Page 99 of Don't Let Me Go
“Soobvious. Duy wanted to say something, but I said no, let them figure it out themselves. And you did! I’m so excited!”
An old man at a nearby table shushes Tala, at which point we both remember we’re in a library.
“This is such great news. We need to celebrate!” Tala whispers.
“Celebrate?” I shake my head. “Wow.”
“Wow what?”
“Nothing. I just wish my parents had had that reaction.”
Tala’s face falls. “Did they not take the news well when you told them? Is that why Riley asked me to come check on you?”
“He did what?”
“Oops.” Tala once again covers her mouth with her hands. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything. But Riley texted me an hour ago and said you were a bit down. He asked me to swing by here and check on you.”
I shake my head. “That sneaky little...” But I can’t even pretend to be angry. I’m too touched by Riley’s thoughtfulness.
“As for your parents,” Tala continues, “I’m sorry they didn’t react the way you’d hoped. Thatsucks. But it just gives us more of a reason to celebrate, don’t you think?”
The idea of celebrating the fact that Riley and I are a couple, while incredibly sweet, is something that Old Jackson would find totallyembarrassing. But Jackson 2.0 is very much aware that having Riley in his life might be the most momentous thing that’s ever happened to him. And if that’s the case, why not celebrate?
Even if I don’t believe in reincarnation or past lives, we still found each other in this life. And right now, despite what my parents think, that honestly feels like a miracle.
Chapter 39
Riley
“Do you mind if I take off a little early today?” I ask my dad as I power down my laptop. It’s only three o’clock, but it’s Friday, and I’m eager to get a head start on the weekend.
Dad looks up from his desk, where he’s reading over some depositions. “Got some exciting plans?”
“Duy, Tala, Audrey, and I are throwing Jackson a coming-out/belated-birthday party, since we weren’t able to celebrate it properly last weekend.”
“That’s nice of you.” Then, with a sly smile, he adds, “Should I expect to see you at home at all this weekend? Or will you be otherwise engaged?”
“I plead the Fifth.”
I’ve gone over to Jackson’s house every day after work and stayed until it was time for bed. Dad has a strict no-sleepovers policy during the workweek, but with the weekend coming, there’s nothing to prevent me from spending the next forty-eight hours in uninterrupted bliss with Jackson.
Also, it’s been a full five days with no nightmares or fainting spells, so I’m feeling cautiously optimistic that all that weirdness, whatever it was, is a thing of the past. Of course, I’ll feel even better if we manage to get through the weekend without any incidents. Saturdays and Sundays, I’ve noticed, tend to be when things go sideways for Jackson and me. But if the next forty-eight hours arenightmare-and-fainting-free, I might finally be able to put all this past-life paranoia behind me.
“Well, have fun with your friends,” Dad says with a chuckle as I get up to leave. “And tell Jackson hello for me. Maybe someday you’ll bring him by the house so I can actually meet the boy my son is dating. Assuming, of course, it wouldn’t be too mortifying for you to introduce your boyfriend to your tragically uncool and very put-upon father?”
In the doorway, I turn back to my dad, preparing a clever parting shot. But when I see the genuine smile on his face, my sarcastic comeback dies in my throat. As smothering as my father’s love can be, I know I’m incredibly lucky to have it.
Not only do I have a parent who loves and accepts me as I am, but that same parent actively wants to meet my boyfriend. On top of that, Dad spends sixty-plus hours a week fighting for queer rights. If there was ever a son who won the parental lottery, it’s me. And standing here in his office, I can’t help feeling overcome with gratitude.
“What’s this for?” Dad asks with a surprised laugh after I march over to his desk and throw my arms around him. “I already said you could leave early.”
“You’re a good dad,” I tell him.
My sudden and very out-of-character display of affection must throw him because he doesn’t say anything back. He just returns the hug in silence.
“Sorry,” I say, wiping a tear from my cheek as I pull away.
“You never have to apologize for being nice to me,” Dad jokes. “And for the record, Ri, you’re a good son.”
