Platonic (9 page)

“And you say you’re not a romantic.”

“Some people deserve it.” The way Patrick says it makes Mark pause and look at him hard, not sure how much this is meant to be mocking and how much it is actually a compliment. Telling this story makes him wonder if he does deserve it and whether Daniel was exactly as good for him as he remembers, the very best for him and so his one real chance at a happy love story. He’s sure now that a love story is what he wants.

“What happened?” Patrick asks.

***

The big party was at Rita’s house. She had just finalized her paperwork for NYU and had been talking at Mark over Facebook for weeks about getting an apartment that they could all share and going to see shows and having picnics in the park. She was going to New York hell-bent on writing the next great American novel, and at least a few of her teachers and friends actually thought she was capable of it.

Mark hadn’t responded much to her incessant talk of New York because he still hadn’t told anyone that he was going to Columbia. He had only mentioned each acceptance letter as it had arrived

Rita had decked out her garden in fairy lights, sent her parents away for the weekend and was throwing a spring break party. She made it an event on Facebook and Mark watched as the RSVPs started to come. Roughly half their senior class said they were coming, but he knew only half that number would turn up. The girls he regularly ate lunch with—Becca, Samantha and Jess—he already knew would be there. Leah, last year’s valedictorian, made a separate post about coming from Harvard with her boyfriend; several other alums from her year confirmed their attendance. Then there were a few juniors and a half-dozen people Mark didn’t even know. Like all of Rita’s parties, it was going to be big.

Daniel finally responded the day before the party, and when Mark saw this his heart skipped a beat and he felt the butterflies stir to life in his stomach. Daniel was flying in on the Friday night of the party, but said he’d missed everyone too much and would come straight from the airport. So the anticipation built. Mark arrived at the party early to help set up and then nursed a beer while Rita talked at him about New York.

When Daniel finally showed up just before ten, he was beautiful in all the ways Mark remembered, with his wispy brown hair that fell over his eyes, perfectly fitted black jacket, worn-comfortable jeans, a thick dark-gray sweater and shiny shoes.

He was also different: He looked taller and slimmer and stood with his shoulders a little bit more squared, his feet planted apart and pointing outward. When he smiled, his skin glowed and his eyes looked bright. Mark had always known he’d travel well; he was destined to be on and off planes constantly for work and for fun and was the kind of guy who could walk out of an airport and look as if he had just woken up from a good night’s sleep.

Mark watched as he pulled Rita and Jess into a group hug. Hovering unnoticed in the kitchen doorway, Mark revelled in the moment of observation, of knowing their being together again was close enough to touch, to acknowledge.

Mark saw laugh lines and teeth as Daniel smiled easily and chatted, his voice audible but the words unintelligible. Then he saw Mark: His eyes shone and his grin settled into a soft, fond smile. But there was Rita, pulling his focus away, hugging him tightly again and starting to babble at him. Mark hoped she wouldn’t mention him going to New York yet.

Ten minutes later Jess cornered him. She narrowed her eyes, put her hands on her hips and hissed, “What the fuck are you doing?” and then shoved him back toward an empty hallway.

Mark was distracted, his fingers still itching to get to Daniel, but one look at her face told him to take her seriously or rue the consequences. “What are you talking about?”

She cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. “You haven’t sat with us at lunch for weeks—”

“Oh, Jess, I know, I’m sorry, I—” He was sorry, but she held up a finger and cut him off.

“No. Let me get this out. I know you have some fucked up stuff at home with your dad, and I know you are too hard on yourself. I know this year has been hell on you and I know you haven’t let anyone help. But you are fucking up this thing with Daniel and I am not going to not say so.”

Mark stared at her. Her chest heaved within the confines of her tight red dress and her nostrils flared wide. “I—”

“Everyone knows you didn’t see him at Christmas and Rita won’t betray his confidence, but I know something even worse went down after Thanksgiving and now you’re not talking to him at all? He’s struggling in New York. Did you even know? Have you spoken to him?”

“Jess, what—”

“He doesn’t like the course, he’s transferring, he’s terrified he’s made a huge mistake and he’s talked to everyone about it except you. Why is that?”

“I didn’t know about that.” Mark couldn’t believe he didn’t know, that someone hadn’t told him. He’d thought Daniel was getting on just fine.

“I can’t believe you’ve already fucked this up as badly as you have. You should know these kinds of things about your boyfriend.”

“What do you mean he’s transferring? Why?”

“He doesn’t like art anymore, is what I heard. Wants to do something else.”

“Well, that…” he trails off, unsure what to say.

Jess just huffs and steps even closer to him. “Mark, if you are not careful you are going to lose him for good! Do you want that?”

Mark hadn’t fathomed that Jess even cared. While she was his friend, she was sharp and acerbic and had never expressed anything more than disinterest in his relationship with Daniel. He took a deep breath, and when it had settled he was smiling.

“What?” Jess asks suspiciously.

“I’m… I’ve been weird, I know, and I’m sorry for that. I… yes, this year has been hard—”

“Do you know how badly you are fucking up something so good?”

“Yes.” Mark paused. He hadn’t quite realized it until he said it. “Yes, but I’m fixing it tonight, I promise.”

Jess cocked her head to the other side and sized him up. “Really?”

“Yeah, I’m going to New York in the summer to be with him, and we’re going to be fine.” He couldn’t help grinning as he said it. “He should transfer, if that’s what he wants.”

“Well, he is.” Jess’s expression was still pissed off and steely. “Good,” was all she said, and then stalked away, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

Next he was cornered by Leah, who demanded to know if all the rumors she had heard were true: about his GPA, if he had really applied to all the Ivy League schools and not been rejected by a single one yet, if in only a few years he would be a big shot lawyer. She squealed and told him he had to choose Harvard and then launched into a list of reasons. She talked about getting out of their backward little town and finding a life.

Mark nodded and smiled and worked hard not to tell her he was going to New York. He was going to Daniel—didn’t she know that? Didn’t everyone just assume that? At least Rita had figured out that much.

Meanwhile, across the room, Daniel talked to everyone he knew, slipping seamlessly from conversation to conversation, laughing melodically and sipping his beer.

Then they were next to each other, smiling, and it was more awkward than Thanksgiving because it seemed everything had changed.
Everything has.
They hugged each other, and Mark wanted to pull Daniel in tight and fit them together as only he knew how, but Daniel pulled back, his gaze darting around the room.

Daniel wanted privacy, and so Mark went with him willingly down the darkened corridor, away from the party and into Rita’s parents’ bedroom. Daniel clicked the door shut and immediately Mark felt his resistance slipping away, the invisible tug of Daniel right there, almost against him. He crowded him back against the wood and leaned close enough to almost kiss him, but Daniel ducked his head and turned to the side. Mark pulled back instantly and watched as Daniel looked down to his lips once and then wouldn’t meet Mark’s eyes. Instead, Daniel eased Mark back with his hands on his hips and sighed.

He still wouldn’t meet Mark’s eyes. Mark felt a sudden, sharp tug of panic deep in his stomach. Then Daniel said: “I need to tell you about someone,” and Mark’s world fell apart.

His name was Andrew, he was twenty-one and he was studying fashion design at the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. Mark hadn’t known Daniel was planning to quit his fine arts degree and trying to transfer until a half an hour ago but the information washed over him now as Daniel told him about all of it, and about Andrew.

“I don’t know what it is,” Daniel said, “But he was there and you weren’t talking to me. I didn’t know…” he trailed off. “When you come to New York, I’m sure it’ll all work out.” He didn’t look as though he believed it, not even a little bit.

Mark pushed a smile over his lips, grabbed Daniel’s hand and squeezed it before letting it drop. “Yeah, my dad is really pushing me to go to Stanford.”

“Oh.” Daniel blinked at him and looked hurt. Mark’s hands clenched beside him and his blood boiled, but he refused to show his anger. “So you’re heading to California?” Daniel continued.

“Yeah,” Mark said before he realized what he was agreeing to. “Yeah, it makes the most sense.”

They stood there staring at each other as though they hardly knew each other, and then Daniel cracked a smile that Mark thought was genuine.

“I guess that’s kind of good. I wasn’t sure how this was going to go.”

Somehow Mark made a grimace look like a shrug.

“I’ve missed talking to you. I’ve wanted your opinion about so many things, this whole change from art to maybe fashion—”

“Yes, tell me all about that!” Mark grabbed hold of a conversational topic that wouldn’t hurt quite so much. “You always did like telling me what to wear.” Saying it broke his heart even more.

But Daniel smiled and plopped down on the bed, breathed a sigh of relief and launched into his current career predicament. This time Mark was sure that Daniel didn’t notice what was happening underneath his skin.

***

Patrick thinks for a long time after the story ends, partly, Mark suspects, because he likes to think about anything complicated and partly, perhaps, to give Mark time to think as well.

The story is finished, and he is no worse off. He’s in love with New York and finding his way and he is just fine. This story is a part of him—Daniel will always be a part of him—and Patrick is okay with that, it seems.

“Would you have stayed with him if you could?” Patrick eventually asks.

Mark turns his head sideways from where he’s lying upside down on the bed. He still doesn’t entirely understand why Patrick wants to know, but he has a sneaking suspicion it’s because he cares.

Sighing, Mark says, “Yes. Forever.”

Patrick nods slowly, as though he’s wrestling with the concept, so Mark elaborates. “We were so happy, most of the time. I mean, before New York happened we only ever fought about the most unimportant, silly things and when we made up it was magical. We could go weeks and weeks without even really disagreeing. He loved me so much and I loved him and it always felt so easy.”

Patrick chuckles and Mark attempts to glare at him. Catching his wrist, Patrick makes him look him in the eye and asks, “But not now?”

“He moved on,” Mark tells him. “We talked about it, in emails mostly, and we were sad, but that was it. He moved on really quickly without us ever actually breaking up—”

“I would have been confused.”

“And I don’t really know him anymore; we’re not even friends on Facebook. And besides all that, I came to Stanford and he went to New York.”

Now Patrick laughs outright and resists the urge to tease; he clearly appreciates that it is so much more complicated than that. “Except when I ask you why you’re wired the way you are, you take me on an epic three-part saga of Daniel. Oh my God, Mark,” he says, exasperated.

“I’m sure he’s very happy,” Mark says, genuinely hoping it’s true.

Patrick stills again, sliding back toward serious. “Are you?”

For the first time in years, Mark realizes: “I think I will be.”

***

Weeks later: “I think I have some news,” Patrick begins. He waits until Mark is up on an elbow facing him. “I’ve been offered a job in London.”

“One you actually want?” Mark deadpans, though the smile tugging at his lips shows he’s happy for him. He didn’t know Patrick was applying for jobs overseas.

“Yep. They flew me over three weeks ago, and I got the phone call yesterday.” He shrugs, self-deprecating for one rare moment.

“When do you leave?” It’s the obvious question.

“Next week.”

Mark wonders if he should feel upset, and on some level he figures he is. He’ll miss Patrick; they’re good friends, but part of their relationship is being able to drop everything and then pick up where they left off. They’d done it while Mark was in New York; they’d done it while one or both of them went off for short flings with other people. But he’ll miss the easy banter and the apartment twenty minutes away from campus that’s almost a second home to him. He thinks he might make the effort to try to stay in touch.

“You gonna miss me?” Patrick asks.

Without thinking, Mark responds: “I’ll miss the sex.”

And then Patrick is laughing and straddling him, wrestling him back and holding him down by his hands because they both know that’s not the whole truth.

***

Mark doesn’t drive Patrick to the airport. He has a paper due in a few days and he needs to get it right. Plus, it seems inappropriate to play taxi for a fuck-buddy when a permanent, transatlantic move looms. He still doesn’t feel properly sad. They send each other texts, leave each other drunk voicemails detailing particularly disastrous hookups, and then communication becomes completely sporadic and unreliable. It’s still heartfelt when it does happen, still a connection Mark is so very glad he has.

***

Two months after Patrick leaves, Mark gets stuck across campus during a downpour that doesn’t want to stop. It’s freezing cold; he can see the fog starting to edge in on the night and he is soaked through by the time he runs back into the library. He swears, drops his books, and his whole body shivers.