The False House

About a month ago I started working at the animal shelter with my manager, Faye, and her husband Isaac. First off, I love the job. I honestly

love

working, as bizarre as that sounds. I've never had to work for shit in my entire life—even my drugs were paid for by Mommy dearest without her even realizing it. Although she tries to be involved by wiring money to my account I ignore her gestures and her money, so it goes without saying that I don't depend on anyone to get me by. The notion of being independent, I guess, is what makes working so enjoyable. To be self-sufficient for the first time in my entire life, and to do it with an incredible support group, is really quite something.

Aside from Jesse,

obviously

, Faye and Isaac have made their own home in my heart. Judging from their kindness, compassion, and the overall warmth and love they constantly exude, I imagine that home to be of a yellow hue, dressed with boldly-colored shutters and doors, and accented with a vast array of wild flowers. They are truly beautiful spirits who have taken me not just into their business but into their simple lives, as well. In fact, Faye is not just Faye—she

insists

I call her Momma Faye. It is a name I've grown to absolutely adore and find comfort in.

When I went in for the interview I was nervous. I tried to appear cool and collected, as I have done so my entire life, but she seemed to see through my façade and tried to relax me by cracking little jokes. "Why don't cats like online shopping? —Never mind—just some cat humor, never mind. They prefer a

cat

alog—that's why cats don't like online shopping." It ended up not being the joke that set my mind at ease, nor the fact that she really seemed quite amused by herself; it was simply the quirky, frazzled way in which she was unable to resist sharing her humor despite having previously deciding to cut the joke short. The way she seemed to go back and forth reminded me of myself, and I guess that made it not so scary.

Last week we hosted a fundraiser to raise money for the animals (der), and between the three of us and a small handful of volunteers we were insanely busy. Jesse and Troy were more than willing to use location to their convenience: Jesse gave out flyers at work and Troy posted them around campus. We raised a good chunk of change and, most importantly according to Faye, we raised awareness. With the fundraiser out of the way the employees at the shelter are finally able to take a breather. Today we have a few grooming jobs lined up (I have gotten good at grooming), but everything else will be relaxed. In fact, I was in the middle of bathing a terrier when Jesse showed up.

Which reminds me! It probably goes without saying that Faye and Isaac are very aware of my relationship with Jesse. If the loving picture I painted of them didn't give any indication to their feelings on the matter then I'll be a little more obvious: they are accepting of it. Actually, I'd go so far as to say they encourage it. They love having him around and have weaseled their way into his heart just as they did mine.

Jess comes around a lot, as the shelter is relatively close to the apartment. Sometimes we have lunch, and on Thursdays we carpool to the sessions with Murphy. Yes, by the way, we still do that. Our relationship ends when we walk into that room and starts again when we get into his truck. We don't want to complicate things, deal with harsh judgment, or have to be in separate sessions to avoid a "conflict of interest." I don't know—people are weird when it comes to mixing two parts of your life that don't really belong together. The good news is, though, the sessions are more enjoyable to the both of us now that we are sober and actually have a desire to learn something from them. Murphy has even commented on how much we've matured and improved. It shan't be long, he says, until we are released from his clutches.

"Momma Faye, you making Roman really earn his pay, aren't you?" I heard him call to her on his way into the grooming room. She simply laughed and said something I couldn't make out. What quirky response she gave mattered not as soon as I saw Jesse's face. He wore a big smile that didn't falter as he kissed my lips.

"Sorry if that wasn't satisfactory," I picked. "I'm a little busy." As soon as another body was present the Terrier started acting out for attention, shaking her wet fur and getting me soaked. "Make yourself useful, J!"

Jesse laughed and started washing the dog with me. "You know . . . you smell like shit."

I grinned and chose to ignore his efforts at getting a reaction out of me. "Yeah, yeah. We can go get lunch as soon as I'm done with ol' Sony here."

"Good. There is something I want to talk to you about," he said softly.

My knee-jerk reaction is to be worried. I stop what I'm doing and look at Jesse, who just keeps washing the dog. He has a content smile on his face, setting my mind at ease. Sony, however, is not going to tolerate only one pair of hands. Again my face gets soaked. I realized Jesse was right: I smell like shit. I get back to cleaning Sony and get my work done as quickly as possible: good or bad, I was desperately anxious to hear what Jesse had to say.

. . . .

Normally for lunch he picks up takeout and we eat it at the local park—getting food ahead of time gives us longer to see each other and the park provides fresh air. Today, however, we are dining in. The restaurant isn't fancy by any means but it provides an intimate setting. I'm feeling both unnervingly curious about what the occasion could possibly be and a little embarrassed by how badly I probably smell. When you smell yourself, you

know

you stink. Luckily for me (and everyone else in the restaurant), we got a table in a back corner.

"What's going on?" I finally ask once we've been seated. "The curiosity is killing me."

And he knows it! He is pretending to be distracted by the waitress bringing us utensils and straws, most politely waiting to thank her. She takes my drink order, and Jesse takes forever to give her his. "So many options . . ." he says to himself, looking up at me from over his menu with a devilish smirk. I can't help but laugh, perplexing the waitress. Good then—I shouldn't be the only one here with no fucking idea what's going on.

"I think I'll have the shrimp taco," he says to me innocently.

"Who gives a fuck! Tell me what's going on," I plea, mostly joking.

His cackle is malicious in an accidental way, and it draws a reluctant smile from me. "Alright, alright." His smile alters from one of entertainment into one of excitement. He honestly looks like a school girl who cannot

wait

to share a juicy piece of gossip that will undoubtedly ruin someone's life. Meanwhile I'm on the edge of my seat, leaning an ear toward him in anticipation. "Well," he sighed. "I've been hoarding tips like a miser for months now. I've accumulated a hefty amount—I'm really surprised. I expected it to take a lot longer to get even— "

"Jesse," I urged. "Get to the point before I die of suspense."

He chuckled. "Well, I don't have enough to pay for an entire year of college. But if I took out a small loan . . . I'll be able to go this upcoming semester."

I looked hard at him, studying his face. He looked like someone holding in a good piss—I could see him squirming in his seat, face red with excitement. What kind of nerd gets this excited about going to school? I felt my face light up, and I had to stop my hands from shooting up in the air like some sports-watching douchebag. "Roman— "

"There's more," he squeaked. Before I could even inquire about 'more' he more than happily offered it to me. "I was accepted into UNL."

His eyes immediately filled with tears, a quivering smile on his face. I on the other hand felt a mix of emotions: happiness for obvious reasons, disappointment that he didn't even tell me he applied, proud that he earned this on his own. But I have to weigh my response carefully; I want to know why he kept it a secret without ruining the mood and making this about me. Still, it hurts that he never told me. Did he think I wouldn't support him?

Seeing him begin to cry forced my response for me: I started laughing with excitement, and I'm certain there is a tear in my eye. "I am . . .

so

proud of you, baby." Aaaaand there go the tears. I can't help myself.

I've never felt like this for someone else. And I don't mean love—that part is obvious. I mean I've never known what it meant to be

truly

happy for another human being. I don't benefit from this in any way, it has nothing to do with me, and yet it means more to me than anything in the world. Who am I?

We quickly gave the waitress our order so she could be on her merry way and we could get back to talking. "Have you declared a major?"

His glow grew brighter upon my asking that question, despite my previous belief that it could not. "I mean, I don't know. There are a lot of options, you know? I want to help people, so I narrowed it down to either teaching or becoming a psychologist."

"A psychologist?"

"Yeah," he sipped his drink. "Specializing in drug therapy."

"You are an awesome friend, J. You'd be so good at that," I grinned. It was all just so exciting.

"I think so, too," he said, his words full of warmth and appreciation. "But I want to work with kids. I always have."

I couldn't be as genuinely reassuring with his second option, as I've never been given the opportunity to see him around children. Not that I doubted his ability to be good with them—when you are as kind, gentle, understanding, and goofy as him, adoration from the younger crowd probably comes effortlessly. To be perfectly honest, I'm dying to see how he acts around kids. It never was a thought in my mind before this very moment, but I bet a man who is good with children is sexy.

Snap out of it, Roman.

"I could see that," I said earnestly. "It seems more fitting for you for some reason."

Jesse cocked his head back in what seemed like both amusement and curiosity. "Really?" he chirped.

"Yeah. You are so much like a kid yourself that I think you would get along really well with them." His chocolate brows furrow at my remark, eliciting an explanation as the waitress brought us our food. "It's a compliment," I reassured him. "Everything holds such beauty in your innocent eyes, everything is amazing, everything is worth loving." I felt tears threatening to pool over the brims of my lashes—my love for this man is literally overwhelming. I still don't know how I deserve him.

"Like you?" he asked softly, the faintest grin on his lips. He squeezed my hand before diving into his food.

"Honestly, baby, I think you are one of the very few people in this world who actually could do anything you set your mind to. It's really amazing to see." I felt satisfied when his bashful modesty began to show on his cheeks—his way of saying thank you. Jesse is horrible at accepting compliments, and I assume it is because he never received them growing up. He is just so hard on himself that he believes saying thank you is an act of arrogance. In his eyes it's the equivalent of saying "I know." But I don't mind it. Besides, it's so cute when a man as masculine and as sexy as Jesse blushes.

We finished up our meals, kissed one another good-bye, and went about the rest of our day.

. . . .

When we got home we sat together at his desk and scheduled his classes for the upcoming semester. Neither of us had experience scheduling classes—and I probably never will, as school does not interest me. I'm part of the rare breed okay with not furthering my education. Naturally, we scheduled classes in high school but it's very different scheduling for college. There seemed to be an unlimited amount of classes one could take, ranging from gender studies to astronomy. Admittedly, even I got excited at the endless possibilities.

Jesse finally decided on Early Childhood Education as his area of study; earning this degree would give him the ability to teach from grades pre-k to third, a prospect that excited him the more we talked about it. I honestly had no idea he loved kids this much. To my disappointment we were unable to schedule specialized classes but he didn't mind one bit. Where I was wanting to get to the meat of his education, his concerns lied in simply gaining as much knowledge as possible in the four years he'd be in school.

So most of his classes ended up being general education classes, such as math and biology. To my shock he scheduled six classes—something that excited him and terrified me. He would be so busy, with work and school, that there would be no time left over for me. I know it's selfish but I'm human.

"Can I ask you something?" I pose after we got his schedule sorted out, butterflies fluttering in my belly.

"Of course, baby, "Jesse coos.

I gulp. "Why didn't you tell me when you got accepted? I mean . . . you didn't even tell me that you applied."

"So?" he says with an innocent smile. "I wanted to surprise you."

Another gulp. "I don't believe you."

He once again furrows his brow, a stupid look on his face. "What?"

"You have a habit of not telling me things. I'm constantly left in the dark about your life. Once in a blue moon you'll share a bit of your childhood with me or talk about yourself. But it has to be the right time—your time—otherwise I can't get a peep out of you. And even then it is impossible to tell when is the right time and when I'll be shut out. And now you don't tell me you applied to college? Honestly, Jesse, I feel like you'd never have told me at all if you knew I'd never find out on my own."

It's quite clear to me that he's very seriously considering every word I say—perhaps trying to figure out if this is worthy of an argument, if he wants to placate me with some bullshit, or just be honest even though it isn't easy. He maintains eye contact, and I admit that it's intense. Nevertheless, I do not falter; I need to seem confident in order for him to understand the importance of this.

"I hate to make this about me," I continue, "but it really hurt me."

Jesse's face finally depicts a concrete emotion: he frowns. "I hurt you?"

The tension leaves my body. "Yes," I breathe. My shoulders lower as I finally feel able to relax—it is out in the open.

"Well . . . I'm sorry. The truth is . . . -Well," he sighs with frustration, and I feel him fidgeting next to me. "If I told you I applied and then wasn't accepted . . . I'd have been so ashamed. Literally all I want . . ." he paused. And I can once again see him battling with his thoughts and trying to make sense of what he is feeling. "Literally I wanted was to make you proud. The thought of letting you down . . . -It killed me," Jesse said with finality. "It killed me."

I see his eyes well up with tears despite the fact that he is too ashamed to look me in the eye. I softly smack my lips, using my index finger under his chin to make him face me. "Listen to me, Jesse," I finally begin. In an effort to make him

truly

understand how important every word is I use my most serious and grown-up voice. "You couldn't let me down if you tried. Even if you hadn't got accepted, the fact that you made the effort at all would have been reason enough to be proud. It's time you start seeing in you what I do."

Without a moment's hesitation he pulled me into his warm chest and squeezed me, and once I was able to collect my own thoughts I squeezed him back. Getting my feelings off my chest made it much easier to focus entirely on the fact that

my

boyfriend was going to college. My hard working, intelligent,

dedicated

man was going to college. It's the sort of excitement that doesn't just fade away after a few days. I imagine it's just a unbelievable and exhilarating as a woman finding out she's pregnant—it takes a while for that happiness to wear off as she becomes used to the idea.

Amidst all my excitement, however, I did not once think of how hard this would actually be.

*****

I know this chapter isn't lengthy—especially considering just how

long

it took me to actually post it. I was battling a lot with writer's block, among real-life problems of unemployment and classes. I was honestly just in a rut financially and emotionally. Now that things are looking up I hope to get back into my creative bubble, if you lovely people are so kind as to have me.

So this chapter is mostly just my way of saying I'm back. The next chapter will be posted

way

sooner than this one. Hope you guys are excited for things to come—I know I am.

JT Thatch