No Right to Be Jealous

Gavin came over that evening with our presentation grade and a bag of sour candy.

“We passed,” he announced.

“Barely?”

“Ninety-two.”

“I’m going to become unbearable.”

“You’ve got a head start.”

He sat in the desk chair. I took a piece of candy and immediately regretted it.

He laughed at my face.

For a while, we talked about class. Then he nodded toward the empty bed.

“Bad afternoon?”

I looked down.

“I kissed him.”

Gavin’s smile faded, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Then I asked him to leave.”

“Because of this?” His gaze moved to my hat.

“Because I like him.”

The words came out before I could soften them.

Gavin sat back.

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t promised me anything.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to hurt you.”

He looked at the candy bag between us, then at me.

“I like spending time with you, Loui. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me.”

I swallowed.

“I don’t think I can.”

“I heard you.”

He moved to the edge of my bed, carefully avoiding my supported ankle.

“Do you want me to go?”

I thought of the library, the inlet, the simple relief of letting my ears stand up. I thought of Micah’s face at the door.

Then I looked at the person actually sitting in front of me.

“No.”

Gavin brushed his fingers against mine.

“Nothing serious,” he said. “And either of us can change our mind.”

I nodded.

When he kissed me, I kissed him back. Later, I let him help me take off the hat. There was no scramble to hide, no need to turn every movement into a calculation.

I stayed with that relief for the evening.

It didn’t turn into something else just because I wanted it to.

Over the following week, I learned to manage the crutches, traded the temporary support for a walking boot, and returned to classes with a schedule that left extra time between buildings. Micah helped when I asked and stopped hovering when I threatened to make him carry my textbooks for the rest of the semester.

We were almost comfortable again.

Then, one Friday night, he forgot I existed.

I woke to the door hitting the wall and a stranger laughing.

“Careful,” Micah whispered, much too loudly.

I sat up.

The bedside lamp came on. A dark-haired guy stood beside Micah’s bed, one hand under Micah’s shirt.

Both of them froze.

“Seriously?” I said.

Micah blinked at me. He had clearly been drinking.

“Shit. I thought—”

“That I’d moved out?”

The stranger took his hand back.

“I should go.”

“Yes,” I said.

Micah looked from him to me. “Give me a second.”

That was somehow the worst part. Like I was the interruption he needed to manage.

I reached for my crutches.

“Loui, wait.”

“No. You can do this tomorrow when you’re sober enough to remember the conversation.”

I put on my coat, balancing badly, and left before he could help.

Gavin answered my call on the second ring. He was awake, finishing a print-shop shift, and met me at his door five minutes later.

“Your roommate?”

“My rapidly developing criminal record.”

He let me rant, then gave me a pillow and the side of the bed nearest the wall. I lay beside him, exhausted by the awkward journey upstairs.

“You don’t have to keep liking him,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

We both knew knowing wasn’t the difficulty.

The next morning, Micah was waiting in our room. The stranger was gone. So was the mess around his bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I shut the door.

“You keep saying that.”

“I know.”

“I can be upset without being jealous. I can want my bed without wanting you.”

His jaw shifted.

“I know that, too.”

“I had to get up in the middle of the night on crutches.” My voice shook, which made me angrier. “I shouldn’t have to leave my own room because you can’t think past what you want for five minutes.”

He looked down.

“You shouldn’t.”

I waited for an excuse. None came.

“I sent him home after you left,” Micah said. “That doesn’t fix it. I should’ve done it before you had to ask.”

“No more socks. No more surprises. If I’m here, I’m staying here.”

“Okay.”

“And being drunk doesn’t make this less your fault.”

“It doesn’t.”

I hated that I was close to crying. He stayed by his desk, giving me space to be furious without coming over to comfort himself by comforting me.

Finally, he asked, “Do you want me to go for a while?”

“Yes.”

He picked up his keys and left.

For the first time, I believed the apology might cost him something.

Two days later, Miyu called to tell me Micah had been in a fight.

I was halfway to the student health center before I remembered I was angry with him.

He sat with a dressing above his eyebrow and a swollen lip. Jyll stood at the desk completing some paperwork. She touched my shoulder as I passed.

“He’s fine,” she said. “Just stupid.”

Micah looked up when I came in.

“You shouldn’t have hurried on that ankle.”

“Who hit you?”

“Jamil.”

I stared at him.

“He found out about Amara,” Micah said. “About how long it’s been going on.”

“And punched you?”

“Apparently we handled it badly.”

“That sounds generous.”

He rubbed his forehead, then stopped when it hurt.

“He kept asking whether everybody knew except him.”

I sat beside him. My anger didn’t disappear. Neither did the unpleasant squeeze in my chest when he winced.

“Amara isn’t his property,” I said.

“I know.”

“But you lied to your best friend.”

“I know that, too.”

He looked at me, tired and bruised.

“Am I actually this bad at caring about people?”

I studied the dressing above his eye.

“Sometimes you care after you’ve done something stupid. It would be nice if you tried doing it before.”

A small, painful laugh escaped him.

“Fair.”

I stayed until Jyll brought the car around.

On the way home, his hand rested on the seat between us. I wanted to cover it with mine.

I didn’t.

I was beginning to understand that wanting him wasn’t going to excuse either of us forever.