Page 184 of Only You

“Oh, that Donnie kid,” Dad said. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph save him. He’s a mess.”

“He is.” I chuckled.

“But no. I just know your mother, and I’ve met your Daniel and seen how he lights you up. If she can’t see it, the problem is with her eyes, not with him. Her eyes don’t want to see.”

“That’s always been the problem for her, hasn’t it?”

“She’s healing, Petey. But time doesn’t wait for anyone. She’s lost her chance at more time with you, because now it’s Daniel’s turn. She resents that, but don’t worry. She’ll come around.”

“It doesn’t change anything even if she doesn’t. I love him.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Dad smiled again. “You’re being safe?”

I swallowed, a flutter of feeling in my chest. If he knew, what would he say? If he knew that I trusted Daniel with my heart, soul, and body so entirely that I’d allowed him to do things I’d never let anyone else do. In fact, I’d begged him to. “He’s safe,” I said. “The safest man I know.”

Dad’s eyes changed just enough that I knew he sensed the evasion, but he nodded. “Good. I trust you to know what you’re doing.”

“Even after all the mistakes I made last year?”

“Because of them,” Dad said. “I watched you learn and grow. If you say Daniel is safe, then I trust you to know if that’s true. Nothing’s foolproof. No condom, or seat belt, or fire alarm. But if you can’t trust the person you love…” Dad shook his head. “Where does a relationship go from there?”

“I trust him.”

“That’s all I need to hear.”

After that conversation, I went upstairs to my room to pack up some of the things I wanted to take to Daniel’s. I started with more clothes and shoes, stuffing them into the old green suitcase Mom and Dad had taken with them on the Disney World trip where I’d posed disco-style in front of the castle.

I moved on to my boombox, mixtape collection, and books. Daniel’s mixtape gifts went right into the cardboard box I’d brought up from the garage to pack what didn’t go in the suitcase. I smiled at his solid, steady writing on the first tape he’d given to me on my birthday. “Losing My Religion” by R.E.M., being the soundtrack of my summer, and the song I most associated with him from before we got together, was our honorary second song in my heart. It was surpassed by “Only You” of course. A song that now held so many intimate memories for me, I wasn’t sure I could hear it in public without blushing.

I turned to the mixtapes Adam had made for me. I hadn’t listened to them in a long time. All the songs reminded me too much of that time. I picked up the last one he’d ever given to me, a few weeks before our spring break trip to the beach. His handwriting looked so strong and confident.

Song titles and band names leapt out at me: “Why Can’t I Be You?” by The Cure, “Enjoy the Silence” by Depeche Mode, “How Soon Is Now?” and “I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish” both by The Smiths. Placed at the end of several mixtapes was another Smiths song, “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want.”

Adam had told me more than once he related to that one. I’d never understood why. From my perspective, he’d always gotten what he wanted: me, then Leslie, and then us both.

But had he ever gotten what hereallywanted from either of us? Unconditional love and acceptance? He’d hidden so much of himself from Leslie, she might as well have not known him at all. I’d known him better, but I’d scorned a core part of who he was—someone capable of loving more than one person at once. Closeted, rejected by his father, pressured to stay hidden by his family…

Had Adam ever gotten what he truly wanted? From anyone? I doubted it.

Sunshine sifted through the window and glinted on the edge of the cassette case. I put the tape in my box and moved on.

Over to my filing cabinet.

There I pulled out files of photos and negatives. All labeled so I knew what I’d find inside. I flipped through the pictures I’d taken at Kingsley the prior year. Mike by the flagpole with his arm slung around a brooding Van. Allison kissing Van’s cheek outside of Dr. Landry’s classroom while Dr. Landry smiled in the background. Mike hoisting Sarah up and tickling her at the beach. The group, sans Adam, sitting at a table in Beans, steam rising from their coffee cups.

They were good photos. Nicely framed, competent. I’d learned in Marta’s class and from the critiques over the semester how to look at my own work more objectively. There were criticisms I could make, but even so, to me these photos were their own brand of perfect. Juvenile, but natural. Topical, but revealing.

I put them back in the drawer. I didn’t need to take them with me.

Opening another file, I glanced through pictures of Sarah. That tiger’s-eye shot I’d taken the first day of school. A nice one of her legs in her cheerleading uniform. A rare one of her genuine smile. I remembered Mike had cracked a joke just as I’d snapped the picture.

I didn’t need those either.

I hovered over the files containing the negatives of Adam’s photos. There were some beautiful shots of him in there. I’d developed them and destroyed them, but they remained safe in their primitive state. I’d taken so many of him. Naked, dressed, bundled up for cold weather. In a bathing suit. Kissing me.

I knew there were some amazing shots mixed in with banal or sentimental ones. I could conjure them up in my mind. There were pictures that might even complement the “joy in the male form” concept I was trying to pull together for the potential show with Harold, and with which I wanted to impress Marta.

But I put the negatives back in the file. I didn’t need them either. Not anymore. Not in any way.

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