Page 13 of Yours, For Good

You care, Mr. B.! Enough to send me flowers and a handwritten card. I could never explain how much that means to me. I've been feeling desperately lonely, the kind that doesn't have to do with having people physically around, but not having people who truly know me.

I don't know if I'll ever have someone I can freely text and call and invite for dinner; someone who wants to spend time with me, and celebrate my victories with me, and hug me when I'm sad. Maybe Sally and I will get there one day, and I'll get to call her my good friend and be in her bridal party if she ever marries. But I can't tell her yet the full truth of who I am. With you, I don't have to overcome that, because you

already know so much. The fact that you're out there thinking about me gives me some comfort when I'm alone at night.

Nora

PS: I've attached a picture of your card on my desk. I put it there to remind me that you do read my emails, and as encouragement when I'm working on the program.

PPS: You signed the card as Mr. Beanpole but I've also been calling you Mr. B., for short. It's mostly because I can't call you by the same name as that silly British actor who grumbled and made funny faces but, I have to admit— I started imagining you look a bit like him, mole and all!!!

Javier

I COULDN'T SLEEP. ALONE at home, I tossed and turned in bed, plagued by thoughts of the flowers I'd sent Nora and her response.

I didn't regret the flowers, but a small voice in my head said that I should. The action had broken my own rules of engagement. For a moment, I'd convinced myself that it wasn't really any different than the watch I'd anonymously gifted some of the previous students upon graduation; it had just come earlier. And I had needed to do something to let her know she wasn't completely alone.

But it had been risky. It didn't seem like a good idea to jeopardize the future of this program in any way, when there was little to be gained in the name of future participants. The opposite, really— too many people's futures would be at risk if she found out who I was.

On the other hand, Nora. She was lonely. She struggled with the dynamics at the incubator, and I was responsible for that, too. Perhaps the others had felt the same, but they hadn’t opened up to me like Nora had.

A lose/lose situation. The trolley problem, but with real life people.

I rubbed my face and groaned. Fuck. What to do? I couldn't imagine my life without Gabe, Max, and Jake, but Nora had no one to rely on like I had with my friends.

She deserved better than what I had offered to date. Money and access were so little, compared to what she craved. I had to find something to make this easier for her.

With a sigh, I reached for my phone on the nightstand and opened the notes app. If I couldn't sleep, at least I could plan an email to draw new lines and extend some meager comfort.

Dear Nora, I typed.

I've decided to break my own rules and write to you because I feel bad

Woah. What a way to center myself.

The whole point was to offer something that might help her. Really, if I could, I'd offer friendship. It was what she really wanted and I was good at it, if my chosen family were any indication… but that seemed too high an ask from her, considering the situation. When she was sick and lonely she'd said it herself— how could friendship develop when I paid for her food?

But if friendship were on the table…

Dear Nora,

I feel I should set the record straight. One, I'm not old, and the man from that English TV show and I don't really hold any resemblance, beyond both of us having dark hair

Shit. That didn't sound funny and teasing, but entitled. I deleted it, too.

The cursor blinked on the screen for a couple of minutes, mocking me. After another minute, I rolled my eyes and locked the phone; I threw it on the bed. With a scoff, I rolled to my side and tucked myself tight in the sheets.

There was too much of a power imbalance for me as the sponsor compared to her as the student for this to go anywhere else but mentorship. And the program already offered several of those.

Nora was right. I couldn't offer friendship as Mr. B.

But as Javier…

What a dangerous thought.

Yes, changing the boundaries and rules of the personal scholarship could only lead to problems in the future. Best to let that continue as planned. The incubator program would only take a few more months; after it was over, Nora would be able to step into the world free of people like Julia and those who believed she didn't belong. She could focus on her business and create her own world with the people she liked.

But if any degree of friendship were on the table, me as Javier could offer something simpler than Mr. B. ever could. She could get to know me for who I was, without the weight of the sponsorship arrangement. She could make up her mind about me and take— or not— a friendly acquaintanceship to keep her company for the next few months. It would offer her someone else in her life who wouldn't judge her, or ask her what she was, and would encourage her and cheer for her as she went on with her plans.