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At lunch, when Neil joined Andrew and Nicky in the cafeteria for tacos, he was fine.
Hours later, when Andrew returned to the dorm from his last class, Neil was not fine.
The first clue was the locked door. Neil had stopped locking doors after he changed rooms and started sharing space with Andrew.
Andrew stood in front of the door, his hand on the doorknob. The locked door wasn’t a real barrier; he had the room key on the ring in his pocket. Neil knew this and Andrew had to wonder, was Neil trying to lock him out? Or was it simply a deterrent for nosy Nicky and oblivious Kevin? Andrew gave the knob an experimental jiggle and leaned against the door. The silence in the room was unnerving.
This was not good. If Neil wanted him to stay away he would have texted. Right?
Andrew decided to not make the matter more complicated. He knocked on the door and called out, “Josten, you alive in there?”
He heard some faint fumbling noises and then Neil’s voice, thick and slightly slurred. It sounded like he had a cold. “I’m fine.” There was a long pause and then, “Do you need in here?”
Andrew considered. He didn’t need to be in the room. He had his phone, his schoolwork, his cigarettes, everything he needed to pass the time until dinner. But his needs weren’t the issue.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Neil cleared his throat and sighed. “Are you going to keep bothering me or will you give me some damn privacy?”
Classic evasion: answering a question with a question, provoking attitude meant to misdirect feelings of concern, a small dose of guilt trip, and a serving of solid rationale – college boys occasionally needed alone time. Neil was pulling out all of the stops but Andrew wasn’t fooled. Something was wrong and Neil didn’t want him to know.
Andrew gripped the keys in his hand and pressed his clenched fist against the thin wooden door. There were many ways that he could force his way into their room but he wouldn’t. He needed Neil to let him in.
“I’ll wait out here,” he said, dropping his book bag. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here.” He lowered himself to the floor, his knees popping. He settled with his back against the door and pulled his knees up to his chest.
There was an answering, loud exhale on the other side of the door followed by the sound of Neil’s body sliding down. Andrew knocked the back of his head against the door with a soft thud and Neil did the same.
The separation nagged at Andrew. They were sitting back to back with only the flimsy door between them. Why was Neil keeping him away? After everything they had gone through together? What had triggered this level of avoidance?
Neil sniffed a few times and blew his nose. Andrew waited, staring at the stained industrial carpet.
“My uncle sent me a letter,” Neil said. He sounded off, his tone subdued. “He—” Neil stopped and took a deep breath, “he sent me pictures. Of my mom. And me.” Neil’s voice hitched. “I didn’t have any… I didn’t have anything… to remember her.”
Andrew let that settle. He remembered when he had broken into Neil’s room and gone through his meager possessions. Neil’s binder was full of Kevin Day but had not a scrap of personal information. At the time Andrew had written it off on a bad home life – not that he was wrong about that. The foxes didn’t have very good luck with family so he hadn’t been surprised by the lack of family photos.
When the truth had finally come out and Andrew had learned about Neil’s mother he had had conflicting thoughts. He was impressed by her fierce protectiveness but the physical and psychological abuse she had administered during those years on the run – regardless of her motives – was unforgivable. He didn’t share those thoughts with Neil; Neil didn’t need that.
“Sometimes,” Neil rasped, “I forget. Not how she looked, but how she used to be. Before we ran.” Neil’s voice wobbled. “She really loved me, Andrew. I made her life hell but she fought for me until it killed her. I killed her…”
“Neil.” Andrew’s voice was hard. “Shut up and open the door.”
There was a shocked silence and then the lock turned, the door opening. Andrew stood and slipped inside, closing the door behind him and locking it again.
Neil crouched near the wall, his face red and tear-stained. A disorderly stack of pictures spilled over the carpet next to a letter written on fancy stationary. Andrew saw the name Stuart Hatford inscribed at the top in black embossing.
Neil’s head was bent, his attention on the pictures. His hands were fisted at his sides, the knuckles white and pressed into the carpet. His back heaved and Andrew couldn’t tell if he was hyperventilating or silently sobbing. Neither were good.
Andrew knelt down by Neil and looked at the pictures. The top one was a Polaroid and it showed a very young Neil – his eyes blue and his hair auburn – wrapped in the arms of a petite woman. Neil was wearing a jersey and both he and his mother were smiling widely for the camera. They looked no different from the people in the background of the shot – just a mother cheering on her son. Andrew picked it up and read the back. There was a date and the score from the game with a brief notation saying that Nathaniel’s team had won. The next picture was another Polaroid, this time of baby Nathaniel wrapped up tight, his tiny head resting on Mary’s shoulder. Mary’s gaze was on Nathaniel, her look one of fierce, quiet love. It made Andrew feel sick.
“Andrew.”
Neil was staring at him, his bloodshot eyes red-rimmed and watery.
“I’m sorry,” Neil whispered. Tears spilled from his eyes and his face pulled into a twisted, wrenching expression that Andrew had never seen.
“What?” Andrew reached for Neil, grabbing the back of his neck and squeezing. He wanted to drag Neil into a crushing hug, to do anything to make him stop looking like that.
“I’m sorry,” Neil repeated slowly. “I shouldn’t have said that… about my mom. I wasn’t thinking about you.” A strangled sob escaped Neil’s lips and he bit his lower lip hard.
“Oh Neil.” Andrew gave into his impulse and pulled Neil to him, cradling Neil’s head against his chest. “Don’t you fucking dare cry for me.”
Neil sobbed quietly. “I… can’t… help it.”
“I don’t regret killing my mother,” Andrew said calmly. “And I don’t resent you for having a mother who loved you.” He swallowed down all of his bitter feelings about Mary and her failure to protect Nathaniel when they lived with Nathan, and for the punishment she had doled out until Neil was morbidly afraid of extending trust or accepting love.
Neil shuddered and lifted his head, looking up at Andrew. “How can you say that?” he cried. “That you don’t resent me… I feel like shit just talking to you about it.”
Andrew held in a sigh and stroked Neil’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead. “I’ve had a lot of therapy,” he said dryly. “You should try it.”
Neil let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry. “Bee would love that. I’d be the perfect cliché, crying about my mommy issues.”
Andrew pinched Neil’s lips shut. “Shitting on yourself is not a good look, Neil,” he said. He released his hold and smoothed his thumb over Neil’s lower lip. “Your issues are valid. Your relationship with your mom was pretty fucked up but you don’t need me to tell you that.”
Neil frowned like he wanted to argue. Instead he reached for the pictures. The last one, the one Andrew hadn’t seen, showed Mary and Nathaniel on a carousel. Nathaniel looked to be about 3. His small, chubby hands were wrapped around the pole and Mary was close beside him, her arms wrapped protectively around him.
“It was my birthday,” Neil said. He touched the photo. “Nathan was out of town, I don’t really remember. My mom took me to this park. One of the security people took the picture. It was the last time we did something like that… I think Nathan must have made sure we didn’t have any more special mother and son outings.” Neil sighed and leaned against Andrew. “I always wondered, if not for me, would she have left him sooner? I’m sure she would still be alive, somewhere.”
Andrew swallowed and kissed Neil’s forehead. Such speculation was worse than useless and it would only lead to more wallowing. Andrew thought of all the things Bee had told him, all the things he could say right now. Instead he asked, “What did Stuart say in his letter?”
Neil sniffed and sat up, though he still leaned heavily against Andrew. “He wanted me to know how much my mom loved me and how he wished things had been different.” Neil gestured at the letter. “You can read it.”
Andrew shook his head. “I don’t need to. I just wanted to know if it was the letter or the pictures that made you cry.”
“All of it?” Neil said. He took a deep breath. “I’ve been mourning her all this time and I thought I had gotten past it but… I don’t think I ever cried for her. It was too much, at the time.”
“You cry as much as you need to,” Andrew said. He rocked Neil in his arms and kissed him again on the forehead. “You’ve held it in long enough, Neil.”
It was as if Neil had been waiting to hear those words. The cracks in his composure splintered and he held onto Andrew and let it all out.
Neil’s sobs were quiet and intense, wracking his entire body. By the time Neil stopped, he was exhausted. Andrew helped him up and guided him over to his bed. Neil curled up on the mattress and Andrew tugged the blankets over his shoulders.
Andrew brushed Neil’s hair back one more time and leaned over to kiss him. “Want me to stay?” he asked quietly. Neil nodded, his tired eyes already closed. “Okay.”
Andrew got in bed behind Neil and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him. It wasn’t long before Neil was asleep, his breathing deep and even. Andrew wanted to sleep, badly, but his brain wouldn’t let him. He felt wrung out and wired at the same time, and was thankful that his weekly appointment with Bee was happening tomorrow. He had a lot of shit to work through. In the meantime he tried to push his racing thoughts away and be present. He closed his eyes and let Neil’s steady breathing guide him to sleep.