Carry the Ocean: The Roosevelt, Book 1 (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

J
eremey

O
n the one-year anniversary of my meltdown at school, I had a family meeting with my parents.

It was at my therapy session, and Dr. North was there, but I almost thought I could have done it without him. He’d given me that option, but I decided it was the same as my Target practice. Best to start the first try with something I was sure would work out.

My parents were nervous, and I couldn’t blame them. The last time we’d had a family meeting, Emmet had panicked, and I’d shouted. This time he wasn’t with us, though. He waited in the lobby, probably counting ceiling tiles or figuring pi.

This was a meeting I wanted to do by myself.

“Thank you for coming,” I told Mom and Dad as we sat down. “It’s good to see you.”

My mom frowned and brushed invisible lint from her trousers. “You never visit us. You don’t call often.”

It wasn’t a friendly start to our meeting, but I’d talked a lot about my parents, especially my mom, with Dr. North. I’d expected this kind of greeting. Worse, to be honest. I hadn’t been sure they’d come at all.

“Well, I want to talk to you about visiting you more.” I had my hands in my lap, carefully not making a fist or fidgeting. I wanted to present calm, controlled body language. It was difficult to do, but I wanted to try. “But I also wanted to tell you what I’ve learned in the last year. Since the day I had to leave school. Would you care to hear what I’ve learned? What I’ve done at The Roosevelt?”

My mom crossed her arms over her body and glanced at my dad, still frowning. “I suppose.”

I admit, I wanted her to be eager and happy. I will always watch Emmet’s parents and David’s and wish mine could be like theirs. But that wasn’t who my parents were. And though they made me nervous and were, I’m pretty sure, the reason I got as out of control as I did, I did love them, and if I could have a relationship with them, I wanted one.

This was the first step toward that. I wasn’t sure success here was any more likely than me being able to go to a rock concert and dance in the pit, but I wanted to try.

I told my mom what I’d learned.

“Well, there are a lot of things. Most of them are little to most people, but they’re big to me. I’ve learned how to live by myself, for one. I know how to balance my checkbook and make sure there’s food in the fridge. With Emmet’s help, I keep my room clean, and the apartment too. I help residents at The Roosevelt, especially David, my friend who is a quadriplegic. I want to go to school to be his aide. I signed up for an online class this summer. I want to go to the classroom in Ankeny, but I’m going to work up to it slowly.

“That’s the big thing I learned this year: it’s okay to go slow. That everybody else’s pace and definition of success isn’t mine. What is easy for other people isn’t necessarily so for me. Though some things are easy for me and hard for other people. This year I learned I’m good at feelings. Emmet calls these our superpowers—his are listening and seeing and math and remembering. Mine is feelings. I can tell what everyone is feeling all the time, and I almost feel it with them. So I have to be careful, because if there are too many feelings around me at once, I get overwhelmed. This is why shopping is challenging for me. It’s as if every aisle has strangers with too many feelings, and I can’t always stop them. But I’ve learned how, sometimes. I take headphones and wear sunglasses. I take my friends. I take my boyfriend.”

I smiled, thinking of Emmet. “That’s another something I learned this year: how to be a boyfriend. How to listen to someone else, what they need, how to give it to them. What I need. How to love them. How to handle it when they get jealous—or when I do. How to make a life with someone. How to help someone else through their struggles, and let them help me with mine.”

I stopped then, waiting. I wasn’t sure if they still didn’t like Emmet. I watched their faces, trying to read them. They weren’t happy, but I couldn’t tell if it was Emmet, or because this meeting made them uncomfortable.

That seemed a good time to move on to the next part.

“The other thing I learned, Mom and Dad, is that I need to protect myself. There’s nothing wrong with me and who I am, but I do have depression and anxiety, and they’re both pretty severe. I have major depressive disorder. I have clinical anxiety. They’re real things. They’re invisible to everyone but me, but I have to tell you, most days Emmet’s autism and David’s quadriplegia don’t hold them back as much as my depression and anxiety do me. I have to fight every day, and some days I can’t win. There are days I have to tell David I can’t help him go to school when my depression or anxiety is too bad. And you know what? Those days he usually stays with me, unless he has a test. He sits with me or helps Emmet make my lunch. Until I can climb on top again. He’s my employer, but he’s also my friend. One of my two best friends.”

My mom was frowning, and my dad seemed disgusted. I was sad, since it was clear this meeting wasn’t going to be a success at all. I felt the dark clouds coming over me, as if the lights in the room were going dim. I didn’t panic, but I felt tired, and I wanted to withdraw.

Dr. North, sitting beside me, rubbed my shoulders.

I glanced down at my hands, which I held still, but they were clenched in fists now. I stared at a bracelet Emmet had made me, an intricate weave of patterns that he said reminded him of me. I touched it, thinking of him in the lobby, wondering what he was counting now.

I considered going to sit with him, leaving my parents. Not trying anymore. I told myself I still had a family. I had Emmet. But it still made me sad.

“I only wanted you to be happy.”

The voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. I looked up, wondering if maybe I’d imagined it, but my mom was watching me. Crying silently. Whispering. To me, while my dad held her hand.

“I only wanted you to be happy,” she said again. Her face was twisted up in misery. Her mascara ran down her cheeks, until she wiped at it with a tissue and made streaks. “You’re always so withdrawn, and I knew how you felt, because I felt that way too at your age. I didn’t want you to be sad. I wanted better for you.” She blew her nose, and my dad put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. She put her forehead on his cheek, crying harder. “I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want that for my baby.”

I stared at my mom, my head spinning, too light, like it wasn’t on my body. Was this actually happening? Was this my mom? My dad? It felt unreal. I’d imagined her hugging me a million times the way Marietta hugged Emmet, of magically becoming somebody else, but I’d never envisioned this. Her telling me she wanted me to be happy. That she understood. And crying as if someone had taken everything away.

In the same way that one day I’d had a glimpse of Emmet only wanting good things for me, helping, not waiting for me to be fixed, I had a new look at my parents, especially my mom. I watched her crying, as upset as I felt sometimes, more upset than I’d ever seen her.
I felt that way too at your age.
Did she still feel that way, I wondered? Had her mom talked to her the way she’d talked to me? Had she been lumbering through life in the dark, heavy fog, the same as me?

Without an Emmet to light the way?

I don’t know if I was right, or even close. But at that family meeting, I didn’t wish my mom were somebody else. I didn’t get nervous about what she might say that would upset me. That day I got up from my chair, crossed the room and hugged her tight. I let her cry on my shoulder. Felt the bad feelings with her, and did my best to make them go away.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, and buried her face in my shoulder.

I patted her back and rocked her side to side like Emmet rocked me. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay.”

And you know what? It really was.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Em
met

A
lot happened to me, and to Jeremey, after his family meeting with his parents. All kinds of things happened to David. But those are other stories, and David will get mad if I tell his for him. So I’ll tell you about my job, and the train.

When I started my junior year of college, one of my professors told me about this company in Ames called Workiva. It used to be WebFilings, but they changed their name. A supervisor from Workiva asked me if I wanted to get an internship there. I didn’t get paid for it, but I learned all kinds of things about working and got real-world experience, which is important for getting a job that pays. Except when I did my internship, they liked me so much they asked me if I wanted to stay and get paid once my internship was finished. I told them no thank you, I still had school. So they said they’d pay for me to complete my schooling if I promised to work for them part-time until I was done and stick around after.

I had to talk to my parents, because it sounded more complicated than I could agree to in a meeting, and it was. My dad talked to my supervisor for hours and hours, and he brought a lawyer once too. While they talked, though, I researched the company. I’d learned a great deal from my internship, but I found out they were growing quickly and had offices all over. I enjoyed working there. They generated reports for other companies, and they liked how good I was at writing programs and noticing patterns. They were excellent at modifications too. Even when I was an intern, they made sure my space was comfortable, and they changed a few of the company rules for me so I didn’t feel unsafe. They told my dad’s lawyer, who was my lawyer now too, they would make more accommodations for me if that was what it took to get me to sign on.

I said I wanted to learn to drive a car, but dad says they can’t promise that.

They gave me all kinds of other things, though, and so after my internship, I did work there, for money. They gave me rides to school, and sometimes they did it in a fancy car, which made me feel like a Blues Brother for sure. Even if I didn’t drive.

They also gave me so much money I was able to take Jeremey, David and our families on a train.

I’d been on Amtrak before, but never on the train with my boyfriend. Jeremey and David hadn’t been at all. David worried he couldn’t do it with his chair, but the train staff was helpful, actually. They brought bridges for platforms that had gaps and ramps to get on and off the train. They would bring him his meals in his car, or he could transfer to the lounge car at a scheduled stop, since the dining car was on the second floor.

We were taking a trip to Chicago, to see the sights and eat deep-dish pizza. We’d visit Jeremey’s sister Jan, and Dad said we could see some places from
The Blues Brothers
. I took Jeremey to the lounge car as soon as we were settled. David said he’d join us there when it was time for dinner. I was glad he wasn’t coming right away. I wanted to be with Jeremey by myself for a while.

We sat on a seat together, holding hands while we watched the world rush by. I was excited and rocked, and I didn’t care if people looked at me when I hummed. Jeremey was with me, and smiling. My boyfriend. And I had a job that let me take him on nice trips.

“I love you, Jeremey,” I said. I tried to look him in the eye, but it was too intense a moment.

He didn’t care. “I love you too.” He kissed me on the cheek.

I wanted a bigger moment, though. I picked up his hand and kissed it. “I want you to be my boyfriend forever.”

Jeremey got quiet. He touched my face, reading it with his superpowers. “Just your boyfriend?”

I smiled big. I felt like my whole face was a smile. “You have a better idea? Maybe something else you could be?”

He blushed, but he smiled too. “Yeah. I have some ideas. But when we’re ready. No need to rush. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

I kissed him on the mouth. “‘It’s a hundred and six miles to Chicago, we’ve got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses.’”

Jeremey tweaked my nose. “Hit it.”

About the Author

Heidi Cullinan has always loved a good love story, provided it has a happy ending. She enjoys writing across many genres but loves above all to write happy, romantic endings for LGBT characters because there just aren’t enough of those stories out there. When Heidi isn’t writing, she enjoys cooking, reading, knitting, listening to music, and watching television with her husband and ten-year-old daughter. Heidi is a vocal advocate for LGBT rights and is proud to be from the first Midwestern state with full marriage equality. Find out more about Heidi, including her social networks, at
www.heidicullinan.com
.

Look for these titles by Heidi Cullinan

Now Available:

A Private Gentleman

Family Man (with Marie Sexton)

Minnesota Christmas

Let it Snow

Sleigh Ride

Love Lessons

Love Lessons

Fever Pitch

Special Delivery

Special Delivery

Double Blind

Tough Love

Coming Soon:

Love Lessons

Lonely Hearts

Clockwork Heart

Sometimes you have to play love by ear.

Fever Pitch

© 2014 Heidi Cullinan

Love Lessons, Book 2

Aaron Seavers is a pathetic mess, and he knows it. He lives in terror of incurring his father’s wrath and disappointing his mother, and he can’t stop dithering about where to go to college—with fall term only weeks away.

Ditched by a friend at a miserable summer farewell party, all he can do is get drunk in the laundry room and regret he was ever born. Until a geeky-cute classmate lifts his spirits, leaving him confident of two things: his sexual orientation, and where he’s headed to school.

Giles Mulder can’t wait to get the hell out of Oak Grove, Minnesota, and off to college, where he plans to play his violin and figure out what he wants to be when he grows up. But when Aaron appears on campus, memories of hometown hazing threaten what he’d hoped would be his haven.

As the semester wears on, their attraction crescendos from double-cautious to a rich, swelling chord. But if more than one set of controlling parents have their way, the music of their love could come to a shattering end.

Warning:
Contains showmances, bad parenting, Walter Lucas, and a cappella.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Fever Pitch:

Giles tuned the instrument, then taught Aaron how to bow, when to use his wrist and when to lift his arm. While it wasn’t exactly
necessary
Giles touch Aaron’s arm to help him move it correctly, it certainly didn’t hurt his education.

He didn’t complain, either, when Giles lingered a little longer than the demonstration warranted.

Aaron was, of course, a natural. He winced when his first attempt at bowing elicited a screech, but it wasn’t long before he knew how to produce a crisp, clear sound.

“Good job,” Giles told him. “You’ll do well with fingering too. Kids use tapes when they learn, but with your ear you won’t take long to pick it up.”

“It’s so clear.” Aaron pulled a long, strong A, then an E. “This has to be more Henrietta than me.”

“She’s not a cheap date, no. She was my birthday, Christmas, and—” He stopped himself from saying
get-out-of-the-hospital-for-the-second-time present.
“She was expensive, so she has great sound. But the player still has to bring it, or she won’t sing.”

Aaron played a few more notes, riding the four strings up and down. “I love orchestras. Strings make me shiver.” He stole a shy glance at Giles. “When you play the double bass for Salvo, I get chills every time.”

Never, ever would Giles have guessed he could get so hard talking violin. “I’m a lot better on Henrietta.”

Aaron’s cheeks flushed with color. “I’d love to hear you play sometime.”

Sweet baby Jesus.
Giles wanted to put Henrietta on the chair and push Aaron to the floor. “I’ll play for you right now. But let’s give you a chance to shine first. How about I teach you a song?”

From Aaron’s reaction, Giles would have thought he’d offered to give him a million dollars. “Can I learn ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’?”

“Too tricky for your first attempt. I was thinking more ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’. It only uses two strings, and it has the benefit of teaching you a lot of fingering at the same time.”

This lesson involved more touching as Giles helped Aaron apply his fingers to the board, showing him the right pressure and position. As he’d anticipated, Aaron had no trouble keeping his notes on pitch, and Giles only had to explain the very basics before Aaron taught himself the song. When he finished, he laughed and flourished his bow, flush with pride.

Giles clapped and grinned. “Well done, maestro.”

“Thanks. That was fun.” Aaron passed Henrietta and the bow over. “Let’s hear the real deal now, though.”

Giles tucked Henrietta to his shoulder, his fingers sliding easily into position on the bow. “What do you want to hear?”

“Anything.” Aaron settled into his chair. “Pop, classical—anything. Though—if you know anything with the plinky-plinky sound?” He mimed plunking strings on an imaginary violin.

“Pizzicato? Sure.” He plucked a few arpeggios, stomach flipping at the way it made Aaron smile. “Now the question is, do you want something classical and official, or do you want me to make you giggle when I play ‘TiK ToK’ pizzicato?”

Aaron burst out laughing. “Shut
up
. Seriously?”

Giles grinned. “I’ll consider that a request for Ke$ha.”

He launched into the song, and Aaron laughed so hard he fell sideways. But when Giles started to lower his violin, Aaron waved him on as he wiped his eyes and rose, heading to the piano. “Keep going. I have an idea.”

Giles started the song over, and goddamn if Aaron didn’t pound out harmony on the piano like the music was in front of him. Not wanting to appear a slouch, Giles stepped up his game, adding some flourishes whenever he could. Aaron kept playing, never missing so much as a note.

“Now switch,” Giles called out as they cleared the bridge. “You pizz on the piano, and I’ll bow the harmony.”

Aaron frowned, but it was a stare of concentration. “There’s no such thing on the piano. How do I—?” Then he grinned. “Got it.
Go
.”

Giles tried to keep his brain three steps ahead of his fingers, working out the harmonics before he played them, wanting both accuracy and elegance, because of course Aaron brought both. Aaron’s “pizzicato” was staccato beats in the upper register, sometimes with harmony added, sometimes not. Sweating, Giles did his best to keep up, a task difficult partly because of the notes, partly because it took everything in him not to break out in giggles. Though as soon as they finished the song with a ridiculous flourish, they both bust out laughing.

“That was
awesome
.” Aaron wiped at his eyes. “Oh, shit—I want to do more.”

“What about ‘100 Years’? It gives good pizz. Do you know it?”

Aaron stared at him, his look unreadable.

Giles faltered. Was he pissed? Annoyed? “I— Sorry—”

He stopped as Aaron grinned and rolled his eyes before his fingers moved over the opening bars with the precision of someone who’d long ago memorized the song.

Oh.
The look had been incredulity, Aaron insulted at the idea he
didn’t
know the song.

Grinning, Giles joined in, playing pizzicato through the first verse, but as Aaron filled out his harmony, Giles started bowing.

When they hit the chorus, Aaron began to sing.

Giles didn’t know why Aaron’s vocals hit him so hard—it
wasn’t
because he crushed on him, though that didn’t help anything. It wasn’t so much that Aaron’s voice was some kind of perfect harmonic, though it was. A million people had great voices, though.

Not many opened a vein quite like Aaron.

Giles stopped worrying about looking good and focused on the spaces the piano couldn’t cover, never overpowering Aaron’s voice but rather lifting him up, easing the spaces between the notes so when he sang, he soared even higher. Giles forgot about making mistakes, forgot about everything in the world that wasn’t playing with Aaron.

When the song ended, they held still, gazes locked, hands frozen on their instruments.

Aaron broke the silence, his voice soft and heavy. “‘With or Without You’?”

Giles lifted his bow and glided gently into the lead.

The magic of the moment let them play like gods. Giles rose through the song as Aaron put in a gentle baseline, just enough color to finish things off. Aaron took up the vocal melody, soft and sweet, his pretty tenor resting oh so tenderly on each note. He turned the song into a lullaby, ignoring all bait to belt, which only made the vocals more powerful. It was so beautiful Giles had to close his eyes.

I love him.
His heart swelled and spilled over as they rounded into the final chorus.
I’m so in love with him I can’t even ask him out. I want to lie at his feet, want to smooth out all the wrinkles in his life and make everything okay.

I can’t ever tell him, because if I’m wrong, if somehow he doesn’t want me, my life would be over. I’d rather have this than nothing.

Someone as wonderful as him can’t want someone as awkward as me. There’s just no way. There’s no fucking way that’s real, no matter how much I want it to be.

Aaron closed off the song with a chord—with a soft pull on Giles’s bow, it was done.

The music hung in the air between them.

Giles lowered his instrument. At the piano Aaron let his fingers fall from the keys.

They stared at each other, breathing hard but silent, neither wanting to break the spell.

He’s waiting for you to ask him out.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

The door to the rehearsal hall opened. Giles and Aaron startled, turning away from each other as if they’d been caught kissing, not staring. It was one of the other quartets coming in to practice, and the members greeted them both warmly, apologizing if they were interrupting.

“No problem,” Aaron told them. But he cast one last longing glance at Giles.

I can’t.
Except there was nothing,
nothing
in the world Giles would rather do.