Just Friends - Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Ethan's POV
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
"Nope." Jake blurted, slouching heavily next to me on his couch with one of his sock covered feet on the mahogany coffee table and the other dangling to the ground. Hair ruffled, shirtless and in the early stages of developing a beer gut, he stared straight at the television screen as he continued, "I'm going to do what all men should do and bury it under cheap beer and ignore it until it goes away."
I scrounged my nose, "Well, first, you're barley have hair on your balls and second, cheap beer," I poked his growing gut, "leads to expensive weight loss programs."
He belched, "I've just been eating a lot lately." He countered.
I blinked, "You're eating because you're depressed, which is by far the most non-manly way of dealing with feelings in the history of manliness."
He blew out hot air, sarcastically so and rolled his eyes. "I'm not depressed, E." he paused, making sure to keep his eyes on the television, even if the show had ended and a rather explicit explanation of how to use tampons was currently being aired. "I just miss her a little."
"Because you liked her."
"I didn't-" he stopped once he noticed just how worked up that little sentence got him and recoiled back to his uninterested tone of voice. "I didn't like her," he obviously lied, "It's just weird not having her around and having to be the 'dad' of the group after she left."
Jake had arguably been off his game as of late; whether or not that is due to Karla being gone and him not having anyone to bicker with (which was a stretch) was the so-called reason, it was still disheartening to see my best mate so down. And Jake being Jake, anything remotely involving feelings was strictly off limits as a topic of discussion when it came to him.
I could talk about mine, hell, Russo could talk about his, but his own were always to be a mystery and were always supposed to be suppressed and kept down. Even at the camp fire confessions when he admitted to me that he felt kind of betrayed when I started hanging out with Spencer more often and him having to make new friends (enter Russo) was delivered in a voice marinated head to toe in nonchalance. He even shrugged it off when I apologized for my unknowing behavior.
And ironically, unlike Spencer and Russo, whom of which I've known for less time, I couldn't for the life of me distinguish his major facial expressions. It was either happy or uninterested. And while his uninterested face acted as varying different emotions just being masked away, it was hard to tell which negative emotion he was hiding. Whether it be nervousness, sadness or just genuine boredom has always been a toss-up.
"Stop bottling stuff up, Jake." I warned with the up most respect as not to offend him. "It's going to hurt you when it all comes out and then we're going to have to watch the Titanic to make you feel better."
He shivered, "I'm not watching that pansy film."
I rolled my eyes, "You know, every time you say something like that, I feel as though you have a problem with gay things."
His eyes finally left the screen and landed squarely on mine. "I'm not homophobic, Ethan."
"I never said that." I responded subtly, "I'm just telling you how I feel...or am I supposed to be an Iron Man as well."
He looked rather annoyed but refrained from rolling his eyes like he must have wanted to, "Fine. Let's talk about feelings." He paused to turn to face me. "Your feelings that is." I raised a brow and allowed him to continue. "How are you and Spence doing?"
"Great." I muttered. "That is, if great means the rolling of the eyes, passive aggressive remarks and a whole lot of insulting of my intellectual capabilities...even for him."
Jake snorted, "What did you expect? For him to be all guilty and accept that he's wrong?" he questioned, "It's Spencer Liam Haynes; in his mind he's as wrong as much times as the sky is green."
"As right as you are, I'm sure as hell not apologizing."
He leaned forward and grabbed one of the beer cans, opening it and taking a huge sip. "Well, you should."
"Fuck off, Jake." I scoffed. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"That means you did." He mocked. "Anytime a guy doesn't think he's done something wrong in a relationship, 9 times out of 10, that means he did."
"Spencer's a guy too, you know."
"My point exactly. He doesn't think he's done anything wrong and neither do you; which is why no one has apologized and you two have been stuck in relationship limbo for an entire week. Make-up already, he's leaving soon, you're going to be alone and you don't want to have a bunch of 'what-ifs' running through your head when that plane is roaring down a runway with him on board."
I blinked. Like, at least four times in quick succession. Jake has given really good advice over the years; that was sort of his thing but, that was by far the deepest he had yet to offer. It almost felt as if the advice wasn't just coming from what he believed...it felt as if it was something he experienced. "Have you and Karla ever-"
"No." he deflected, "And I'm not speaking about Karla anymore, Ethan. That ship has set sail; however, there is still time to stop you and Spence's ship from sinking." He sat up in the couch and threw the can somewhere on the floor near his feet. "Stop being a pansy and go and find him so you two can talk this out like maturing adults...you're seniors now."
I sighed defeated-ly and slouched in the couch. "So, what cheesy romantic notion do you suggest?"
He smirked, "You'll think of something, bro. But remember, you're man now, so...make it the manliest one you've ever done."
I rolled my eyes as I got up, surveying the dirty scene filled with titanium cans and emptied pizza boxes. "You may wanna clean this mess up before your dad and Stacy get back."
Jake shrugged, "I've got a day or two before they get back from their honeymoon so I'm in the clear for now." He held up a fist, "God Speed brother and good luck."
I slightly nodded, offering him one last smile before I grabbed my things, exited his home and headed for my place to think about what I was going to do to patch things up between Spence and I.
Driving this late at night wasn't something that I liked doing. The quietness of an empty road at allowed my mind to slip into unpleasant thoughts; much like when you're lying there in bed with your eyes to the ceiling and against your will your mind starts to contemplate every single awkward encounter, every single memory...every single bad decision that you've made.
And the worst part was that you couldn't stop it. No matter how much you tried, no matter many pillows you tried to smother yourself with. The voices in your head would still be whispering to you, the images in your head would still flash and you would still be left feeling like every single thing you've done has been wrong.
Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel wouldn't calm my mind down. I made the mistake of drinking orange juice while driving (I was late for school so I had to multi-task) and fried my radio, so the option of blasting pop music to drown out my conscience was out.
He's wrong, not you. It whispered. Why should you apologize when he was the one who messed up? It continued.
My first response was to agree with it. Spencer had hurt me and he was the one that lied to me. Why should I grovel to him? To keep him? I was already losing him.
By this time next year, he'd be in some fancy university and I'd be here still thinking about him and how much I missed him. I'd be a 'first love' story...and he'd be my 'love of my life' tale. I'd be his first kiss and he'd be my one that got away.
He'd be successful. And I'd be just...here.
Was all of this even worth it? Was Spencer worth all the fighting, the date planning and the falling in love just so I could lose him?
Whoever said It was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all was wrong. Really wrong.
"Damn it." I mumbled to myself, momentarily taking a hand off the wheel to run it through my hair. Spencer's pessimism had definitely started to rub off on me. I hardly pulled into the driveway with sense before I jumped out of the car and dragged myself inside.
Not unusual, Dad – gray hair, overly sized reading glasses and all – was sitting in the living room with today's paper in his hands. He worked long hours so he never actually got to read it the mornings like he wanted.
Once he caught a glimpse of me entering, he looked up at smiled. "Hey, kiddo." He patted the space next to him, "Come take a seat next your old man. The Yankees took quite the beating this week." He laughed.
I sighed, not just because of my situation but because my Dad had the horrible ability to turn any subject away from what we were originally talking about and twist it to his hate for the New York Yankees. "I can't right now, pop."
"Nonsense." He cheered. "If there is a problem, let me handle it."
"Dad." I groaned.
"Oh, come on." He laughed, patting the spot again, "I promise I won't get any baseball teams involved." I rolled my eyes and reluctantly dragged myself over to him and sat by him. He placed the paper next to him on the opposite side of the couch and stretched an arm across my shoulder. He turned to face me, "So, what's the problem? Football troubles, grades slipping...again?"
I shook my head. "No. Football is going great and my grades are surprisingly above average...or as above average as my grades can get."
Dad frowned, "Then what's the problem?"
I huffed. Did I really want to ask my dad for advice on this? I mean, he wasn't exactly Gandhi when it came to giving great advice that didn't involve plans to destroy the Yankees. But I took the shot of asking him anyway. "Dad, what is it to be a man?"
Dad furrowed is brows before they widened, "You're not thinking of joining the army are you?"
I blinked, "Uuuh, no."
He exhaled sharply, "Good. You sounded like me when I asked my Dad the same thing when I was eighteen and I wanted to join." His smile returned, but it was visibly less bright as the one it replaced. "Then why do you want to know?"
"Spencer is moving away and he didn't tell me and we kind of had a fight. Now," I huffed loudly, "I, as in me – Ethan – and not him, as in he – Spencer – has to come up with some cheesy notion to show that I'm sorry when I don't think it's my fault in the first place."
Dad narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and hummed under his breath. "You don't think you should apologize?"
"Nope."
"And you think he should?"
"Exactly." I blurted, "So, you agree?"
"Not exactly."
My face dropped, "So, you think I should do something for him?"
He shook his head, "Not exactly."
I stared at him for a minute or two. "Not what exactly?"
"Exactly nothing."
I blinked, "What's exactly?"
He raised his finger, "Nothing."
I huffed in annoyance, "Mom."
"Okay." He laughed, "Fine, fine. You want my advice?"
"Yes!" I wailed.
"You want to talk to Spencer about this and you want to tell him you're sorry and that he needs to take a little responsibility of this whole situation?"
"Yes." I answered a little meeker this time.
Dad smiled, chuckled lighting and shook his head admirably. "Then do it."
"Dad." I groveled, "I know that. I want to know how I should do it. Should I come up with some elaborate 'I'm sorry' scheme that will no doubt cause us to go bankrupt or should I just remain quiet until he figures out that he should since this is his fault?"
Dad blinked, "How about just going over there, knocking on his door and talking. No smoke screens, no love songs, no lines from movies. Just go there and talk."
I scoffed. Was I going to just bend over and allow Spence to let me be the only one to apologize? "I am not going to take the fall for this one while he gets off, Dad." I grumbled, "I had to make the first move in this relationship, I had to get the tattoo, I had to plan the dates. When is it going to be his turn to be a guy and do something for me?"
He snickered and pulled me to him a little closer, tightening the grip he had around my neck. "You know, you've done so many things before I did when I was your age that I keep forgetting that you're still sixteen. And at this age, your definition of a man is defined by what you see in movies and in books-"
"I don't read."
Dad paused and blinked, "Well then your definition of a man is defined by today's media – books not withstanding – and you think that bringing rose petals, standing in the rain and getting tattoos is some way to prove that you're a man. When I was a kid, being a man was about being open and honest, not beating around any bushes and saying what you felt needed to be said."
"That seems...hard." I muttered.
"That's why it's a man's job. Not saying that women can't do it either but, still. Of course, that's my generation's definition of being a man and understandably it has changed over the course of the years." He said. "So, if you want this old fart's advice, go and talk to Spencer...like men. Screw the gender roles that this society has taught you and talk as if you're both grown men...admit your faults and hope that he admits his."
I groaned and allowed my head to fall back onto his arm. "Will I ever figure out this 'being a man' thing?" I asked, picking back up my head to look him in the eyes.
Dad shrugged, "Probably not."
I furrowed my brows, "What do you mean probably not?"
"Let me put it like this: An Accountant will spend his...or her – to be politically correct – youth working up to be an Accountant. But, once he or she achieves his or her goal, the learning doesn't stop there; he..." he faded and motioned towards me.
It took me a while before finally catching on that he was waiting for me to finish the thought. "...Or she?"
He nodded. "...will continue to take exams even as an Accountant with a degree because things change and the learning process is never really over."
I blinked, "How does that analogy apply here?"
"I'm not sure." he retorted, "But you're a senior now and it's never too early to start thinking of wise career choices."
"Dad."
"I'm just saying." He snickered as the room fell into a comfortable silence. Dad took the chance to throw me one more reassuring smile before untying his arm from around my neck and ruffling my hair. "Now, go and make things right."
I raised a brow, "It's almost eleven at night."
He shrugged and picked back up his paper, "A man's gatta do what a man's gatta do." He looked up from it, "It's your call."
I smiled, "Thanks pops."
"Anytime, kiddo." He mumbled and dove back into his paper, "Did you know that one-fifth of the Yankees are not even American and the fourth are not even human?"
I rolled my eyes and stood, "Whatever, Dad."
"I'm just saying." He muttered as I started to walk out of the room to the front door, "They're out there!"
I neglected to respond and elected to just grab my keys, my jacket and hopped back into my car.
The drive of Spencer was predictably quiet; only this time my mind wasn't bombarded by pessimistic thoughts or constant revaluation if what I was doing was wrong. Not that they weren't there, because they were, but they were so fleeting and so soft that I could practically hear my tires rotating.
I was determined to talk with Spence and get out what I had to. No surprises, no romance...just talk this out and see where things would lead us. What our future held and if our love was one worth fighting for.
By the time my car had come to a stop at his curb, it was well after twelve and all the lights were off.
Except one.
Second story.
First window to the left.
Half cracked and blinds still open and still brightly illuminated. Spencer must've been practicing for that debate I overheard him and Mathew discussing at lunch. I wanted to ask him what it was all about but we were too busy rolling eyes and ignoring one another.
I spat at that silliness; one that the both of us were stupid for allowing to go on for an entire week. And so, I climbed the steps to his veranda and to his front door and pounded brazenly loud and boisterous and harsh and not a single fuck was given. I wanted him to hear it and it wasn't long before someone did.
I could hear footsteps loudly stomp against the Haynes' polished wooden floors as whomever charged towards the door. And in a manner that it could only have been one person.
The door swung open and his eyes tore into mine, not hiding any anger. "What the hell, Ethan! It's friggin' midnight!" he boomed and if he didn't look so adorable with his tussled honey hair, and over sized t-shirt that almost hid his striped boxers, I might have been thinking of yelling back him rather than jumping him.
"I know what time it is, Spencer and who even opens the door at 12:midnight? I could have been a psycho murderer."
He rolled his eyes, "Last time I checked, Jason Voorhees didn't exactly bang on front doors." He chided before folding his arms, "What are you doing here anyway?" he narrowed his eyes and stepped out fully onto the porch. He briskly walked to the edge of it and looked out into the street before spinning back around. "I swear, Ethan if you have some damn marching band out here to say sorry-"
"I don't." I retorted, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I'm here to talk to you like a mature adult."
He folded his arms, looking over skeptical and just plain amused. "You mean like this entire week?"
"Hey," I defended, "that was half your fault too, you know."
"I never said it wasn't." He retorted, "At least I have the decency to allow you to cool off before I talked to you."
"It's been a week...I think we've both pretty much thawed and are just being cold towards one another now. And that's something we can't afford since time is moving by really damn quickly. So I'm sorry."
He narrowed his eyes, "For what?"
"Not ending this stupid fight when I had the chance. Instead of spending time together, we've been spending it rolling our eyes and ignoring the elephant in the room. You're moving away and we have limited time left."
"I'm not ignoring it, Ethan." He snapped before frowning and taking a seat on the swing seat that Mrs. Haynes had put up next to the door and the ferns. "How can I? Mom and Dad are constantly talking about what neighborhood seems best – ignoring me by the way – and I'm just locked up in my room looking at a clock that ticking way too quickly." He sighed, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about me moving but it was really too difficult to."
His frown nearly broke me. I took a seat on this swing next to him and intertwined my right hand fingers with his left ones. "I know it must have been hard and I'm sorry for acting the way I have been this week...I guess since you forgave me for the whole Austin thing rather quickly, I should forgive you as well."
He still didn't look at me. "So, what now? Is this even worth fighting for?" his glossy eyes met mine, "I'm moving away, E. I don't want to but I am and I don't..." he exhaled shakily, eyes glistening with tears and hands shaking just slightly, "I don't want to leave."
He broke away from my fingers and slowly wrapped them around my neck, turning at an angle so that his chest could fall into mine. I twisted as well to make him more comfortable and allowed his head to fall into the corner of my neck. "I want to stay here with my friends, and graduate and have kids with you and name them silly names. I don't want to move to New York and away from everything I know..." he paused to breathe, "I want to stay here with you...forever."
Hesitantly, my arms slithered around Spencer's back and allowed him to just sit there. It was odd to see and hear Spencer so vulnerable and so emotional. He might have had his moments, but I hardly would get passed shallow waters with him when it came to what he was feeling. And to hear him speak of things he himself said were silly and impossible was...shocking.
I didn't want to upset him more with my pet peeve of doing the "guy things" in the relationship. After all, I knew what I was getting myself into when I started dating him in the first place. I knew Spence was a lot softer than the rest of us (kind of the reason why I fell for him)..I shouldn't just expect him to change based on gender stereotypes like Dad said.
I should just accept him for him...like he has accepted that I'm going to screw up sometimes. He's forgiven me well over the limit any one ever will. So I decided to forgive him for this one mistake and not hold anything against him. He was dealing with enough and I just wanted to spend as much happy times with him as possible. And if that meant accepting the quirks about our relationship and accepting that he'd make mistakes, I accept it.
Like a man would.