Andy
My dad finally left, and all I wanted to do was see Jake. The hospital we’d been sent to was in a huge old building in Brooklyn. My father turned up his nose at the place, but it honestly wasn’t that bad. My private room on the second floor was decent except that Jake wasn’t in it. I had to charm the nurses ruthlessly before one told me that Jake was up on the tenth floor. She wouldn’t agree to take me up there, though. Said she was too busy and “maybe later.”
Right. Like I was going to wait. I’d try texting or calling him, but with my bandaged mitts, I couldn’t use my phone. And, anyway, I had to see for myself, in person, that he was okay. I got the nurse to put the IV on a rolling stand for me so I could go to the bathroom and sit up in the chair. After that, it was easy enough to sneak out of my room. I managed to operate the elevator buttons with my elbow. And there I was wandering around the hospital with a rolling IV stand I was steering with my forearm, my two hands taped up like Muhammad Ali, wearing nothing but a hospital gown, socks with that nonslip stuff on the bottom, and, thankfully, my underwear. Well, I’d done stupider things, that was for sure.
Unfortunately, the pain meds were stronger than I’d accounted for. Loopty-loop, man. It was fun to feel semi-stoned, but not helpful. I finally found room 1023. The door of the room was open, and I peeked in. It was a small room, dingy, with two beds. One bed was mostly hidden by a drawn curtain. Jake was in the bed closest to the door, and he was awake. The head of his bed was raised so he was almost in a sitting position. His cell phone was on his lap on top of the sheets, bracketed by his two bandaged hands. They looked an awful lot like mine. They lay limp on his thighs as he stared down at his phone morosely. There might even have been a hint of moisture in his eyes. He looked miserable, and my heart did a sick little throb. Oh Jake. Bro. Guilt gnawed at me.
“Hey,” I said, walking all the way into the room. I didn’t have any trouble mustering a contrite expression. Hell, even my stomach was contrite. It was doing its damnedest to hide behind my spine.
Jake glanced up at me sharply. When he saw it was me, he frowned, making me feel even worse. I knew Jake’s expressions like I knew the back of my hand—or had known the back of my hand; it might be scarred after this. Jake should look ready to punch me, but instead he appeared worried. About me. That was the kind of friend Jake was.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I shrugged, taking care not to move my hands where they hung at my side. “Doctor says I’ll heal, but I’m gonna be fucked up for a while. You? You have to have surgery or anything like that? Anything permanent? The nurses wouldn’t give me the details.” The cruel bastards.
He grimaced and looked down at his bandages. “All fingers accounted for and no surgery. At least, not unless I get infected or try to move around too much before it heals.”
That was basically what the doctor had told me too. Jake’s words should have been reassuring, but they weren’t. Even the thought that Jake could have been hurt that badly, that one of my stunts could have disfigured him for life, freaked me the fuck out. I felt woozy and had to sit down. There was a visitor chair against the wall. I hooked my foot around one leg and dragged it closer to his bed, then collapsed into the thing, taking care not to upset my wheeling IV rack.
“Wow. Andy. I’ve never seen you turn the color of cottage cheese before. You gonna faint?”
I shook my head, but I was in no state to joke about it. Dots of black swam in my vision, and somehow I’d disturbed my hands despite not using them. They hurt like a bitch. “It’s the drugs,” I managed, closing my eyes.
I sank back in the chair, waiting for the dizziness and pain to pass. I felt a little better just being in the same room as Jake. He wasn’t dead, and he didn’t hate me. Or, at least, he was still talking to me. Maybe the hate would come later. I wouldn’t blame him.
When I opened my eyes, though, Jake was looking at the wall, his face miserable again.
“You okay?” I asked. Stupid question.
He sniffed and shrugged, then laughed bitterly. “Fuck. I can’t even rub my nose.”
“I know.”
He sighed. “The nurse helped me call Sierra just now. She’s gonna talk to HR at Neverware for me. Hopefully they’ll delay my start date. And not, you know, fire me before I even start working there.”
“God, Jake. I’m so sorry.”
He said nothing, just stared at the wall. Now I knew why he looked so miserable. And my own sense of guilt multiplied like extras in a zombie movie. I swallowed. “What did Sierra say exactly?”
He gave me a dark look. “That I’m a fucking idiot. Which, you know, fair point.”
“She always did have a knack for stating the obvious,” I teased. He didn’t smile.
He worried his lip and stared at the wall some more, like maybe he was trying to conjure up a portal to a happier, simpler world. He was totally in Serious Jake mode.
Jake was the funniest guy I knew, but scratch that witty facade and you’d find a bone-deep worrier. He’d always taken things seriously, even back when we’d met in seventh grade. In high school he’d studied for tests and never ditched school. I’d done those things too—because if I hadn’t, I’d have had to deal with my old man. But school was easy for me, and I’d always managed to do the bare minimum to make the dean’s list and keep my folks happy. Jake’s focus had intensified once we got to college. We’d roomed together for four years at NYU, so I could attest to his grueling study habits. Dear God, the Saturday nights when I’d had to drag Jake out of the room by the scruff of his neck.
Shortly after Jake and I met, Jake’s dad left them. He’d been having an affair with some lady in his office, and she got pregnant, so he decided to divorce Jake’s mom and move in with this other woman, marry her, and raise the kid. Basically leaving family number one to start family number two.
I still remembered the night Jake’s mom dropped him off late at our place because shit was hitting the fan at their house. Lying in my bed in the dark, Jake choked out his biggest fear. Without his dad, he was the head of the family now. He would have to work—get a job that made good money so he could support himself and, if needed, take care of his mom and sister. No one would be there to be his safety net, to pay for things like college, to cover his bills if he couldn’t find work. He was completely alone.
I’d tried to tell him it wouldn’t be that way, that his dad would still be around, and his mom too. But Jake had utter conviction that he was completely responsible for himself, if not immediately, then right after high school. His parents didn’t have a whole lot of money anyway—not like my family did. Their house was modest. His mom was a dental assistant and his dad an accountant for some tiny tax place in the mall. I’d always had everything I needed or wanted, and I figured I always would. So anything I could say to Jake sounded like platitudes. And we didn’t really talk about that kind of thing much anyway—emotions. Emotions sucked, and we mostly pretended we didn’t have them.
Jake worried, that was all. He’d studied hard to get honors in computer science so he could get a good job immediately. I knew how much the Neverware job meant to him.
I tried to reassure him. “They really liked you at the interview, you said. Plus Sierra works there. They won’t drop you because you got hurt. That would be totally shitty. It’s only a two-month delay.”
“Yeah,” Jake agreed with a sigh. “Sierra thought they’d probably just have me start the first of September since a bunch of people in the department are on vacation in August anyway. I hope they’re cool with that. She says as long as I’m there in time for her wedding on September twenty-third, she won’t kill me.”
I swallowed a lump. “I really am sorry, Jake.” I wished I could take it all back, that last stupid dare at the party. But life didn’t work that way.
He looked at me. He must have been able to see how bad I felt, because his face softened. “Hey, I didn’t have to agree to it. I thought it would work too.”
“I thought it made sense.”
“It totally made sense. Maybe the firecrackers were defective.”
I bit my lip, feeling sheepish. “I noticed Spanish on the fireworks box. If they were from Mexico, they might have had stronger powder than American fireworks. Hell, they were probably illegal.”
Jake blinked at me. “A fine time to bring that up, Sherlock.”
I grimaced. “We did freak a lot of people out though?”
“Oh yeah. We were definitely memorable,” Jake deadpanned with wide eyes. “We’ll probably make YouTube’s Darwin Awards.”
We stared at each other. Despite how genuinely bad I felt for screwing up Jake’s summer, and for both of us being injured, I couldn’t help but see how ridiculous the whole situation was, how ridiculous we were. So when Jake’s lips quirked up, my own laughter was right there. We started laughing and couldn’t stop.
Jake held up his hands as if he wanted to cover his mouth, like he usually did when he laughed. But, of course, he couldn’t, and I couldn’t wipe my eyes, so we just sat there howling and holding out our mummy hands, and that made us both laugh harder.
“Oh God, that was the . . . the s-stupidest thing . . . we’ve ever done!” Jake choked out, barely understandable between gales of laughter.
“Nah. The quarry coulda been way worse,” I managed.
Gradually our laughter died off. I could see it had cheered Jake up, but it didn’t take long for his brown eyes to once again fill with worry. I had an urge to sit on his bed and give him a hug or at least pat his shoulder. Which was so not going to happen, even if I had my hands.
“What about your internship?” Jake asked, as if he’d just remembered it.
“Not happening.” I shrugged.
“Sorry. That sucks for you too.”
“Yeah. To tell you the truth, my dad’s more upset about it than I am.”
Jake snorted. “God, the spreadsheets that man’s going to have to tweak.”
I laughed. He knew my dad well. We both sat there for a while. My hands lay on my lap like dead fish.
“The next eight weeks are gonna be hell.” Jake sighed. “My mom has to work. She can’t be babysitting me twenty-four seven, even if I could stand living at home, which I can’t. Sierra’s in California, and you’re as bad off as I am. There is no one else. You have Amber, but—”
“I don’t have Amber. She broke up with me over text last night. Said if I wanted to kill myself, I could do it without her.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.
His face struggled for a moment. And finally he managed to scrape up the fakest sympathetic expression ever. “I’m sorry?”
I laughed out loud. “Wow. You deserve an Emmy for that right there.” I mimicked a simpering voice. “I’m . . . sorreee?” turning up the end comically.
He rolled his eyes but grinned. “Yeah. Not really sorry. I tried though. I get bro points for that. But I am sorry it was over a stunt. And I know your dad liked her.”
“He did. But it’s not like she was the love of my life.”
Of course, that had never been the point of Amber. She was from Bostonian blue blood and her family had money. She was smart and attractive, but I really couldn’t see a future with her, no matter how many boxes she ticked off on the ten-year plan. I always felt like I was on audition when I was with her, like she was judging me. And she only ever talked about spa appointments, traveling to fancy places like Cannes, and sailboats. Not that there was anything wrong with those things, but they weren’t high on my list of priorities.
I’d rather hang with Jake. I cleared my throat. “Actually, I have some ideas about that. About the next eight weeks.”
Jake looked at me with sudden interest. “Yeah? The Planinator is on it? Do your ideas involve me too?”
“Yes. Yes they do.”
He looked both relieved and suspicious. Then again, Jake was always a little suspicious of my plans. I couldn’t imagine why. “So tell me.”
I kept my voice steady, my body relaxed in the chair. “We should go down to the cottage in Cape Cod, you and me. We’re both going to need help, so we might as well be together. That way one person can help us both.”
“Who’s gonna help us there? No way am I letting your mom or dad anywhere near my naked body. I’d rather be put in a crate and hosed off for the next two months.” He shuddered.
I made a horrified face. “God, no! They won’t be there. They’ll be in Boston working, as always. My insurance covers an in-home nurse, and I’m sure we can find one in the area. As for meals and all that, Emily can help us out.”
“Emily?”
“The lady who cleans the cottage and stocks food and essentials when we’re going down there. Her husband, Bob, does the outside maintenance. He can help too, if we need something done.”
Jake regarded me warily. “What about showers and . . . like . . . the bathroom.”
I shrugged. “If we wear loose pants with elastic and go commando, we don’t need help with that. I managed to piss by myself this morning. Used the edge of the sink to get my pants down and leaned forward . . .” I demonstrated, standing up and leaning my upper body out over my legs, exaggerating it.
It made Jake laugh, like I knew it would. “Classy! Oh my God, now that would be a priceless video! What about wiping your ass? Or does the Planinator never need to take a dump?”
“We can probably rig something up. Jesus, give me a few hours to work out the kinks, Oh Impatient One. I’ve been disabled for less than half a day. I was thinking—they must have hooks and grabbers we can use, tools for people who have trouble using their hands. Maybe the hospital can set us up with stuff.”
“Probably.” Jake’s eyes were still smoky, but the frown between his eyes had softened and he relaxed back onto the pillow. “There’s all that accessibility stuff on Windows and iPhone. I’ve never used it, but it shouldn’t be hard to set up. With voice command, we could at least surf the web and make phone calls. Watch porn.” He smirked at me.
“Yeah, probably not the best idea.” I held up my hands and raised my eyebrows.
His eyes widened as the implication sank in. “Oh, fuuuck. You asshole.”
Then we were both laughing again. A pathetic, we-are-in-so-much-trouble sort of laugh.
When we finally wound down, Jake gave me a hairy eyeball. “I may not hate you for getting me into this mess right now, but by the end of the summer, I just might.”
“Oh God, me too,” I agreed, with a last, breathy chuckle.
“Cape Cod. Jesus. That was so not the way I was supposed to be spending my summer.”
“We’ve had some great times at that cottage though. It won’t totally suck.”
My parents bought the waterfront cottage in Osterville on the Nantucket Sound when I was fifteen, and Jake and I had spent a lot of weeks there over the past six years.
“Yeah. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you did this on purpose to get me there with you for the summer.”
His tone was joking, but I felt a rush of guilt all the same. Of course, I hadn’t burned all four of our hands on purpose. But there had been something inside me lately, something that made me itch to push him. To push us. Our paths were forking away from each other at lightning speed. Our days at NYU were over, and there’d be no more coming in from classes to see Jake studying at his desk in our room, or walking across campus together to Patsy’s Pizzeria in the winter, or lying in our respective beds shooting the shit for hours in the dark.
Had I sabotaged us unconsciously? Had some fucked-up part of me wanted to keep Jake close at any cost? Wow, that was so not cool.
“Hey, mopey, I’m kidding,” he said quietly.
I blinked and focused on him.
“You look like you just ran over your puppy. You know I’m not blaming you, right?”
Jake. He was one hundred percent gold. “Well, it was my stupid idea. The least I can do is make sure your summer of healing doesn’t entirely blow. If we’re both forced to take the summer off, we should try to enjoy it as much as possible. Right? Consider it a mental health break.”
Jake’s eyes warmed considerably. “I guess so. At least I have a good excuse to be lazy.” He held up his hands. “One thing though. If we do end up going to Cape Cod, there will no dares. All summer long. Swear?” He glowered at me sternly.
I gave him my best “who me?” expression. “What would we even have to dare about? Who can paddle the canoe fastest using their teeth?”
He chuckled, but his intense expression didn’t waver. He knew my deflecting techniques all too well. “Swear to me, Andy.”
“No dares,” I promised sincerely.
Famous. Last. Words.