I finally felt like I could breathe.

After the initial exhilarated shock of finding myself in a foreign country, reality set in. I felt the miles between Romeo and me. There were three thousand seven hundred and forty-four of them, and I felt every one. I felt them all in a way that was so real and visceral that it upset my balance. I felt off-kilter like I was leaning a little more to the left than I should have been.

The time difference was a bitch. At first, it was almost the same as it always was. Romeo would call and our conversations would be profound or completely random.

"Tiger, wait," he said just as I was about to hang up a call that had been totally news-based. "Don't go. I realized this morning I don't know what your least favorite emotion is."

I mean honestly, what kind of question is that? Only Romeo would think to ask something like that, especially out of the blue. "Ummm…" I hummed as I mulled it over. "Guilt, I guess."

"Ah, guilt's a good one. D'you know my mom always used to say that when it comes to guilt, a little goes a long way? I never really understood what she meant. She said I'd get it when I was older, but so far, no dice."

I chuckled and asked, "What's yours?" forgetting for a second that I didn't need to. I knew what it was.

"Grief," he said simply.

As weeks passed, Romeo and I talked less frequently. At first, it was a day here or there that was missed, and we'd make up for it by catching up in a long call the next time we spoke. It was awful. I'd wake up in the morning, head full of things to tell him, and have to wait all day for him to wake up. Then he'd be in class when it was still early enough for me to call. I counted his missed calls and kept a tally of them in my head. The more there were, the happier I was. I saw it as proof. Of what, I couldn't really say, but I liked it. I liked thinking of him at home in his room, sitting on his bed with his phone in his hands and my name on the screen. I liked that it meant he was thinking of me. Pining for me. Maybe not in the same way I pined for him, but it was something.

Maybe it was wrong of me to like it, but I did.

Initially, Romeo and I had lofty plans of him coming over for Thanksgiving break, but it didn't pan out because no one celebrates Thanksgiving in the UK, so I didn't get time off or anything like that. I was bleak about it, but Lex and my parents came out to spend Christmas with me, and that was great. We spent Christmas and Boxing Day in a charming rented stone cottage in Dorset and spent the better part of the next week driving around Wales. It was a blast. Lexi and I did most of the driving, and our parents sat in the back seat of the tiny Ford Fiesta we'd rented and behaved like kids, constantly whining, "Are we there yet?" and laughing uproariously at their dumb joke.

After the trip, I flew straight into Columbus for the start of the second semester. When I'd packed up my room in Cambridge, I was surprised to find myself feeling a stomach-dropping sense of defeat, sure that as I folded my clothes and bundled them into my bag, I was all but folding myself up and cramming myself back into the closet.

That's not how it turned out. When I got back, I rented a room in a shared apartment five minutes from campus. One of my new roommates, Benji, was gay, and he took one look at me and clocked me immediately. He was discreet about it, and instead of minding that he knew, I found I loved having someone to talk to about my sexuality. Benji was one of those guys who was out and proud and supremely vocal about it. He had bleach-blond hair he wore in an elaborately styled coiffe and wasn't one to shy away from glittery eyeliner. He was a breath of fresh air, and we quickly became friends. He introduced me to people and places, and soon, I wasn't on the periphery of the queer scene looking in anymore. I was out—in Ohio, at least.

"Now say it with me, Benj… People in Alabaster don't know Jude is gay," I coached as we waited for the plane to take off at the start of Spring Break. Benji's parents were assholes with a limited amount of appreciation for his fabulousness, so I'd invited him to come home with me for the vacation.

He nodded earnestly and said, "People in Alabaster have their heads up their asses 'cause they can't tell Jude's queer as Christmas."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed loudly. "Close but not quite. Try again."

He nudged my shoulder and gave me a sincere smile. "It's okay. I've got you, Judels."

"For God's sake, don't call me Judels!" I screeched, laughing and punching his shoulder playfully. "You may as well tattoo a Pride flag on my forehead!"

I needn't have worried. Benji was good people, and he had my back. He was a lot, but he didn't let anything slip. My mom and dad loved him, and before the break was over, Ollie and Dan were making plans for him to return to Alabaster over the summer, with or without me. Despite all that, I regretted bringing him home with me. The whole vacation ended up being a complete shit show.

Romeo was weird pretty much from the second I arrived. He was at the airport with my parents when I landed, smiling broadly and holding up a foil balloon with a cartoon tiger on it, but he tensed when I hugged him. I thought I'd imagined it, so I hung on for dear life, blinking back tears of relief as I inhaled him. He smelled like rain after a drought. Like old oak trees and mystical places. Like the love of my life. Six months of not seeing him was too long. Not talking to him every day was awful. I hated it and couldn't wait to get back to the way things were the previous summer.

Getting to know Benji and other queer people had given me better insight into shame, fear, and internalized homophobia. I couldn't say his reaction last summer didn't still hurt, but I understood it better. I was trying to, at least.

His body stiffened as I held him, and not in a good way. His abs clenched and he stepped back as soon as I loosened my grip on him. His face was different. Eyes focused in a new and strange way, hoods lidded, brows drawn down low.

"I don't think Romeo likes me," said Benji after a few days in Alabaster.

I denied it vehemently, but honestly, I suspected he was right. Romeo had never been a fan of loud people, and Benji was about as loud as you could get without carrying a loudspeaker around and using it every time you opened your mouth. I could tell he got on Romeo's nerves, and as a result, I spent most of the vacation cracking jokes and trying to keep the conversation light.

Every night, I left my window wide open and stayed awake until the early hours, waiting for the soft thud on the garage roof that signaled Romeo was close. It never came .

By the last night, I was in such a bad way that I snuck out and climbed up his drainpipe and onto the balcony outside his bedroom window. I tapped at the glass for ages before he woke up, too scared to tap loudly in case I woke Mike.

"What are you doing here?" he mumbled through a haze of deep sleep. One cheek was creased and his hair was all over the place. He was so beautiful a tiny moan slipped out of me as I leaned in to kiss him.

It wasn't like any of the other kisses we'd shared. He didn't close his eyes and smile. He didn't even quirk one side of his mouth. He didn't lean in to meet me either. He jerked his head back and put a hand on my chest to push me away. I felt the outline of his handprint on my chest for hours. Days. Months.

"I love you, Jude," he said.

I was confused, but my heart thundered with joy. "I love you too. I love you so—"

"You're the most important person in my life, you know that. Your friendship means more to me than anything. I don't want to fuck it up, so I think maybe we should stop the other stuff before something happens that we can't come back from."

His words hit me in waves. Hard, tidal waves that rolled me, dunked me, and spat me out. I was reeling. The quick stab of rejection was so deep and brutal that it left me winded and unable to say another word, let alone ask any of the avalanche of questions that came to mind. The threads of scar tissue that covered my heart tore open, contracting and ripping more with every second I stayed on the balcony with him.

I limped home through the park, walking a familiar path that was suddenly foreign to me. The shadows of the swings and trees were long and menacing, stretching out, reaching for me, and winding around my ankles like gnarled webs and tendrils. They snaked up my limbs, slowing me until every step was painful. Overhead, oak leaves rustled, laughing at me, and Inferno, who I'd always thought of as a friend, hissed and breathed fire in my direction. In my chest, my heart throbbed, weeping and using the last of its strength to beat the only name it has ever known.

Romeo

Romeo

Romeo

I didn't tell Benji about Romeo because, you know, oaths and promises, and you'll never tell anyone and all that. Even though it was unsaid, he knew what was up. He took one look at my face the next day, put his arm around me, and said, "Don't sweat it, Judels, we've all been there. We're all a little in love with our childhood best friends, but straight guys are all the same—they don't stop being straight no matter how much we blow them."

Once I was back at college, Romeo acted like nothing had happened. He called me just as much as ever. More, maybe. Maybe it was my imagination, but to me, his calls and messages were tinged with desperation. He'd hurt me more than I could have imagined anyone could hurt me, and he seemed to be doing his best to act like it had never happened. It gave me whiplash. The rejection was fresh in my mind, a deep open wound that showed no signs of healing. I'd lie awake at night, tossing and turning, planning long conversations with Romeo, asking him the reams of questions that swirled around in my mind, pushing out reason, demanding answers. Demanding, above all things, that he tell me what I'd done wrong.

I'd wake in the morning, clammy and overwrought, and in the bright light of day, I'd shake my head at my own idiocy. By the time I showered, dressed, and opened my curtains, it was obvious. It was clear what was wrong. It was simple.

I was a man, and he wanted a woman.

I wrapped my pride around me, tighter and tighter every day, and resolved to never, ever show Romeo how much he'd hurt me. I answered when he called and messaged him back without leaving him on read any more than I could help it. I sent him photographs of open windows and listened for hours when Mike met Mary and Romeo struggled to find it in himself to like her. I threw myself into my studies during the day, and at night, I went out and got absolutely blasted. Most nights, Benji would come out with me and walk me home as I stumbled alongside him. He'd pull off my shoes and undo my belt before I fell into bed, and every once in a while, he'd say, "You know, babe, I could make you feel better."

I'd laugh him off and pretend I didn't know what he meant. The last time it happened, he reached for my junk as he said it. I slapped his hand away and sat up, wading through the sickly fog of booze just enough for his face to come into focus. Benji was good-looking. Electric blue eyes and platinum-blond hair. Pretty and handsome at the same time.

He did less than nothing for me.

"Don't you want to know what it's like to be with someone who doesn't regret it the next day? Because I promise you, Judels, I won't regret it."

"Romeo," I slurred. "I only want Romeo."

For the first time in my life, I didn't look forward to summer. I dreaded it, and I was right to dread it. It was awful. I was home, but nothing felt good. Romeo was there with his big fake smile and that weird look in his eyes. He said all the same things he usually did, but they sounded completely different. I'd never imagined a world in which I could feel uncomfortable around him, but it turned out that world existed. We hung out with Dan and Ollie more than usual, and Romeo tagged along but didn't really talk or contribute to the conversation.

It drove me insane.

By midsummer, I'd passed through the worst of the shock of his rejection and found myself wading knee deep in simmering anger. That's what happens to pain that goes untreated. It morphs. Transforms. It changes into something stronger and uglier.

It was the weekend of the Cherry Festival. It was always a big deal in Alabaster, and something Romeo and I had found deeply cringe as teens. As we got older, it had started to seem, well, not cool by any means, but not like a complete waste of time.

It was a clear day, blue sky and sunny with only a smattering of clouds, just enough to keep it from being uncomfortably hot. The town center had been decorated with red, pink, and green home-sewn bunting, and stands were set up everywhere, selling every conceivable product that could be made from cherries .

Romeo and I were standing with Ollie and Dan, drinking cherry juice we'd laced with vodka, when she walked by. Ollie's head spun. It actually spun, swiveling around so hard it looked like his head was about to detach from his shoulders.

She wore a white sundress with cherries embroidered all over it. The deep-red thread caught the light and made the white fabric seem whiter than white. Her hair was shoulder-length, dark, and so glossy it almost didn't look natural. Her face was neat and sweet. She had big brown eyes that were far from sweet.

"Holy shit," said Ollie. "Who's that?"

"Oh, her? That's Selby Rhoden. She just started at Brooker and Bradfield." Dan made it his business to know as much as possible about every woman between eighteen and forty who set foot in Alabaster. "You got no chance, bruh. She's a lawyer and like twenty-seven or twenty-eight. She's way out of your league."

Dan and Ollie were still looking at her, eyes big and vacant. Romeo was too. I saw him. He wasn't craning his neck or anything, but he was following her as she moved through the crowd. He clenched his jaw slightly and quickly relaxed it, breaking into a big, dazzling false smile when he caught me looking at him .

Suddenly, my anger wasn't knee deep. It was chest deep, neck deep, nose deep, and climbing. It was thick and hot. Rancid. Poison that twisted my guts and put words in my mouth.

"An older woman, huh?" I sneered. "Sounds perfect for you, Romeo. You should get her number. She might be just what you need to work out your mommy issues."

I regretted it as soon as I said it. Ollie and Dan tittered uncomfortably, unsure where to look or if they should laugh. As a group, we were prone to bursts of sarcasm and cutting humor. Most friend groups are. It's normal. In our case, it wasn't a big deal. It was always meant as a joke and was usually taken as one. It was just that I'd never made a joke like that aimed at Romeo before, and I'd never let anyone else make one in my presence either.

Romeo's mouth scooted to the side but no lines formed on his cheek. Not even shallow ones. His eyes were like mirrored glass. Jagged and hard. He raised his glass to his lips and took two slow sips.

"Hold my drink," he said, holding it out to me.

In my dreams, I call him back.

In my dreams, I chase after him, fall to my knees, apologize, and beg for his forgiveness.

In reality, I watched, immobile, blood running cold as he sauntered through the crowd, long, loping strides growing fluid as his arms and hips moved together and he closed in on Selby.