Return to Sender Read online

“I’ve never told anyone,” Emerson managed to get out. “That I’m—gay.”

  “Oh. Wow,” Greg said.

  “Shit,” said Zack again.

  Emerson let out a strangled, hysterical-sounding laugh. That was—easier to say then Emerson had thought. Possibly because Zack and Greg were strangers? “That was—unexpected,” he admitted.

  “Yeah. Sorry to drag you out of the closet,” Zack said.

  Emerson nodded and put down the sketchbook, then turned back to him. “No, it’s—good. I—you’ve saved me from the angst of trying to figure out how to tell you.”

  Zack grinned. “Atta boy. And Greg and I really don’t care.”

  Emerson gave a small smile. “Good to know.”

  “You know, Greg was gay once,” Zack added.

  Greg rolled his eyes. “Everyone experiments in college.”

  Emerson stared. Greg had just admitted to trying sex with another man. “You…?”

  Greg shrugged. “Only once. It was alright—would have been better with boobs.”

  “Uh. Right,” Emerson said again. He wondered if he’d be saying that a lot over the next two terms.

  “So, enough talk. Come help me unload my car,” Zack said as he put his guitar down by the bed.

  That made Emerson blink in surprise. “Me?”

  “Sure. If you help, it’ll go faster. We’ll increase our workforce by half!”

  “True, but what’s in it for me?” Emerson asked even as he stood to help.

  “His unending gratitude,” Greg supplied.

  “My vow never to play the guitar or cello in our room between midnight and six a.m.,” Zack said.

  Emerson smiled. “Make it eight, and you have yourself a deal.”

  §

  EMERSON was sitting alone on his bed; the room door was propped open, but he ignored the noise as he idly sketched. It was either sketch something dark and angry, or yell at Jonah’s letter again.

  Jonah’s second letter had arrived yesterday, and it had been as maddeningly vague as the first. When the first letter had arrived, Emerson had been so eager his hands had been trembling, but he had been very disappointed to discover that Jonah had offered no explanation for why he had left. Jonah’s apology had been weak and did nothing to heal a heart that had been broken for two months.

  Emerson’s reply had been… emphatic. He had demanded some sort of explanation as to why Jonah had run off without saying goodbye. Emerson had hoped that Jonah’s reply would offer something more than similar, vague statements. He had been very disappointed.

  Emerson had freaked out, actually. Thankfully Zack had been out when the letter had arrived.

  He hadn’t yet made any attempts to write back, still too angry to even try and pick up a pen.

  So drawing it was. Though—Emerson cocked his head at his work—definitely darker than usual.

  “So I’m walking over here on my way from class and this asshole I’ve never met before bumps into me and starts yelling at me for not looking where I’m going when I’m the one who dropped their bag! Like, I’m sorry you took up the whole sidewalk and don’t know how to yield the right of way to someone wearing three-inch heels, buddy! Ugh! He was such a frumious bandersnatch!”

  Emerson looked up to see Hayley standing in his room and fuming. She was gorgeous as ever, her red hair a wild mane around her face, highlighting her anger and just making her even more radiant.

  “What’s a bandersnatch? That sounds dirty.”

  “It’s a… thing.” Emerson arched a brow. “It’s a nonsense word from The Jabberwocky. It’s Lewis Carroll,” she said finally, as if that should explain everything. Emerson supposed it did.

  “Right.”

  Hayley let out a gusty sigh and launched herself down on Emerson’s bed. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Drawing.”

  “So I see.” Hayley propped herself on an elbow and leaned over to get a look at the book on Emerson’s lap. “Wow. Dark.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “What’s with you?” Hayley arched a brow.

  “Another letter from Jonah,” Emerson admitted without looking at her face. There wasn’t much point in lying about it; Hayley had a way of always getting stuff out of him, even stuff he didn’t want to tell. He had known her only a few weeks before she had figured out that he was gay and pining over Jonah, and unlike Zack and Greg, she hadn’t had the luxury of seeing his drawings of Jonah.

  “Ooh. As bad as the first?” Her smile was sympathetic.

  “Worse. This time I had had questions. Questions that I wrote to him. Questions that he ignored!” Emerson was starting to get worked up again.

  “Ouch,” Hayley murmured.

  “He barely even acknowledged it! He just writes that he’s sorry and doesn’t want to talk about it, and then he starts talking about Boston!”

  “Wow. That’s cold.”

  “So is Boston, apparently,” Emerson said with a bitter twist to his lips. There was silence for a beat, and then he let out a sigh. “I just don’t understand. Why won’t he tell me? Why is he doing this?”

  “Because he’s a boy? And boys are emotionally stunted.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Emerson gave a dry sniff.

  “Also, he’s clearly an idiot who doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it and should be shot for not snatching you up.”

  “He’s straight, Hayley,” Emerson pointed out. He thought he only sounded a little bitter.

  “So? You are beautiful and awesome, and you could convert any guy! So he’s stupid if you haven’t got him dancing the YMCA and listening to Judy Garland.”

  “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way.”

  “Sure it does! I mean, I love dick, but I’d totally give it up for Scarlett Johansson. I mean, have you seen Iron Man 2?”

  Emerson gave her a small smile at that.

  “I love my life,” a voice said from the doorway. “My roommate is too gay to steal a girlfriend, but he brings home hot chicks who talk about banging Scarlett Johansson.”

  Emerson rolled his eyes. “Nice. Way to impress a girl.”

  “I’m always impressive,” Zack retorted as he tossed his notebook down on his desk.

  “Hayley, meet Zack,” Emerson finally said.

  They greeted each other, and then Zack sat down on his own bed. “So, why are you talking about going gay for Johansson?”

  Emerson snorted. “Why? Trying to figure out how you can relive this conversation with other girls?” His voice was cutting at best.

  Zack gave him the finger.

  Hayley ignored them both. “Just trying to explain to Em why Jonah is clearly an idiot,” Hayley said sweetly.

  “Ah,” said Zack, the syllable filled with meaning.

  “Great,” Emerson muttered.

  “What?” To give her credit, Hayley looked genuinely puzzled.

  “That boy is an idiot. I’ve been telling Emma that for months.”

  “Zack….”

  “Oh hells no, I am not going to shut up when I have found someone that agrees with me.”

  “She doesn’t—”

  Zack cut him off. “He still moping over that letter?”

  “Yup. He was doing some emo art when I walked in.”

  “Emo art? Damn. Violent or just depressing?”

  “Very depressing.”

  Zack stood and picked Emerson’s sketchbook up from the bed. “Yikes. See, this is why that boy is no good for you. You sit around in the dark making depressing art,” Zack said, looking at the drawing.

  Emerson flushed with anger and snatched the book back. “Give me that. He’s my best friend, and he left without a word to me. I haven’t heard from him in two months, despite knowing him to be alive and in possession of a phone. I think I have the right to be upset. And I have the right to sit alone and draw sad pictures if I want to.”

  Zack was scowling. “He’s making you miserable. Next letter you should tell him to fuck off.”

  “I can
’t do that. I—I need to know what I did to make him hate me.” He lowered his voice. “Even if it’s the last thing we ever talk about.”

  There was silence.

  Zack let out a sigh. “Fine. But don’t get your hopes up, Emma.”

  “Zack is right. He’s scummy. Leaving like that and not talking to you was a very scummy thing to do.”

  “He’s not, though, which is why I must have done something to make him angry.”

  Zack made a furious, aborted noise.

  Hayley was the one who spoke. “Em, what he did was an asshole move even if he is mad—you’ve been worried over his well-being, and making you worry should be a crime.” She reached up to smooth a hand over his hair. “Now come on, Em, let’s go get some lunch. We’ll stuff our faces, and you can get all disgusted while your roommate and I discuss Scarlett.” Hayley bounced up from the bed.

  Emerson tried to give a good-natured groan. “No, please don’t!”

  “Sounds good to me!” Zack smiled.

  “It would,” Emerson grumbled, but he didn’t protest when Hayley grabbed his hand and dragged him from the room. “There will be no discussion of breasts or other lady parts while I try to eat.”

  They both laughed at that.

  “I’m starting to regret ever letting you two meet each other.”

  “You know you love us, Emma.”

  “Speaking of: Emma?” Hayley arched an eyebrow.

  Emerson let out another groan. Zack had started calling him by that stupid nickname after Emerson had made the mistake of commenting on the terrifying chartreuse shirt some guy had been wearing. Zack had arched a brow and asked, “Chartreuse? A.K.A., puke green?” When Emerson had tried to defend himself, Zack had only snorted before adding, “I just realized, you’re not gay—you’re such a girl, Emma.” Zack had refused to let the name drop ever since.

  Zack just shrugged at her. “He’s a girl, what can I say?”

  Hayley tilted her head contemplatively. “I see your point. Tell me more.”

  Oh yeah, Emerson was definitely regretting letting them meet.

  §

  “EMERSON?”

  He knew it was cliché, but he also knew it was true: Emerson could tell something was wrong the moment his mother said his name.

  “Honey, we’re at the hospital.”

  Emerson began to shake. His grip tightened around the phone.

  “Kierstyn?” he managed to force out.

  “No, your sister is okay. Honey, it’s Daddy.”

  Those words sent a shock through him. “Dad? What—?”

  “A heart attack. He’s still alive, but we don’t have any details yet. You should come down to the hospital.”

  Emerson nodded in response. He was nodding during a phone conversation and looking for his shoes and wondering how he’d make his way down to the hospital.

  “Emerson?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming. Just—which one?”

  He managed to find his shoes and get them on his feet, but he was stumped by the laces. He started to tie them, but then he began thinking about how he had learned to tie his shoelaces. His father had sat him on the stairs by the front door and patiently showed him how to make first one loop and then tie the knot. Dad’s pride had been the only thing greater than Emerson’s own that afternoon. In a sudden rush, he wondered if his dad would still be around to share that memory or to teach him everything else Emerson needed to learn. His dad was supposed to be the one who would help him buy his first car, his first house. Oh God! A heart attack.

  Zack walked in a few minutes later to find him staring at his shoes.

  “Em?”

  Emerson looked up to see his roommate and closest friend standing in the doorway. “My dad had a heart attack,” he said bleakly.

  “Right. Tie your shoes, and I’ll drive you.”

  Emerson didn’t argue.

  §

  WRITTEN in a Christmas card dated December 31st:

  Jonah,

  What? Is that your cryptic way of telling me I’m happier not knowing? Because if it is it’s really shit. Not knowing where you were is what nearly k

  Then, scribbled underneath a week later:

  Dad had a heart attack. He’s still alive, but he’s unwell. The doctors say they don’t know They think there might be another problem that made the heart attack worse.

  I miss you.

  Emerson

  Chapter 2

  NOW

  JONAH stared.

  Zack was standing on the doorstep, eyes hard, jaw clenched. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

  Jonah didn’t ask him why he was there.

  “Can I come in?”

  Wordlessly, Jonah stepped aside, letting Zack step past him into the living room, then closed the door behind him.

  Zack cleared his throat. “You probably know why I’m here.”

  Jonah wasn’t an idiot. He could make an educated guess. “If you’re here to hit me, you should know my sister beat you to it.” Never had he so deeply regretted making sure Natalie knew how to take care of herself should the situation call for it. Luckily, Jonah didn’t bruise too easily, but the split lip was annoying.

  “I’m not gonna hit you,” Zack said. He sounded pretty grudging about that, but at this point Jonah was glad to take anything friendlier than outright hostility.

  “Great,” Jonah said. “You want a beer?”

  “Christ, yes.” At least there was something they could agree on.

  None of the girls were of age, and Jonah was too protective to let his little sister anywhere near his beer—besides, if he kept it in the fridge, they’d drink it all—so Jonah had to go upstairs to his mini fridge to get it. When he came back down Zack was sitting on the sofa with his elbows on his knees. “Thanks.”

  Jonah shrugged. “Sure.”

  “So,” Zack finally said half a beer later, “Emerson’s pretty upset.”

  Jonah snorted. Emerson could be upset. That was fine. Good. Great. Because it turned out that Emerson was kind of an asshole.

  Also because Jonah was, all things considered, a train wreck. He rarely fought with Emerson, and nothing anyone had ever done had made him feel like this, like a phantom hand had reached into his chest and started twisting things around until he didn’t even know which way was up.

  There was a crunching sound, and Jonah blinked. Zack reached over and plucked the beer can from his fingers, setting it on the coffee table before Jonah could make a mess. “Looks like he isn’t the only one.”

  Jonah could not even begin to enumerate the ways in which he was upset, and that was actually kind of scary, because he was supposed to be a writer, for God’s sake. But he’d never written about something like this, this black and furious and wounded thing that was festering inside of him. He clenched and unclenched his fists instead. When that didn’t help, he rubbed at his lip. Finally, he asked, “What are you doing here? You don’t even like me.”

  “I like you just fine when you’re not making Emma miserable.” Zack scowled and set down his own beer. “Only he won’t tell me why you’re fighting, which means either I have to kill you, or it’s his fault you’re here stewing instead of over there making the walls shake where you belong.” He paused. “And I’m pretty sure I don’t have to kill you.”

  Jonah laughed bitterly. It would have been easier on him—and considerably more pleasant an experience—if Zack had just needed to punch him in the face. Then he could get on with his life. “Man, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  “Look, Jonah, I am trying to help you, man, okay? Seeing you like this is bad enough, but Emma? It’s fucking killing me. So whatever it is, spit it out.”

  Whatever you’re trying to say, spit it out.

  Jonah swallowed. There was really no delicate way to put this. “Emerson ran into one of my high school girlfriends at the store.”
r />   “Okay,” Zack hedged.

  Jonah worked his mouth, trying to come up with the right words. “She had her kid with her,” he finally said.

  “O-kay,” Zack repeated, and then: “Oh. Oh.”

  “Yeah,” Jonah said miserably.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  That about summed it up as far as Jonah was concerned. It all boiled down to the fact that Emerson didn’t trust him. He curled his hands into fists again. Emerson’s lack of faith made him angry—made him livid, if he were honest.

  “How pissed are you?”

  God, if Jonah had just been angry… anger he could deal with. But Emerson’s betrayal had also carved a hole somewhere up behind his heart, a place that had been full of love and laughter, and filled it up with hurt instead. Emerson might as well have accused him of sleeping around. He swallowed and shook his head, feeling pathetic.

  Then he looked up, and Zack actually jerked back at the expression on his face. “Jesus fuck.” He rubbed a hand across his brow. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Do?”

  What little hope had been in Zack’s expression faded. “You don’t want me to do anything.”

  Jonah said nothing.

  “Fuck!” Zack repeated. “At least tell me how you’re sleeping at night.”

  In answer, Jonah looked pointedly at the beer can on the table.

  “That’s great, Jonah, but some of us have to work in the morning. Fuck knows how I can sleep through the goddamn commotion you make when you’re having sex if I can’t even close my eyes if I think I hear him—”

  Jonah looked away. He didn’t want to talk about Emerson anymore.

  After a long silence, Zack finally said, “Alright. I don’t like it, and I’ll fight you about it, but not right now. Call me if you change your mind,” and let himself out.

  Jonah drank the rest of his beer and went back to bed.

  §

  THEN

  WHEN Jonah got off the bus in Boston he expected to feel liberated, like the demons that had haunted him over the last two days and two thousand miles had been cut loose from his shoulders. Instead he looked up at the skyline and realized how far away from home he really was.