Page 44 of Don’t Let Me Go

There’s a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I keep telling myself it’s because of the criminal amount of bacon that

I scarfed down at breakfast. But I don’t think that’s true. Mainly because, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking

about my dreams.

I wish I shared Jackson’s certainty that they’re nothing more than the by-product of our overstressed imaginations. But I

can’t shake the feeling that they’re something more. A glimpse of the past, maybe. Or a warning about the future.

“Maybe it’s an unfinished-business thing,” I announce more to myself than Jackson as we cuddle on his living-room sofa.

“Unfinished business?”

Jackson pulls his gaze away from the morning cartoons we’ve been “ironically” watching since breakfast and stares up at me

with his clear blue eyes. He looks so comfortable with his head resting in my lap, I hate disturbing him with my paranoid

speculations. Especially when I’m aware of how insane they sound. But I can’t help myself. I need to make sense of what happened

last night.

“Yeah. You know how in movies, ghosts are always haunting a place because they can’t move on? Because they have unfinished

business? Maybe it’s the same with reincarnation,” I theorize. “Maybe in our first lives, we had something important that

we needed to accomplish, but we didn’t get to do it before we died, so the universe gave us a second chance.”

“And then a third chance and a fourth chance?” Jackson teases, not bothering to hide the skepticism in his voice.

“Maybe.”

“So life is like a video game? And we both get multiple do-overs until we, what, win?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. When he puts it like that, it doesn’t sound particularly plausible. But then, what explanation would?

Jackson must sense my frustration. He sits up on the sofa, clicks off the TV, and turns his full attention to me.

“I take it we’re not done talking about this?” he asks, flashing me a patient if somewhat condescending smile.

I shrug and look away. I held my tongue all through breakfast this morning. Mostly because I didn’t want Jackson’s aunt to

think her nephew was hooking up with a complete nutjob. But now that Miss Haines is sculpting in the garage and we have the

house to ourselves, I feel like the possibility of us having had multiple past lives deserves some additional discussion. And frankly, I’m surprised Jackson doesn’t.

“You aren’t the least bit curious about what’s happening to us?” I ask.

“Dude, of course I’m curious. But like I said, there’s got to be a rational explanation.”

“Does there?”

Jackson shakes his head and laughs. “Look, I know you want to believe that something supernatural is going on—”

“I never said supernatural.” Although I guess I didn’t not say supernatural.

“Okay, just for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right, and reincarnation is real, and Fate or Destiny or whatever is throwing us a bone by giving us extra lives so we can finish our unresolved business, whatever that is.

Why didn’t Fate reincarnate us somewhere safe?

Why put us in a plague or the middle of a world war? ”

That’s a good question. And I don’t have a good answer. “Maybe it’s just bad luck?” I suggest rather lamely.

“Bad luck?”

“Or maybe that’s the trade-off? We get extra lives, but we have to deal with crazy shit like Vikings and Nazis.”

“Okay,” Jackson concedes with an amused snort. “But what’s our unfinished business?”

Fuck, that’s another good question.

As far as I can recall, the only thing I really wanted in my dreams was to be with Jackson. That’s it. But Jackson and I are

together. We got our happy ending. Does that mean we’ve finished our unfinished business?

Personally, I’d love nothing more than to believe that Fate is some big queer matchmaker. That it’s so invested in Jackson

and me as a couple that it’s willing to suspend all the rules of science to bring us together over multiple lifetimes. But

the logical part of my brain knows that’s absurd. Not to mention completely narcissistic.

I mean, what could possibly be so special about Jackson and me? Out of all the people in the history of the world, why would

the two of us be given the opportunity to find each other over and over and over again?

Assuming that’s even what’s happening.

For all I know, Jackson could be right. There could be a perfectly rational explanation for the fainting and the dreams. Something

scientific or medical, like brain tumors. That would be just our luck. Though in a way, brain damage would be a relief. It’d

make a hell of a lot more sense than reincarnation .

“Hey, where’d you go?” Jackson asks. He slips his hand into mine and gives it a comforting squeeze. I must have spaced out for a bit.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “I’m just trying to figure out if we’re dying, insane, or cursed.”

Jackson erupts in laughter. “Why are those our only options?”

“What other option is there?”

“We’re sleep-deprived? Stressed out? So in sync that we have the same dreams?”

“You really don’t think it’s anything more than that?”

Jackson shakes his head. “Look—do I know why we keep fainting and having these weird-ass dreams? No. But I do know reincarnation

isn’t real. And even if it were—even if we’ve somehow lived multiple lives together—would that necessarily be a bad thing?

Why can’t it be something good?”

“How could it be something good? It would mean we’ve died at least three times.”

Jackson smiles. “True. But it would also mean that we got to live three extra bonus lives. And I kind of like the idea of

spending more than one lifetime with you.”

Oh. Wow .

That might be the most romantic thing that anyone has ever said to me. In fact, I’m pretty sure my insides just melted into

a sappy gay soup that’s about to spill out of me and ruin this sofa.

“I guess when you put it like that,” I say, lacing my fingers through his, “reincarnation doesn’t sound too terrible.”

Jackson leans forward, and when he kisses me, I no longer care how many past lives we might have had. Because this life, the one I get to share with Jackson here and now, is more than enough.

It’s everything.

I climb onto Jackson’s lap, straddle his hips, and feel his strong hands slide up under my shirt. It occurs to me that we never got around to “celebrating” Jackson’s birthday, and I am more than ready to correct that omission.

In fact, I’m just about to suggest that we head back to his room before we get too carried away when our make-out session

is once again interrupted. Not by Jackson’s aunt but by his phone. With a groan of frustration, he pries his lips away from

mine and pulls the buzzing culprit from his pocket.

“Huh,” he says, staring at the screen in surprise. “It’s my mom.”

“She must be calling to wish you a happy birthday,” I say as I slide off his lap.

“Guess I’d better answer.”

“Don’t worry.” I wink. “We can finish what we started when you’re done.”

“We’d better.”

Jackson kisses me again, playfully biting my bottom lip. Then he hops off the sofa and heads to his room to answer the call.

I take out my own phone and decide it’s time to answer some of the five hundred texts that I have. One is from Dad asking

what time he should expect me home today and if I had fun at Duy’s, which is where I sort of implied that I’d be spending

the night yesterday when I texted him to say I wouldn’t be coming home after the Glorious Peccadilloes concert.

The other four hundred and ninety-nine texts are from Duy, Tala, and Audrey, who for the past umpteen hours have been demanding

to know why Jackson and I bailed on the concert and if we’re okay.

I definitely owe them an explanation, but as I start to reply, it occurs to me that Jackson and I haven’t really had the chance to discuss what he feels comfortable telling people about our relationship and his sexuality.

Obviously, he doesn’t have a problem with his aunt knowing about us.

And he certainly didn’t mind making out with me in a park full of strangers.

Still, I don’t feel right outing him to my friends without discussing it with him first.

It takes me a surprisingly long time to craft a response that’s both honest and vague but not so vague that my friends will

get suspicious and think I’m hiding something. Basically, I tell them that after my encounter with Alex and Jackson’s reunion

with Micaela, neither of us felt up for a concert, so we decided to crash at his place.

I wish I could tell them the full story. But that’s something I’ll have to do with Jackson. When he’s ready.

“Sorry that took so long,” Jackson mumbles when he wanders back into the room.

“That’s okay,” I say as I finish up my text. “I’m just letting the gang know we’re still alive. How was your call?”

“Not great.”

The tightness in Jackson’s voice causes me to look up from my phone, and I see that his eyes are red. Has he been crying?

“What happened?” I ask, reaching for his hand as he slumps down beside me on the sofa. It’s like someone’s thrown a switch.

All the light has gone out of his face.

“My parents asked me how I’d be celebrating my birthday. I didn’t want to lie so I told them I’d be hanging out with you.

They asked if you were a new friend, and I told them...” Jackson shakes his head and sighs. “I told them you were my boyfriend.”

My jaw drops.

I’m not sure which of those two bombshells to process first, that Jackson used the B-word to describe me or that he just came

out to his parents. Both should be cause for celebration. Instead, he looks devastated.

“You told your parents about us?” I ask, not quite believing my ears.

“Yeah. That’s the part of the conversation that didn’t go so well.”

“What did they say?”

“Short version?” Jackson snorts. “My mother said I was being selfish, ridiculous, and immature. And my father asked why I

was so hell-bent on ruining my life.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry ,” I say, pulling him into a hug.

Jackson shrugs in my arms but I can tell how upset he is. “It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have sprung it on them like that.

I thought if I slipped it into the conversation like it wasn’t a big deal, they wouldn’t freak out, you know? But I should’ve

known better. They’re not like Aunt Rachel or Micaela. I should’ve known they’d react like this. I just...”

“Just what?”

“I just thought after six months of seeing me be utterly miserable, they might want to know that I’m finally in a good place.

I thought they’d be happy for me. But no. They couldn’t even give me that. Not even on my fucking birthday.”

Jackson buries his face in my shoulder, and my heart breaks for him. I wish I could take his hurt away, but I can’t. All I

can do is be here for him and give him all the love and acceptance that his parents are incapable of.

“Maybe they just need time,” I say, trying to reassure him. “When Tala first started dating Audrey, it took the Youssefs months

to accept that she was queer. But they did.”

Jackson doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I know all too well what he’s feeling.

My mother didn’t cut me out of her life because I was gay, but she did cut me out. And that hurt. It hurt for a really long

time. If I’m honest, some days it still hurts. But I got through it. And so will Jackson.

And who knows? Maybe once they’ve had a chance to cool down, his parents will get their shit together and apologize. But even if they don’t, Jackson won’t be alone. He’ll have me. He’ll always have me.

And whether or not we’ve had past lives, I’m just thankful that I can be here for him in this life.