Elliot

Eighteen

My father was very curious about the trip. The moment I stepped inside the house, he came up with a question on where we had gone while in the country. So I told him about it.

I told him about the list we made, about how generous French people are, about the arts of their museums, about how I got to taste various foods, about the place we stayed, and about how grateful I was to meet Tobias' grandmother.

"You met his grandmother?"

"I did." I said.

"Wow. I never saw that coming."

"Neither did I." It was a very surprising act. But I liked it very much. "He just told me about it on the morning of the same day."

Dad sipped in his coffee. "Well, how did it go?"

"Exquisite." I had the grin on my face.

"Since when did you become a fancy person?"

"I'm just trying to be elegant."

He stood up from the table and put his mug on the sink. "Yeah, well, I think I'll stick to the hardheaded-Elliot."

"I'm not hardheaded."

And then he laughed. "How I wish, son."

After that little talk, I spent the rest of my afternoon in my room. I wasn't trying to get sleep but eventually I did anyway. It wasn't that much of a sleep that I needed, more of like a nap I'd do when there's nothing to do.

I was awake when Clara barged into my room and sat beside me. "You need to tell me everything. And by that, I literally mean everything."

"Tell you what?" I said.

"Didn't you hear what I just said? Everything!"

"I'm not gonna tell you about the whole trip like a goddamn bedtime story, Clara." Why is everyone suddenly interested in the trip?

"Fine. Tell me only a bit of it."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, piss off." I tried pushing her off the bed but she was a bit stronger than me, at the moment. I then gave up when she really wouldn't fall over.

"Come on, just a little bit. Is France cool?"

I sighed. "Far more than cool."

"How about the French?"

"What about it? It's their language, dumbass."

"Not the language, grumpy shit. I mean the people."

"They're cool."

And then Clara acted like those girls in teenage movies when they daydream about their dream boys. "Do you think I should start dating French people too?" she asked.

I made a face. "Why the fuck are you even asking me that?"

"Because you're dating one."

"Clara, please. I just woke up."

"Maybe I should start learning French too. Do you think you could teach me some?"

"Yeah, sure. Fous le camp de ma chambre."

"What does that mean?"

"Get the fuck out of my room!"

She just stared at me. And then punched my shoulder twice, but she still didn't leave the room. So there we are, lying on my bed in silence, just staring at the ceiling. I thought of Tobias. And then I just felt the sudden jolt of sadness.

Part of me wished that I can just pretend that there are no problems with him. That we're a couple of enthusiastic guys just falling in love. But it was impossible to not think of it. Pain is what you pay for love. If there's something that you should know about it, it's the fact that love is the most complicated thing in the universe.

"Are you thinking again?"

"People always think, Clara."

"You what I'm talking about."

I did know what she was talking about. I wish I didn't. But I did.

"Have you considered talking to him about it?"

"I don't think he wants to talk about it. We talk about it, we get sad. I think about it, I get sad. There's no escape in sadness when you're really struck by it."

"It'll be harder for the both of you if you let it be like that for your whole relationship. I know talking is not your best skill, but at least try. For you, for him." Sometimes I hate to admit when my sister was right.

"What if there's no cure for him? What if he doesn't get better?"

"He will get better, Elliot. Do you think he wants having it too, knowing that it'll cause pain and agony for the both of you?"

"No." Of course not. Tobias was the original copy of joy painted in the finest linen of canvas. If there's something he would be glad sharing to the world, it's his enthusiasm.

"Then do something about it," she said. "It will be easier for you two if you talked about doing something for it and not just running away from it." We stayed on bed in silence, then she got off and headed for the door. And I kept staring at the ceiling.

Then I finally looked over at my sister. "Do you really think it will be a good idea? To mention it to him?"

"Talk about it. I'm sure he will be glad to know that you care about his status as much as he does to you. He loves you." She had the warm smile of the sun. "And I know you do too."