“When I think back on high school, this is what I’m going to remember,” he says. “I’m going to remember being here with you. I wanted to be at the center of the universe, you know?”
“This is hardly the center of the universe,” I point out.
“But for you it is!” he says. “Both of you!”
“Well, I’m losing it, too. You’ll head off to college, and when you get back, this whole place will be gone. Say goodbye now, while you can.”
Jason looks like he’s about to cry. And I’m thinking, There’s no way this place can mean that much to him. Then he says, “Aw, Sam—you poor thing,” and I understand he’s sad for me now.
This lasts a few seconds. Then he goes back to being sad for himself.
“You will always be my first boyfriend,” he says, moving in for another hug.
I hold my hand out in front of me, to stop the embrace from happening.
“I wasn’t your first boyfriend,” I remind him.
He takes my hand and moves it to the side of his hip.
“But you were the first one who mattered.”
He’s looking me in the eye as he says this, and I look away. There’s some cheering from the living room. I have no idea what’s going on.
Jason’s moving in again. “We still have a couple of weeks…,” he murmurs.
“But we don’t.” I move a decisive distance away. “We really don’t.”
I can’t stand how when you hurt someone, the odds are good you’ll have to keep hurting them again and again until they become numb to it, indifferent to it. I didn’t invite Jason over here tonight to hurt him. I thought this conversation had been completed months ago. But now I see we’re going to have some form of it for many years to come.
“Give me one reason we can’t try,” he says.
And because I want to end this smaller conversation even if I can’t end the bigger one, I say, “Because I like Johan. Because I am trying things out with him.”
This does not go over well. Jason guffaws, stumbles back.
“Johan? Do you realize you’re going after #Stantastic’s sloppy seconds?”
“I didn’t know they’d been together until tonight.”
“Oh, wow. Then you have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you? Do you have any idea what he did to Stan?”
“I’m sure I would have read about it.”
“You did read about it, Sam! Don’t you get it? Johan is #TheDictator!”
I look at him blankly.
“With a k,” he clarifies. “#TheDicktator.”
“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?”
“Jesus, Sam! #Stantastic’s only been griping about #TheDicktator for months. #ThePassiveAggressiveOlympics? #TheDevilAteAllMyPringles? #Couldn’tBreakHisHeart BecauseHeNeverHadOne? Haven’t you been following any of this?
I shake my head.
“That was Johan. #TheDicktator was Johan. He’s, like, a dating no-fly zone. He didn’t just gaslight #Stantastic—he gasbonfired him.”
“That’s not a thing. Gasbonfiring is not a thing.”
“You know what I mean!” Now it’s Jason’s turn to shake his head. “Man, I thought you knew. I was expecting #Stantastic to show up and, like, drown him in molasses on Facebook Live.”
“It sounds like Johan’s version of events is a little different from Stan’s.”
“Because he’s a liar!”
“He said Stan was the one who was passive-aggressive.”
“Lies!”
“How do you know? Were you there?”
“No. #TheDicktator wouldn’t let #Stantastic introduce him to any of his friends. How else could they have dated for so long without us knowing?”
“Maybe Stan was the one keeping the secret,” I argued.
“Have you ever, EVER known #Stantastic to keep a secret?!? And, let’s face it, he may be dramatic, but #Stantastic is not a liar. I can see you still don’t believe me.” Jason reaches for his phone and comes up empty. “As soon as I get my phone back, I can show you what #Stantastic’s said over the past few weeks. Then you can decide.”
“The past few weeks?” I say. “I thought they broke up a while ago.”
“Maybe to someone who has no heart…but to someone who has a heart, whose heart has been broken—it’s practically yesterday.”
Jason is biased. I must keep telling myself that Jason is biased.
He goes on. “How well do you know him, really?” Then he comes back closer. “I know you much, much more.”
“URRRRRR!” I shout, crossing my arms in front of me. And once I do it once, I can’t stop. “URRRRRR! URRRRRR! URRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!”
It’s a shockingly effective way to repel an ex-boyfriend. He stumbles back, looks a little green. Then he recovers his footing. But his expression…still a little green.
“Oh shit,” he says. Then, without another word, he bolts to the bathroom.
“The toilet, not the sink!” I yell out. Then I follow at his heels, in time to see him make it to the porcelain throne. He retches. And retches. Then pukes his guts out.
“Oh, Jason,” I say gently, kneeling beside him. He doesn’t have any hair to hold back, so I stay there and hand him a wet washcloth when he’s done.
“I don’t feel too good,” he moans.
I pat him on the back. Flush. Get him a towel. Let him slump against me.
“He’s evil,” he mutters.
“Yeah, I’m sure this is all Johan’s fault. He has a voodoo doll of you and is sticking a needle down its throat right now.”
“He’s a dicktator!”
“Understood.”
“I couldn’t leave without one more party here,” Jason says.
“I know, I know,” I tell him. “Because this is the last one. This is it. It’s over.”
It feels strange to say it. And even as I’m saying it, I’m still not sure what it really means.
“It’s hard to think of you without it.” Jason slumps against the bathroom wall. “It’s hard to imagine you without this fortress.”
“It’s not a fortress. It’s an apartment.”
“But the two of you made it a fortress. And neither of you have any plans to leave.”
I start to protest, but Jason waves me quiet.
“No, no,” he goes on, “let me speak. You two have always been impen…inpend…”
“Impenetrable?”
“Exactly! We all know you should be going to Berklee, right?”
Not this again. “No,” I say. “Just because you’re going to Tufts and you wanted us to stay together, it doesn’t mean I
