and I don’t know where I’ll end up after. I want to get my doctorate, and Professor Lawrence has already said he’d be happy to keep me on and continue advising me—”
“Well, that’s amazing, Zach—”
“It is, but I didn’t doubt I’d have that offer. When it comes to the things I control, I’m relatively confident. But in a relationship, where there are two people with opposing goals involved, I-I’m not sure what to do. He knows how happy I am for him, and I wouldn’t ask for anything else. But I don’t fit into that picture, and I don’t know if he’s even thought that far ahead yet. Am I thinking too far into the future? Should I even bring it up yet, and if I do, how do I tell him I’m … scared we only have six months left and that’s it, without it sounding like I want him to give it all up?”
And thanks to that word vomit, I’ve effectively stunned my parents into even more silence.
“Do you want it to be over?” Dad finally asks.
“Of course not.” I refuse to say the L word, but I’ve been close to slipping a few times lately. “I remind myself this has been a good experience—”
“I know what will help,” Mom says. “You can come and see my psychic with me. I’ll send her a text. I’m sure she’ll fit you in this w—”
“No psychics.”
“You need inner peace, sweetie. How will you achieve that if you don’t know—”
“Valerie.” Dad shakes his head and turns back to me. “What makes you think you won’t work in this imaginary world you keep talking about?”
“Have you met me?” I ask dryly.
“I damn well raised you, boy. And I like the person you’ve become, but you’ve gotta stop overthinking.”
My lips twitch. That’s as close to an I love you as I’d ever get from him. “Overthinking is my MO.”
“I dunno if it’s the same for you gays, but for your mom and me, we talk. If she’s fluttering about too much, I tell her. If I leave my dirty boots around the house, she never lets me hear the end of it. If there’s something worrying you, you have to speak up. Maybe it ends now. Maybe it ends when you think it’s gonna. Or maybe it doesn’t end at all.”
I like the third option. But I keep that to myself.
I know they’re right, but the last thing I want is to tell Foster my worries and have him think that means I want him to give up hockey. This isn’t some idiotic hobby. He’s been working toward the NHL his whole life, and a couple of months with me won’t derail the path he’s meant to take.
“Definitely talk to him,” Mom says. “And my psychic is still—”
“Not an option.” I smile to soften my rejection. “But thank you. You’re always trying to help.”
“Well in that case”—she leans over and takes my plate before carrying it to the kitchen—“we can stay up all night, watch sappy movies, and drown your worries in ice cream.” She sighs happily. “My little boy’s first love. Oh, I’m so happy.”
True to her word, she drapes us both in a knitted throw and picks some old sappy movie she says always makes her cry.
Dad disappears, the traitor, which means I’ll be left to deal with the sobbing.
I couldn’t be more uncomfortable.
Yet even with the threat of my mother’s tears hanging over my head, I’m able to relax without Foster being here for the first time in … well, it’s been a while. No Seth, no Foster, only me and Mom and a rapidly depleting stash of candy.
I still feel vaguely sick at the thought of letting Foster go, but I’ve made up my mind to talk to him, and it’s like a weight off my shoulders. Maybe how I feel will be too much for him and he’ll end it tomorrow, but at least then I’ll have Mom to wrap me up in comfort food. I can extend my stay here if I need to.
This isn’t a conversation I want to have over the phone at all, but once I’m back in Vermont, I won’t be able to run away and hide. Then again, can I really imagine not seeing him again if this all ends? Wouldn’t it be better to squeeze in one more moment with him?
Mom sniffs at the stupid movie, and I’m appalled when I do too.
Emotions.
Who needs them?
But when I check my phone later