Cinnamon, Blueberries, & Other Subjects to fill a Book of Poetry

Chapter 24: Mistakes

"Jean, I really don't think-"

"Look, Samuel." I frown. Three years and she's never bothered to learn my name. I think about correcting her, but I don't. It's never worth arguing with her. "I'll be blunt. You haven't been to the office in God knows how long. And, after your little... incident, everyone thinks you're losing it. That doesn't look good for the paper. So. whatever you're going through, deal with it. Because I need you all smiley and friendly again at the office New Years party so we can show everyone that this incident was just a blip on the radar. 'Kay?" I refrain from pointing out that the only reason anyone knew about me and Reese was because she apparently couldn't keep her mouth shut. I think about telling her no. I think about hanging up on her and not going to that stupid party. That's not fair, I actually quite like our New Years party, but I'm trying to make a point here. However, the point is moot because I don't have the energy to be that stubborn right now, so instead I say,

"Okay." I feel the worry ball in my head grow, it hasn't gone away since that night, and I think I feel a headache coming on. Maybe Jean's right. Maybe this was just a 'blip on the radar' and we can all just pretend it never happened like we do with everything unsavoury in this town. Then I think about her referring to it as an incident, I think it makes me angry, and I don't think I want to play pretend anymore.

My headache hasn't gone away despite my best attempts and, standing outside of the office, I feel as if I might be sick. I try to take deep breaths. I try to think logically. This is a good thing. Even if she was wrong about everything else, Jean was right about one thing. I need to stop hiding. I've been thinking about what people might say, I'm almost hoping they avoid me, and about what I should tell them. I could lie. Lying is always an option, especially around here. But the idea of lying about it makes my heart hurt in a way it hasn't since Reese cut me off and I think it's probably for the best if I don't. Which means I'll have to deal with the judgmental stares. The whispers. The thought hits me before I have the time to push it away, 'this would be easier with Reese.' It's a thought that has been popping up constantly since that night and I can't help but resent it. Of course things would be easier with Reese, but he cut me off. I should be mad at him. I shouldn't desperately wish he was here with me. I wish I knew why he did it. I'm snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of a car pulling up and then I realise I've been crying. I'm almost certain that that is the exact opposite of how Jean wants me to look, so I wipe my face with my sleeve and take a breath. I try not to think as I walk inside.

Perhaps it was just selfish thinking, but I'd almost expected everything to stop when I walked in. Like a movie. It didn't, of course, and I'm once again made aware that my existence isn't nearly as impactful as I imagine it to be. A few people look at me in a way that makes me think of a bug under a microscope, and I notice a few purposefully not looking at me. Otherwise it's.. normal. I'm not sure how to feel about it.

"Hey, Sam!" Someone calls out, making their way through the crowd to me, and I woefully recognise them as Harrison. He's holding what I can only assume to be one of many glasses of champagne based on how he's wobbling over to me.

"Harry." I manage a smile and, though it sounds pathetic even to me, for the first time tonight I think maybe I can do this, "How are you?"

"I'm great, man. Hey, I didn't think you were gonna come tonight after your whole-" He trails off and I say a quick prayer that he won't ask any questions. He doesn't and I wonder if it was the praying or the alcohol that was on my side. "But, hey, here you are! Good for you, man."

"Yes, well, thank you." I run a hand through my hair as I look around. I wish Fran was here, she'd certainly know the best thing to do here, but if she can't be then at the very least I can get my hands on a drink. Harrison has managed to shuffle his way over to a different group and I take the opportunity to search for the concession table. I manage to find it and get my hands on a glass, thank God for small miracles I suppose. I notice that most people are avoiding me and I can't decide if I'm grateful or hurt. I've known everyone here since I was a child and the fact that such a small change, not even a change really, could make them look at me so differently is jarring. When I get a hold of myself enough to tear away from my thoughts, I notice that one of the girls from work had crept over and seemed to be anxiously watching me. I try to think of anything good that can come from this. I can't. I brace myself.

"Umm, Sam? Hi."

"Hello-" I frown as I wrack my brain for her name. She only moved here a few years back, but we interact enough that I still feel guilty about forgetting. I give myself the benefit of the fact that I haven't been in my right mind lately. She seems to notice my struggle.

"Lillian." I smile gratefully, she smiles back, but I can tell she's itching to ask me something. I can only imagine what. Luckily, I don't have to imagine. "I heard. About your, umm," She lowers her voice as if she's talking about something taboo, I suppose technically she is, and it almost makes me laugh with the sheer ridiculousness of it. "incident. And, well, I was wondering.. does that mean you're a gay?" The way she asks it makes me cringe and I make a mental note to apologise to Fran when I get home. I'd already resolved to be honest if anyone asked about it, but it was much harder now that I was actually face to face with someone.

"..Yes. I'm gay."

"Oh.." She pauses for a second and I brace myself for another awkward question when she opens her mouth again, but then I hear someone call my name.

"Sammy?" I feel my stomach drop. I don't even need to turn to know who it is, but I turn anyway because I am a very weak man.

"Reese?" He's out of breath. And, when I look him over, he doesn't seem like he's been faring much better than me lately. I think that should make me feel better, but I just feel sad. And, hurt.

"Sammy." He says my name like a sigh of relief and it makes my heart hurt. I don't know what to do, but I'm vaguely aware of Jean fuming out of the corner of my eye. "Look, I- I'm an idiot. Probably, like, certifiably. I thought that I was doing what was best for you by cutting you off. I figured if I just left and pretended none of this ever happened that everything could go back to normal and you could get back to being number one golden boy of the year." He gestures vaguely when he says it and it's such a small thing, but it's so familiar it makes me want to laugh. Then it makes me want to cry. I can't decide on which, luckily I don't have to because he's talking again and I don't have the space to think about anything else. "But, fuck, Sam, it's not working. I know that now. I tried to just put it- you behind me, but I couldn't. And, then I talked to Fran and she told me how you locked yourself away in that stupid house and how miserable you've been and I swear on everything I have that that is the last fucking thing I ever wanted to happend. You have to believe me on that." He grabs my hand and I try to think of something, anything, to say. I can only imagine he sees my indecision because he starts talking again, faster and faster until it almost seems frantic. "I know I fucked up really bad, Sammy. Like, shit, so bad. I made a mistake. And, I'm so sorry. I know I should have handled it better. I should have talked to you. I should have done literally anything else, but I didn't. I ran away, because that's what I've always done. Because that's what I was taught to do. And, I'm not using that as an excuse and even if I was it's a really shittt excuse! I- fuck- I'm messing everything up." He takes a breath, meeting my eyes, "What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry. I messed up. And, I know I don't have any right to ask you to forgive me, but I'm hoping you'll indulge me just one more time. And, I promise, if you do, I will try to- to talk more and open up and do all that shitty couple-y stuff that you're so good at that I never bothered to try. Because I liked being with you, Sammy. And, I really liked being your boyfriend. I don't want to pretend that this all never happened, because I really like that it happened. Like, a lot. And, y'know, feel free to cut in whenever you feel like it because I'm definitely not used to talking this much and I feel like I'm making a total ass of myself right now in front of a shit ton of people that I really don't know that well..."

My words catch in my throat and I'm suddenly very aware of how people are staring. They're staring. And, whispering. And, my first instinct is to push him away and tell him to leave and that I didn't want anything to do with someone like him. I don't think I've thought like that in a long while. I think I hate myself for it. Even more so when I meet his eyes again and he looks so open and vulnerable in a way that I didn't know he was capable of. I know what I theoretically should do. I certainly know what Jean would want me to do. Instead, I lean down and kiss him. An afterthought is that perhaps I should have asked first, but then I remember where we are and what's happening and I don't think me not asking is at the top of the list as far as potential problems for the night.

For the first time tonight, I don't think I care.