A few weeks go by. In that time, Otter finds a nice apartment, starts his job, and meets new and interesting people. He trades in his Chrysler and gets the Jeep. He finds out his nice apartment has cockroaches. He gets a tan. He goes to a gay bar. He has sex with someone who looks like me. He feels guilty. He does a photo shoot for a magazine. He photographs anything and everything. He makes friends. He goes hiking. And running. And walking. He does all these things and these things make up who he’s becoming, but still he thinks of me. One night, he gets up the nerve and calls my number. His heart pounds, and his blood boils, and the phone rings, and he gets my voice mail. He thinks he shouldn’t have expected any different but is shocked at how good it is to at least hear my voice on the voice mail message. He calls the number again, knowing I won’t pick up. “You’ve reached Bear’s phone. I’m not here right now, so leave me a message, and I’ll try to call you back. I’ll probably forget, though. Bye.” He rocks back and forth.
A few days later, Creed calls him. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since he left. Creed is still very angry, but he’s more willing to talk now that almost a month has passed. They talk about San Diego and about Otter’s work and the people he’s met. Creed tells him of his plans for school in the fall and the final preparations he’s making. They speak for a few minutes more until there is a lull in the conversation and both are dancing around the topic that has gone unsaid. Otter is the first to break and only because it’s like an itch in his head begging to be scratched.
“How’s Ty?” he asks casually, his voice betraying nothing.
“Fine, I guess. I haven’t really seen a lot of him since you left,” Creed responds.
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
Creed sighs. “I didn’t call you to fight with you.”
This catches Otter off guard. “I didn’t think you did,” he says, confused. “Why are we going to fight? I asked why you hadn’t seen Ty.”
Creed sighs again. “That’s what we would fight about,” he says, his voice going flat. “I haven’t seen the Kid or Bear that much because they’re both messed up right now. You messed the Kid up royally, Otter. He freaks about everything now.”
Otter takes in a ragged breath.
“And Bear,” Creed continues. “Otter, Bear won’t admit it, but I know that you leaving messed with him more than his mom leaving. He goes on pretending everything is okay, but I’ve known him too long to swallow his bullshit. It’s like part of him died. You should try and call him.”
“I did!” Otter says, surprised when it comes out as a shout. “I did and he didn’t answer!”
“Do you blame him?”
Otter doesn’t. They talk for a few minutes more, but not about Ty and not about me. When Creed hangs up the phone, Otter throws it across the room and collapses on his bed. He falls right to sleep and dreams, and in the dream, I am standing right next to him, and he feels such happiness, but it’s like he’s a ghost because no matter what he does or says, I don’t respond. He wakes up alone.
Now that he’s established contact with Creed, he thinks it’s okay for him to call people from home again. Over the next few months, he tries to make amends. He talks to his parents, and they are happy to hear from him. He tells them about his job, about the celebrities he’s gotten to meet, the parties he’s been invited to. They don’t ask if he’s met anyone, and he doesn’t bring it up. His being gay has always led to uncomfortable conversation, and he doesn’t want to have that now. He thinks it’s better if he doesn’t say anything at all. They seem to agree. He loves his parents and they love him, but he thinks that can only get them all so far.
He calls Anna, who tells him up front that if he’s calling to pump her for info on me, he can forget it. She says that I’m very hurt by him but that if he wanted to know anything further, he would have to call me himself. He doesn’t tell her that he’s tried many times to call. He doesn’t tell her that it’s almost a daily ritual to hear my voice mail. He doesn’t tell her that he dreams of me almost every night, and of that kiss, that kiss that shouldn’t have happened and that only lasted a few seconds but that still warms his heart every time he thinks of it. He doesn’t tell her any of that, but when she asks him why he sounds so sad, he says without thinking, “I think I lost the only chance I’ll ever have to be happy.” This breaks him further, and though Anna asks what he means, he refuses to tell her and changes the subject.
After he says good-bye to Anna, he walks into his bedroom and sits on the edge of his bed and looks over at the photograph that is on his nightstand. It’s a large color photograph in an expensive frame. It’s the only picture he has in his apartment. It was taken last year in the fall. A great storm was coming in off the ocean. Otter had gone with Creed and me to the beach to watch it roll in. Creed had run back up to the car to grab his jacket, and I had been standing between Otter and the ocean. The sky was a weird orangeish-green-blue-black angry thing, and my hair was whipping in the wind, and I had a huge smile on my face. I turned to look at Otter, and right when my eyes found him, he snapped the picture. It’s this picture he looks at now.
A few days later, he’s speaking to Ty. Anna is babysitting him while I am at work. At first the Kid is hesitant and suspicious of talking to Otter. Otter feels sad at this but knows he’s the only one to blame. Then he says something that makes the Kid laugh and the tension leaves, and Ty is soon happily babbling about anything and everything. Otter lets him go on and on and closes his eyes, happy to hear the Kid’s voice. He finally asks for Anna to be put back on the phone. Ty tells him that Anna has left the room, so he’ll have to go get her. Before he can stop himself, he tells the Kid to wait and asks him about me.
“He’s sad a lot,” the Kid says in a low voice. “But it’s a secret.”
“What do you mean?” Otter asks.
“He’s sad all the time, but he doesn’t want anyone to know. He doesn’t even want me to know, but I do. I wish he wasn’t sad, Otter.”
Otter covers his eyes.
Months pass. He works. He plays. He drinks. He eats. He fucks. He loves his job. He hates his job. He’s happy. He’s sad. He thinks he’s losing his mind. He thinks he’s never been saner.
He doesn’t go home that first Christmas because he doesn’t think he’s ready to. He’s stopped calling my phone so much. He only does it now to remember what I sound like. Sometimes he looks at the picture by his bed. Sometimes he puts it in drawer and leaves it there for days. Christmas comes and goes. New Year’s comes and goes. He toasts the future with some friends, and they all go around and say their resolutions. When it’s his turn, he makes up some bullshit about not drinking as much, to which everyone raises their glasses, too, and laugh, but inside he resolves to get over me, move on with his life. He tells himself there’s no need to pine over some kid, and even though a little voice chides him for this, knowing full well I’m not just some kid, his resolve is firm, and he realizes it’s the only way.
One day in June, he’s surprised to see that he’s been here for over a year.
Suddenly it’s Labor Day, and he’s at a barbecue over at one of his client’s houses. He’s having fun but is a little bored. He’s about to say good night, when the hostess brings over someone to meet him. Otter’s sitting down, and when he stands, he is facing a very cute guy. His name is Jonah, and he’s tall and stocky and has black hair and blue eyes and his own house. It turns out h
e’s thirty and works in an advertising agency. He has a chocolate lab named Moxie and likes to ride motorcycles. He’s very smart and very handsome. They talk for the rest of the night.
They have their first date a few days later.
It’s December 23rd and he’s taking Jonah, who’s going back east for Christmas, to the airport.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here by yourself?” Jonah asks him.
Otter shrugs. “It won’t be too bad. There’s some prints that I need to go over, and I promised some friends of mine I’d go over to their house for dinner.”