“Just tell me what you need and I’ll do everything I can to help,” Tanner says, and I wish I could give him a giant hug over the phone. But I can’t, so I clear my throat, find a pencil and some paper, and we start planning the end of Logan O’Toole, porn star.
In the end, it does take a couple months. Doing it right—ending all of my projects and contracts professionally and amicably—is so much harder than just packing up and leaving town. But leaving would have been something an older version of myself would have done—the impulsive, emotional Logan who just wanted love and romance and connection. He would have chased after Devi relentlessly, he would have been showering her with orgasms and gifts and saying fuck it to everything else.
And at one point, I thought I needed to leave that emotional guy behind to be the best boyfriend I could to Devi, that I needed to be analytical and logical and even a little callous to keep our relationship strong. But now I know what Devi knew already—that it’s not emotion versus intellect or head versus heart. It’s both, complementary and balanced and all at the same time. Devi, my Devi, was the wisest of us all along, despite her inexperience and age.
I can’t change what—or who—I’ve done. But I can change what I will do. And so instead of shutting down my feelings or making a string of rash, impetuous decisions, I am determined that the next time I see my Cass, I will have used my love for her to make smart, determined strides towards a different and better life.
I’m going to show her that the man she knew has come back for her, and he’s not going anywhere this time.
22
“It was twenty-seven hours of labor,” my mother says through the phone. “We’re both exhausted. But then at the end, a beautiful baby boy.”
She’s spent the last ten minutes telling me the details of her and Baba’s latest delivery, and it feels like it’s been twenty-seven hours of listening. Admittedly, I’ve only been half paying attention, inserting uh-huhs and oh wows when it felt appropriate while I scurried around my apartment getting ready for class.
“Your father didn’t even make it upstairs. He’s passed out on the couch. I don’t know how I’m talking to you right now, I can barely think straight.”
“You should be in bed. I can chat with you later.” With my phone in one hand, I run my fingers through my hair and take a final glance in my bathroom mirror. God, I look tired, but I’ve looked tired for the last four months. I can’t remember the last time I slept well, the last time I didn’t wake dreaming of Logan.
Of course, it would probably help if I didn’t fall asleep to a video of us every night. Sometimes I don’t even masturbate while I watch. It never completely relieves the knot of tension inside when I do, and it usually leaves me feeling more miserable than when I started. But I like hearing his voice last thing before closing my eyes. I like remembering what it felt like to be with him.
It’s kind of pathetic, really. I know I can’t live like Majnun forever. Eventually I have to move on. Otherwise, why did I break up with him? Nothing’s changed. His job is still sleeping with other women. And I’m still miserable.
Well, not completely miserable. I do have school.
My mother dismisses my invitation to talk later. “I couldn’t miss today. Are you excited? Nervous? Did you fix yourself some of that calming tea blend I sent you?”
I’ve been in Austin for two weeks now, setting up my apartment and settling in. Yesterday, I went to a new student orientation and a financial aid seminar, and trained for a couple of hours for my job in the bursar’s office. Then I met with my advisor. Today classes start, and though I feel a bit unprepared for what’s to come, I feel confident that I’m doing the right thing. The undergraduate astronomy program is one of the best in the U.S., and my living expenses are much more affordable than in California.
“I am both excited and nervous,” I tell my mother, “and the tea is excellent.” I’m drinking coffee at the moment, but I don’t bother to let her know that.
And if this is what I look like after already a cup of strong brew, then the bags under my eyes are probably going nowhere. I turn off the bathroom light and head to my bedroom to look for my flip-flops.
“Nervousness and excitement are two sides of the same coin. You can rarely have one without the other.”
“I don’t know that quote. Who’s it from?”
“Me,” she says coyly. “See? I can say something useful every now and again.”
I smile proudly, even though she can’t see me. “You always say something useful, Mom. It’s just not always what I want to hear.” Kneeling, I stretch to retrieve the shoe that got pushed underneath my bed.
“Good advice never is. Speaking of which, let’s do your Tarot before I’m too sleepy to interpret your message. I have a feeling today’s going to be an important reading.” Every day since I’ve been gone, my mother has called to read me a Tarot card. That’s her excuse, anyway. Really, I think she just misses me.
“Page of wands!” she exclaims. “I knew today was good. There’s going to be a boy.” We both know when she says “a boy” she really means “Logan.” Ever since she saw him the day she went to pick up my clothes from my apartment for me, she’s been convinced he’ll show up in my life again. “He’s growing,” she says whenever she gets the opportunity, “you’ll see.”
But that’s my mother. She sees the good in people. I’d like to believe it’s a quality I inherited from her. But I’m also practical. And while I think that Logan probably is on a growth journey—because, who isn’t?—I can’t pause my life while he takes it.