Page 25 of The Idiot

I don’t notice how he smells or the way his body moves. Or at least, I’m not supposed to. He’s my friend. He didn’t ask for my affection. Hell, I didn’t even ask to have any for him that crosses the line of friendship. Try as I might, though, I notice now. It’s all I can notice.

Is that why I never felt some great disappointment when no one in Seattle ever piqued my interest past a night of getting off? Because I knew I’d have Jesse to come home to—even if all Jesse could offer me was his friendship?

“Are you up for catching Harvest Days this year with me?” he asks hopefully, making my heart squeeze.

It’s an annual celebration in town that we go to every year. Together. We always have. Just like we go everywhere else together. Every part of me wants to say yes, but I can’t. Not just because I shouldn’t until I can retrain my heart and brain how to think of him as just a friend, but because I’ve already set my therapy in motion. Mygetting-over-Jesse-Carvertherapy.

“Um, I won’t be here, but thanks for the invite.”

Whipping his head around, his face contorts. “Where will you be?”

“I, uh, booked a vacation,” I confess, scratching at my beard while my face heats.

Why do I feel guilty? It’s not like I’ll be cheating on Jesse. There’s nothing to cheat on. I’ve done it dozens of times before anyway, not that I’m even in the mood to get laid. Except… hedidn’t know about me those times, and…Ididn’t know about my feelings. Shit. I feel like I’m cheating already.

“Vacation? You never take vacations!” he accuses, looking baffled. “Where are you going?”

“On a cruise.”

“A cruise? When?”

“It leaves out of Miami in two weeks.”

“Two weeks? But that’s… that’s so soon,” he says, sounding panicked, rising from the bucket. “Are you taking your mom?”

The fact that the idea of a cruise sounds so foreign to his brain should be one more reminder of how non-cosmopolitan he is, how different we are, and how different the things we want are. I don’t think he’s ever left Washington state. He’s never lamented over settling down and sure as shit wouldn’t venture to Seattle to find companionship. Even if he was bi or gay, it would be stupid for me to fall for someone like him. It’d never work.

Picking up the transmission housing from the tractor, I fidget with one of the bolts. “No, it’s, um… It’s a gay cruise.” Clearing my throat, I clarify, “A Gaytoberfest cruise.”

“Gaytoberfest?” he snorts, cracking up.

And there we have it. I shoot him a look, and he sobers.

“What?” He holds his hands out. “It’s a funny name.”

“Why? Because it’s gay?”

“No! Just, I could have come up with a dozen other names that were catchier than that.”

“Like what?”

I watch him blink several times as I feel my blood pressure spike before I realize it’s not even worth it. “Whatever. You don’t have to like it. And you’re right—I never go on vacation,so I figured what the hell? It’ll be good to have a break after the harvest. Relax. Meet some people… like me.”

Why is he frowning? Is he that selfish? Can’t he realize I need a life that involves more than him?

Turning back to the tractor, he gets back to work in silence. “How long will you be gone?”

The forlornness to his question shouldn’t make me feel guilty, like I’m abandoning him. “Ten days.”

“Ten days?” he exclaims, dropping the wrench.

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?”

“No! But…”

Sighing, I hate how uncomfortable this is. I want my friend back. I want to not be in love with that obnoxious friend. And I want towant toget laid again sometime this century and not have to feel guilty or heartbroken about it.

“But it’s just a long time. I mean, I’ve hardly seen you lately and… and now you’re leaving.”

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