"I don't like it when Derek worries either. You and I have a lot in common, I think."
I hear an "Oh," behind me and turn to see Gary has joined us. "He's not here," Gary tells me.
The way he says it sends chills down my spine. "Is it already time for that fucking cruise?" I ask. How the fuck am I supposed to get to him there, and who the hell will I have to kill for putting their hands on him?
"No. He went to Cypress Grove. He's going to visit his uncle and then teach another dance class. It doesn't start for about an hour. I was going to go and try to fill in because he needs a partner … "
"No he doesn't," I tell Gary. "He already has one."
34
Derek
"You're doing real good, Uncle Randy," I say as I lead him through a waltz around the room with a few other people who have partnered off during my lesson.
He smiles as he glances around, following my movements.
He's not doing an amazing job. Not like he would have back in the day, but he's not freaking out even when he missteps-probably because I'm doing my best to compensate for any issues that pop up.
"Thank you," he says. "This is so much fun."
"I'm happy to do it. I'm with my favorite uncle in the whole world, remember?"
"I'm your only uncle. But you should be out spending some time with your friends."
This is the Uncle Randy that's easier to deal with. He's lucid. Clear-minded. He isn't in the fog that sometimes overtakes him. It makes it easier for me to relax on a night like this.
"It's a good thing you don't get to decide what I do with my time."
He steps on my foot and then looks down. "Oopsies."
He glances around, I can tell struggling to figure out where we went wrong.
"Come here," I say, pulling him toward the middle of the room so the other dance partners can move around us. "It's fine. Everything's fine, Uncle Randy."
"No, it's not," he says. "I know that much still."
He looks at me, worry in his eyes.
"Now why do you have to make my dance lesson so sad?" Hearing his own acknowledgment of what's wrong tears me apart, and again with the fucking tears I've felt running down my face far too many times since I walked away from Jackson.
"Don't cry," he says. "Why are you sad?"
It all hits me like a brick. Here I am, standing in Cypress Grove with my uncle who's steadily slipping away, after having pushed away the only man who's meant anything to me in a very long time.
"I just … I get so scared because I don't want you to leave me," I admit.
"We all gotta go sometime."
His words crush my spirit because they remind me of the very thing that I so desperately want to ignore-something that's always there, lingering in the back of my mind.
"Everyone leaves at some point," he says.
His words remind me of Tim, and the thought makes me wonder if in his mind, we're in a time where Tim is still with him, which makes me cry even more.
"You just have to hold on to the good parts for as long as you can."
"If only you knew."
"You're mad about Tim, aren't you?"
And I'm stunned he remembered right now. It's been one of the least consistent things that he's been able to recall recently, but then again, with his disease, these memories come and go-seemingly randomly-so that it's hard to pin down what's left and what's gone forever.
"I'm not happy about what he did," he says, "but we had good times together. Amazing times. And even though I get mad at him for leaving, I don't regret having spent all those years with him. Having had such incredible experiences. And he was a good fuck, too."
I laugh. Oh God. I'm laughing and crying.
"I may be gone, but you won't be," he says. "And you have to find a way to make the best of the time you have."
All I can think about right now is Jackson and how I pushed him away that night at Flirt.
That's what it was really about, and somewhere deep down, I've known that this whole time. Because like Uncle Randy or Christian, people always leave me. I'm always on my own, having to fend for myself. And considering what I felt for Jackson, how I was falling so hard for him, I knew it was going to be too much if we kept going.
So why put myself through the pain and hurt?
But Uncle Randy's right.
I have to hold on to the good, but I didn't. I let it slip right through my fingers. And now look at where I am. Without my Jackson.
"God, I'm so stupid sometimes," I tell Uncle Randy.