Page 25 of Don't Let Me Go
Jackson pauses mid-bite and stares at me like I have two heads. Which is pretty much the reaction I get whenever I make this particular confession. It’s also why I didn’t want to have this conversation in the first place.
“How can you not believe in love?”
Where to begin?
I could tell him the story of how my mom left my dad and me when I was six because, and I quote, she “never wanted to settle down,” then moved to Boston, promptly got remarried, and gave birth to my two half sisters, Addison and Arianna, neither of whom I’ve ever met.
Or I could tell him the story of Alex fucking Vargas and howfreshman year he obliterated my heart and put me into the hospital. Either story on its own would absolutely justify my complete and utter distrust in love. But I’m not going to trauma-dump all my problems on Jackson.
“I just don’t believe in love,” I insist with a shrug.
“But people fall in love all the time.”
“People arehornyall the time. There’s a difference.”
Jackson looks unconvinced. “So you have zero interest in a boyfriend? Like, at all?”
I roll my eyes and take a sip of my Diet Coke. “I have about as much interest in having a boyfriend as most guys have in being my boyfriend.”
Jackson laughs. “Well, just so you know, if I were gay—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say if you were gay, you’d date me. Ihatewhen straight guys say crap like that. It’ssocondescending.”
Jackson blinks in confusion. “That’s not what I was gonna say.”
I feel my cheeks burn. “You weren’t?”
“Uh. No. I was gonna say that if I were gay, I’d probably hold off on dating too. At least until I’d gone off to college or moved somewhere like New York. That’s a pretty gay city, right? So you might feel safer. And you’d have more options.”
Well, this is fucking mortifying. Not only would Jacksonnotwant to date me if he were gay, but apparently he doesn’t thinkanyonein Florida would want to date me and I need to move toanother stateto get a man.
“Gay people are perfectly capable of existing outside of New York,” I huff.
“Oh, I know—”
“Also, queer people shouldn’t have to move to a big city to feel safe,” I add even more adamantly, trying to puthimon the defensive before he notices I’ve turned even pinker than his aioli. “We should be able to date wherever we want and not worry about being harassed.”
“Yeah. No. Of course, I only meant—”
“In fact, maybe if more queer people didn’t have to flee to big cities because their hometowns were so unwelcoming, we could start to build up queer communities where they’re needed and could do some good. Then we might finally have a chance of transforming America from the homophobic wasteland that it is into a progressive, twenty-first-century country where everyone is safe to love who they want no matter where they live. And maybe our straight allies could start stepping up to make that happen instead of telling us to move to New York.”
I aim that last comment directly at Jackson, who looks appropriately tongue-tied. I know I’m deliberately twisting his words because I’m embarrassed that he rejected me (even if it was only hypothetically), but I’d rather be prickly than pathetic. Also, as we’ve established, I don’t have great people skills.
“Wow,” Jackson says, before shaking his head and letting out one of his warm, full-bodied laughs. “Have you ever thought of becoming a lawyer? Because youreallylike to argue.”
In the presence of his bighearted smile, I find it impossible to hold on to my manufactured indignation. It evaporates in an instant, leaving me humbled and not a little embarrassed by my outburst.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble.
“No, dude, don’t apologize. You went from passionately defending your rightnotto date to passionately defending your righttodate in sixty seconds flat. I’m seriously impressed.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Yeah. Well, I think it takes more to be a lawyer than having ragingly strong opinions and loving the sound of your own voice.”
Jackson grins and pops his last fry into his mouth. “I don’t know. I’d be scared to face off against you in court.”
