Page 42 of That's Not a Thing

“It’s just about the worst story I’ve ever heard, and I see a lot of ugly,” Aaron says.

I look toward the dark night outside his oversize windows, twinkling city lights framing the view, as I absorb the weight of Aaron’s words.

“It’s like he’s cursed,” Aaron continues. “Losing his parents, then you, then his health and his restaurant. I just ...” He pauses, and I can’t guess what he’s thinking. “I’m glad you’re there for him. It’s the right thing to do.” I get the sense that he’s speaking to himself as much as to me, trying to convince us both.

“I had an idea that maybe is a little too crazy, but I wanted to get your opinion.”

He raises his dark eyebrows and nods, waiting.

“I was thinking we should offer to have Wesley stay here with us.” My words are coming in a rush. “In the spare bedroom. Obviously, it would only be temporary, until he needs to go into a facility or whatever. But I think it would really improve his quality of life for the time he has left.”

Aaron blinks a couple of times and shoots me a good-natured smirk, like he thinks I’m joking around.

“No, seriously.” I hold on to his dark eyes with mine, trying to show him that I mean it.

He squints at me for a second and then asks, “Are you insane?”

I don’t tell him that Wesley also squinted at me and called me insane.

“No, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I really think it makes sense. I hate to say it, but I think the two of you would really get along well, and we are kind of the only people he has. It’d be a real mitzvah,” I add, playing on the Jewish phrase for good deeds, the expression Aaron’s mother uses so often when she’s talking to him.Invite Dad to a Yankees game; it’d be a real mitzvah. You should call and check on your brother in Colorado; it’d be a real mitzvah. Help me with the dishes; it’d be a real mitzvah.Now I’m just adding,Let me shack up with my ex-boyfriend; it’d be a real mitzvah.

Aaron looks away from me and fixates on the television across from us, which is not currently on. He stares at the dark screen, and I can see him processing my suggestion as clearly as if he were a kid disassembling a Lego project, piece by piece, to see how it works.

“You just want to put him up in the spare bedroom?” he asks, without anger but with palpable curiosity.

I nod, and I can see his next question forming already. “And who’s going to take care of him?”

Loud sirens pass beneath the window while I process Aaron’s question. “Well, he doesn’t really need anyone yet,” I offer. “I mean, he’s still living entirely on his own. When he starts to really need help, we can both help him. Until we can’t.”

“And you think he’s going to just come and live with your new fiancé, like he’ll think that’s an improvement over his current situation?”

“No, he already said he doesn’t want to do that, but I thought if you asked him, instead of me, he might go for it.”

“Wait, you already suggested this to him?” His head whips toward me. “Without talking to me?”

Shit.

“Well, I thought of it when I went to see him and just kind of blurted it out, but I would never have actually finalized it without getting your blessing. Of course not.”

“Jesus, Mer. You can’t just invite some guy to come live with us. Your ex-fiancé, the great love of your life, who has been too precious to even discuss with me until recently. You just ask him to come and live in your spare bedroom. Christ, maybe you want me to take the spare room so he can share the bedroom with you. Better yet, maybe I should just get out altogether. Is that what you want?”

“No, Aaron, no!” My voice has risen to match his. “He was a big part of my life, okay? And he’s dying. Wanting to help him has nothing to do with my feelings for you. Of course, I don’t want to replace you.” I argue hard, hoping that I actually believe what I’m saying.

“I don’t know, Mer,” he says, more quietly, resignation in his voice. “Am I just the consolation prize because the guy you really want is dying?”

“No!” I shout back at him, as if what he has suggested is entirely ridiculous, as if it’s never crossed my mind, as if I haven’t been wondering the exact same thing myself for months already. “How could you even say that? What I had with Wesley is so long over and done with, and it doesn’t begin to compare with what I have with you. Yes, Wesley was a huge part of my life, and I loved him, for sure, but it was an immature love based on excitement and fun, not on a true commitment to be with each other through the hardest days. It was nothing like what we have,” I repeat.

“Why?” he asks, challenging me. “What do we have?”

“Now you know you’re just fishing for compliments.” I’m trying to lighten the mood, but he just stares back at me, waiting. “We have”—I struggle to find the right words—“a deeper sense of sharing, of acceptance of each other’s flaws. We have the kind of love that makes the entire world seem like a better place. Like a place where you want other people to feel happy because it’s not fair that you should get to be so content while others suffer. We have the kind of love that makes us want to be better people, to do mitzvahs.” As I finish speaking, I realize that I mean every word of what I’ve said, that I’ve been allowing my passion for Wesley to taint my recent perception of Aaron, but that my college boyfriend kind of can’t hold a candle to the guy sitting beside me. The guilt that I’ve been pushing away suddenly comes at me like a tidal wave, and I feel sick at how disloyal I’ve been, even if only inside my own head.

I reach out to Aaron and kiss him. He’s stiff for a moment, rigid, but then he relents, softening and kissing me back. As our tongues mingle and I breathe in his warm, clean scent, I feel my body react, but I pull back because I have more to say.

“I’m so sorry. Forget it.” The words tumble out of me. “Forget I ever suggested that he move in. I just want you to be happy. To be comfortable. It was a stupid suggestion, a dumb idea that I never should have voiced aloud. Just forget it, please.”

“No, stop it,” he tells me, reaching out to push a strand of wayward hair behind my ear. “It wasn’t a dumb suggestion. Unexpected, maybe. A little unconventional of you, for sure. But it’s part of what I love about you, your consistent desire to help people, your ability to look beyond the confines of standard behavior. I think we should do it.”

“What?” I feel myself blanch. “No, seriously, forget it.” Now I don’t want it. I don’t want Wesley to be in such close proximity to us, clouding my judgment like he has since the day I found him back in New York, blurring my love for Aaron. I regret that I ever mentioned it.