It was lunchtime before the front door opened to admit Josh. Emery didn't need a bigger hint than that, that the night had gone well for him. Not that Emery's night hadn't gone well, albeit in a different sense — he'd just gotten off the phone with someone who might need to retain his services.
"Josh," he acknowledged, stilted. The rapport they'd built over the last few months had vanished without a trace.
Josh seemed as ill at ease as Emery felt. "Emery," he replied in the same vein.
This was usually where Emery would ask if Josh wanted to eat something, but the thought of dredging up the previous night's marinara sauce was enough to make him nauseous. He sat, suspended, not knowing what to do. Turning back towards his laptop would look dismissive; maintaining his eyes on Josh, failing to resist the urge to search for signs his clothes had been hastily shed the previous night, would be contemptible.
Moved to action, Josh disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Emery to wonder if he ought to remain at the counter or hide in his bedroom once again. He didn't so much make up his mind as he ran out of time — less than half an hour went by before Josh reemerged, bags packed.
"I'm going to a client tomorrow, but, I'm, erm... not staying tonight. Call if you need anything while I'm gone."
The previous night must have gone better than well, for Josh to sleep elsewhere for two nights in a row. Emery hated the kind of empty pain he felt, hearing the door close.
He couldn't stay home right now, couldn't eat the remains of a dinner that had cost him so much, or force himself to cook while knowing Josh would have been there pestering him for leftovers, if the night had gone differently. A walk through the neighborhood would do him well, he decided as he closed his laptop and fetched his keys.
The keychain Josh had made for him never failed to bring a smile to his lips, or to bring to life an impossible ache mixed in with yearning. He ran his fingertips over it in a caress, wishing he could go back to that night in his office and do everything differently.
Unrequited love tended to be blatantly unfair on a cosmic scale. Two people at different moments in their lives, wanting different things, except what one of them wanted was the other one. No one's fault. A joke, made at the expense of humanity by an indifferent universe.
Love that was only unrequited because one person had destroyed any hope for it was much harder to stomach. Much harder to move past. It was someone's fault — his own. Some days he had the horrifying impulse to go to Josh, to ask if there would ever be a conceivable chance of earning his forgiveness. How could there be, when Josh wasn't interested in an apology, when he refused to ever revisit the subject?
No. His decision from the previous night felt clearer, solidified overnight. Emery wouldn't repay Josh's kindness by turning what was already an awkward cohabiting situation into an untenable one. He'd already driven him to seek a client before he was well and truly ready. His overly needy behavior stopped here.
His thoughts always turned circular where Josh was concerned. Today would be different.
Emery had always been good at planning, at devising winning strategies. Grief and listlessness had made him lose sight of that for too long, but Josh had offered him a second chance at life, at everything but a romantic relationship with him. He was going to take that chance with both hands, starting now.
On his very first morning here, Josh had mentioned how Emma had never had a choice. Emery had been too numb to really let the words sink in, but they'd stuck with him regardless. He had to be worthy of being the one to have lived. That meant more than surviving, more than financial independence and an existence trapped in a self-imposed bubble, removed from all that might hurt.
It wouldn't be the first time he moved past what he'd never get back. Wouldn't be the first time he'd have to rebuild pieces of himself in the wake of something unthinkable, except, that first time, he'd done it all by himself, convinced he didn't need anyone's help. He'd do better this time. Seek professional help as soon as he could afford to, delve into his psyche, rebuild the right way. He'd make Josh proud.
He'd do Emma's memory justice.
Even trapped in a wheelchair, communication constrained by a mouth that wasn't the best at conveying her meaning, she'd been freer and happier than Emery had allowed himself to be in a very, very long time. Freedom was something to look forward to, to reclaim.
And then, at some point, when he'd checked all the other boxes, maybe there'd be someone waiting for him. Someone new, whose love he'd be worthy of, whose trust he wouldn't betray.
Maybe in a few years he could laugh it off with Josh, how hopelessly Emery had pined for him before both of them had met whatever men they ended up with. Friendship.
He'd get there. With more pain than he'd have liked and less than he'd have feared, no doubt, but he'd get there.
When Emery noticed his surroundings, he realized he was farther away from home than he'd realized. He'd pay more attention on the way back — find small businesses, go in, see if his particular skillset might be put to use.
It was time to take back control of his life.
One step at a time.
#
He'd had some luck hunting for paying jobs, and word had spread of his budget-balancing skills and his reasonable prices. More than a little work had gone into juggling that with his volunteering; it wasn't something Emery would ever want to stop doing. Awareness, once granted, couldn't be taken away.
For most of the teenagers he tutored at the shelter, he was a bore. A meddling, stuck up adult who insisted on math. It wasn't a role he minded much, in all honesty. He'd never pretended to be congenial, and no one in their right mind would ever mistake him for such. As long as he could coax them into learning, into improving at whatever rhythm their particular set of circumstances would allow, he felt a sense of accomplishment.
Then there were the exceptions, the ones who made it so much more than simply worthwhile. The ones like Susan, who'd already seen too much, endured too much, but who was a prodigy developing right in front of his eyes. Whose ability had been falling by the wayside before Emery had started teaching there, not because of any deliberate malice but because no one there operated at quite her level of mathematical innovation.
She'd been bored out of her mind, failing at math because she was better than anyone who'd ever taught her. Emery wouldn't be able to teach her much longer, certainly no more than a year or two before she easily surpassed his ability. But he could foster it now, and he could find alternatives in the long run. Already he'd begun reaching out, sending some of her work to the very few people who'd be able to continue having something to teach her. Hoping to pave an easier, more fulfilling future for her.
People might find it strange, that he'd connected with her. That he'd see past her rudeness, the crass words, the open hostility. That she'd work on the exercises he set for her despite appearing to hold no respect for him. He knew pretense when he saw it. She reminded him of Emma at times, or what Emma might have been if she'd grown up without the love and support of their parents. After her death he'd been convinced he had nothing else left to offer anyone. He wasn't convinced anymore.
He hoped with all his might she'd go on to do great things, Susan. Newsworthy things, impossible mathematical advances that would force her parents to face their daughter's accomplishments when they turned on the news. That would make them look up and take notice of the child they'd cast out because she'd refused to conform to their idea that her genitals ought to define her identity.
And it filled his soul, filled him with something other than the overwhelming longing he felt whenever he remembered he could have had Josh by his side, could have had a genuine relationship with the man he loved. It filled his soul with pride in someone else, with a renewed sense of purpose, of self-worth.
Like a line from a Walt Whitman poem, the powerful play went on, and Emery was allowed to contribute a verse.
#
Some things pertaining to his newfound realization were easier to accomplish than others.
The idea that he wouldn't be able to reclaim the camaraderie he'd had with Josh before the sauce incident was never far from his mind. A sharp needle lodged in a heart that was slowly learning to beat again.
If he ever got another chance at being Josh's friend, he'd do better. It had been two weeks since he'd last seen him, since he'd had the privilege of looking into his beautiful gray eyes, of witnessing his warm, easy smile, or the way he'd run his fingers through his hair and hold it in a mock ponytail when he was agitated. Emery loved the way Josh's shoulder-length hair framed his face, but he loved the chance to feast his eyes on the curve of his jawline no less.
He forced himself to concentrate on the numbers. The work he was doing at the moment wasn't due for another week, but he had the time. Dwelling on what Josh might or might not allow him to reclaim would accomplish nothing.
As if summoned by his thoughts, the front door opened to admit the very man he hadn't been able to stop thinking of.
Emery had spent many moments simply looking at Josh, both openly and surreptitiously. An exponential number of moments had been spent remembering every one of those interactions. It was hardly surprising, then, that he could see the invisible weight forcing Josh's shoulders and cheeks down, the tightening of lines that had nothing to do with laughter around his eyes. Emery would give him whatever he might need, even if there was no part of him that didn't wish he'd be the very thing Josh would need.
Time to start living up to his resolution of doing better.