Black Velvet (79) (Patreon)

(Black Velvet’s pace will pick back up soon, just moving through the plotless stages of life, 🤠)

—

Nic is gone. His friends are all fair-weather, and he doesn't keep in contact with many.  He occasionally comes back into town for belongings that my mom boxes up and threatens to sell — which are actually things that remind her of him that she picks up from the thrift store, brand new and seasonally appropriate clothes, and snacks.

I know my mom just misses him. Since my parents are the weird sort who actually like their kids... I think she really misses him. She cries a lot when he leaves. Not in front of him, of course.

Sometimes, I think she misses me too.

I start a job further out, with longer hours. As fate would have it, since my life seems to be one big cosmic joke, I put the resume Tobias helped me make to use — and start working at Huxley's elementary as an uncertified teacher's aide for sixth graders. It's a temp job, a long drive, full of mostly on edge kids, and I leave with a headache every Friday.

I miss baking, and I don't enjoy the company of soon-to-be preteens, but the work consumes me, and sometimes, I guess it's nice to see them grow — to see them improve.

"Where's my Oliver? You're all grown up."

That's what my mom says.

I don't feel like I've changed — just everything else.  And I'm not so sure I like it.  But I have some direction, finally.  Whatever that means. I might not like sixth graders, but.... I do find out that I enjoy teaching. I think I would like to teach less hormonal kids — or maybe adults.

And now, like Tobias, I might have a goal.

The days begin to move without worry — for anyone but me.  I worry a lot.  About how fast time ticks by.  The days move quickly, one Friday sliding into the next with nothing to show for it but a weekly paycheck and a weekend full of studying, papers, and tests.  I realize that everything is changing, and before I can settle in, it changes more.

I have a lot to think about, more to do, more to get used to — and I still mostly think of Tobias, where he fits, how he fits, and if these changes will change us.  I hope he thinks of me just as much — because, ever since that night we spent together in his bedroom and his following persistent texts, we hardly have time for one another.

Tobias is immersed in his classes but barely spends any time in the community college library. He prefers to get his online courses sorted away first — as a way to keep his hours open and available at work.  They take advantage of his willingness to work, and so, he works and works, and works some more.

Then, when I finally have the chance to see him, he's usually struggling with due dates, stressed, and silent.  He uses his worn laptop, sits on his porch in range of the Wi-Fi, and brings all his books and scatters them about the concrete, desperately attempting to catch up on his courses, and I sit helplessly and quietly beside him.

If I'm not working, I join him, just as an excuse to be near him.  His back is always pressed along mine while studying, and I try my best to stay focused and study just as hard, but sometimes I think I'm just there for that scarce, brief comfort of touch.

It's not all bad.  I tell myself that we're just growing up.  I chalk it up to the frail time management of early adulthood, two young adults, both scraping by higher education thanks to scholarships.  The difference is, that Tobias is on his own, and money is, unfortunately, a concern that eternally looms in the distance.

But.  There are good things.

There are.

—

Things get a little better.

Ever since our game night, Tobias manages the beginning of a quiet sort of friendship with Joseph — a man who originally had nothing good to say about him at all.

In the briefness of one evening, they find that they have a mutual disdain for Jameson, of organized religion, and in the following weeks, they send dozens of texts back and forth, complaining about sports, politics, and discussing their weird new fascination with stocks.

I think it's his first time making a friend out of an honest likeness instead of necessity or distraction. This leads to Tobias accompanying Joseph on word-of-mouth jobs in Huxley, Pennbrook, and Doveport.  They fix a sink, the motor of a lawnmower, move rotten wood out of a lawn, transfer construction supplies, and so on.

This is all communicated to me by a series of texts and images, of course, because — by the time I actually see Tobias, he's drained and as monosyllabic as he can be.

But this friendship is good for him.

Joseph's sort of an every man's man, with too much knowledge for his age and too many self-reliance skills for someone who graduated alongside my brother and Tobias.  I can tell Tobias' financial stress starts to subside a bit, thanks to it, and he's able to take care of things around his house on his own — and though he's tired, it's a good kind.

It's a good thing.

It may not all be ideal — but finally, I can see the kind of tiredness in Tobias that comes from living life and not the kind that comes from enduring it.

The difference is subtle.

Subtle — but important.

I should be happy.

I can't count the number of times Tobias smiles in an evening anymore, even through his exhaustion, and I tell myself that I'm happy about that.  That's what makes it all worth it.  That it's enough — and makes the distance and the lack of time together bearable.

I, on the other hand, do not make new friendships.  My platonic relationships, well, they're as lacking as they've always been.

In my eyes, my relationship with Charlie-Anne seemed entirely ready to heal to what it was before the rejection at that party months ago, but she doesn't contact me too often, and by the time I noticed that maybe I was wrong about where we stand — I'm too late.

Then her internship ends.

I lose the only friend I've made in adulthood for a little while.  I think — maybe it's part of growing up, or wanting different things, or perhaps it was just not being a good friend to her while I was chasing after someone else, or simple negligence,

Then, one random, late Tuesday night, Charlie-Anne sends me a text. One that says,

I get it now.  Can we start back at the beginning?

I don't know what to say to that. So I don't say anything.  I just text her another article, make time to reach out to her — and then everything mends itself.

Charlie-Anne starts her third year working towards her bachelor's degree in science but switches from Jameson's Community College to McLaughlin University because Annalise Egbe decides to study law there and, according to Charlie-Anne, is the best dorm mate ever.

After she moves, she calls more and more often. Sometimes, every other day. Sometimes she texts me pictures of Mclaughlin museums.  And at last, she includes Tobias in a group text with Annalise and me.  I think he finally starts to accept his jealousy toward the perceived perfection of Charlie-Anne Petchey, and her love of flowers is undeserved.

And...

So what if she's two cities away?

Jameson is bearable.

At least when I'm not really there.  Maybe Jameson is still for me.  My home.  Even without friends, without Nic, or Tobias, or my old job.   I tell myself that I'm not stuck or anything. Not everything is different.   There are no baseball games or sidelining parties, no science fair competitions with Charlie-Anne, and no Sweet Spot.

I don't absolutely dislike my new neighbors — the ones that move in when Richard and Abigail pack up without warning, and I don't dislike their evil little shoe-stealing dog or anything.

And — well.

I've never dated anyone before, so being figuratively closeted to the rest of the conservative town that I grew up in doesn't feel too difficult; church on Sunday doesn't feel awkward, and nothing feels too different or hard.

Seeing couples at the diner or at the movies, or at the freaking grocery store isn't a big deal or anything.

I shouldn't feel like — with all these changes, that I'm missing out.

That I'm losing something.

—

Tobias and I do find the lake behind his house. Over the course of a month, using a very scarce amount of free time and Joseph's weedwhacker, we trim up the brush, clean off an old wire bench, and make a path.

Sometimes we sit there, sometimes in quiet, and sometimes not. Today, I'm tired of the quiet.  Today, I really miss Tobias' voice.  I miss Edmund's Lake.  I miss my brother and a childhood love of a town that was never really that special or good to me, to begin with.

So I tell Tobias everything.  I vent, and I vent until I'm near tears.  I don't think I'll ever forget the way he looks at me.  I tell him about the changes, how they don't bother me, not really — how I don't miss everything, not really,

And then I turn against his chest.  I let myself feel small when he holds me.   And then, I do cry.  Usually, Tobias is the one that cries, so I feel pretty stupid.  But it passes, things quiet down to just the sound of the lake and the rustle of trees.

Finally, it all goes back to normal, I think.  The weight feels a lot less when it's shared between two people — and maybe, that's how Tobias has always felt when he talks to me.

That's a nice thought.

It's nicer when he says,

"We have each other."  And whispers, "my feelings for you — they're not going to change."

—

"If Brennan comes to class and sneezes in my face one more time, I'm going to sneak into his lunchbox,"

I've had another bad day.  Another day of too little sleep, too little Tobias, and too many rebellious, emotional, and arrogant additions to Huxley's population.

Tobias glances up, squinting over a book that he's trying to complete by Wednesday for an upcoming essay,

"You're gonna poison a sixth-grader?"

I huff.

"What's wrong with you?  No. That guy has perpetual cheese-dust fingers.  I'm going to take away his love of processed cheese.  Which is worse."

"Are you going to steal his chips?"  Tobias snorts.  "He's twelve, Oliver."

"No.  Worse.  I'm going to open his chip bag so that all his cheesy chips are stale and gross when he's super craving them, and it's going to be the best revenge —"

"I want to hold your hand in public," Tobias interrupts and buries further into his book. Now, he doesn't meet my eyes, and I'm not sure if it's from shyness or a thought that was accidentally said out loud, "... I thought about it.  Yesterday.  When you were crying.  I should've said it."

"That has nothing to do with chips."  I sniff, "and I only cried a little."

"You cried a lot.  And it doesn't. Because I don't care about your chip plot.  You aren't going to do it anyway."

Tobias is becoming more blunt.  I think I let him get away with it too much — and now he's out of control.  He snaps his book shut. I glare at him.

"You sure are rude for someone who says they want to hold my hand."

"Mhm."  He rolls his eyes.  "We barely have time together. You don't stay the night.  We're always studying."

"I come over —"

"You haven't kissed me in weeks."

"What?"

"I've counted."  Tobias doesn't look impressed.  "I haven't kissed you first just to see how long you'd go.  Consider me unpleasantly surprised."

I blink, stunned.

"What?"  His nose wrinkles, dark eyes sliding to mine just to narrow.  "Am I wrong?"

"You're so childish."  I close my own textbook, one that's heavy and strewn over my lap.  "Who does that?"

"Pretend it was an experiment, then."

There's a lull of quietness.   I pick at reeds, curling them over my index finger.  The humor of the conversation fades into a blanketed seriousness.

"... Time is just flying by.  Like —  I don't have time to process anything.  And — until yesterday.  I didn't want to distract you.  You seem so happy."

Tobias stands from the bench to sit next to me on the rocks near the riverbed.

He exhales, loud,

"Distract me." He says.  "There's so much shit I don't want to be doing.  I've just got to do it.  Then there's you.  But sometimes — just give me an excuse.  Distract me."

"I'm always at work or driving to and from work — and you're always at work or studying.  If I distract you, you'll just get behind, and we'll have less time together than we already do."

"Then move in with me,"  Tobias says, clipped and sudden.  Somehow, it doesn't seem to be a spontaneous thought.  "After my finals.  Just move in with me."

"... That wasn't about chips either,"  My stomach is warm. I'm a little rattled at his directness. The more his shell subsides, the more his openness brims with devotion and greed. I don't always know what to do with it.  "That's not what I meant."

"Then tell me what you mean, because I mean what I said.  I want you to move in with me.  I want more of your time."

There's a pause.  A genuine hesitation.

"Think about it."  He inhales, but his brows gather, like he's waiting for me to validate his desire.  "Think about living with me."