Eric's POV
I change the song on my iPod. I'm tired of listening to Fall Out Boy. They suck anyways.
9:17. Okay, doing good on time today.
I breathe deeply, continuing to manoeuvre on the elliptical.
I plan to meet with the realtor at 11:00. I asked her if she could update me on any possible prospects. She was vague and told me that she'd rather discuss it all to me in person. For Christ's sake I hope she has some goddamn news for me.
.
.
After I get out of the shower at my apartment, I check the time. 10:34. Still doing good on time. I also see that Chris texted me. Chris Mays is a co-worker of mine and I get along with him the most at work. He is also funny, smart, and just as much of a smartass as I am.
Can you talk?
Instead of replying to him, I decide to call him.
Ring. Ring.
"Cartman!" he answers, excited.
"Hey, piece of shit," I greet him. That's my nickname for him.
He chuckles. "How's it going in South Park?" His voice becomes a little more serious.
"Eh, it's going," I say. "How's work? Am I missing out on much?"
I hear him breathe deeply. "Eric,"
Oh shit. I know he's serious now.
"What?" I ask, anxious.
"Brad's going to call you soon," he states in a quiet voice. Brad is the operations manager, a.k.a. everyone's boss.
"...Okaaaay...?" I ask, not really understanding what Chris is getting to. "Does he plan to check up on me or some shit?"
"More or less," Chris says after some hesitation. "Honestly Cartman, I overheard talking to John the other day. They didn't think I could hear them but I did."
"What did he say to John?"
"He told John that he felt bad for your loss, but that you had been gone for almost a month now…"
Oh. I get it now.
"So, basically, someone is only allowed to mourn over their mother's loss for less than a month, right?" I ask, kinda pissed.
"Don't get mad at me, Cartman," he says. "But I wanted to give you a heads-up. After he said that, Brad also told John that he was going to ask you when you'll be back."
Well, this is a sack of steaming shit.
"All right," I say tersely. "Thanks for the heads up, then."
With that, I hang up.
I guess they want me back in the office. It's inconvenient, but I know I don't have anything to worry about.
I let out a breath, trying to figure out how I'm going to break the news to Kyle. I know this was inevitable, but it is still going to suck. He's going to get upset. I just hope he doesn't take it too hard. It isn't like this is the end. I'll still see him.
Truthfully, he's doing a lot better lately. I can tell he's actually trying now.
He's been calling Ike more. I don't know how their conversations go, though. I haven't pried and I don't feel like I really have a right to. Kyle will tell me, though. He'll tell me when he wants to tell me.
I just hope they're all right. I think Kyle internalizes Ike's pain and it's like a chain reaction. When Ike isn't okay, neither is his brother.
I'm really curious to find out what the fuck is wrong with Kyle. I hope he doesn't deny medication if that's the route the doctors want to go. There's a stigma, sure, but pills CAN help.
With a sigh, I decide to go and get dressed and ready for the day. I head to my closet and grab a fresh change of clothes, putting them on. When I'm decent, I head to the kitchen and grab a glass of water before making a sandwich.
Once I have the sandwich made, I put it in a zip-lock bag and I head out the door.
.
.
"It's good to see you again, Eric!" Erin the realtor gets up from behind her desk to firmly shake my hand as soon as I step in her office.
"Good to see you," I automatically respond, not really meaning it.
"How are things going?" she asks sympathetically in a soft voice.
"They're going," I respond monotonously.
"How was the funeral?" she pries.
I shrug. "It was fine, I guess." If I were my old asshole self I would probably snap at her for her fake interest in my well-being, but I figure it's better to just be indifferent. "How close are you to selling the house?" I ask, skipping the small talk.
"I wanted to let you know that I'm having an open-house this weekend," she smiles, as-if reassuring me.
I nod. "And...?"
"... And hopefully we'll find some serious prospects."
"You mean, there aren't already some serious prospects?" I ask. "I mean, it's been a couple weeks since I emptied and cleaned the house."
"And the house has been on the market for two weeks, right after you emptied and cleaned it," she answers firmly.
I look at her desperately. She gives me a sad and empathetic look back.
"Eric," she starts. "Like I told you the last time we met, not that many people are moving into South Park."
"But I gotta sell the house!" I say without thinking.
"I know that," she responds.
"I seriously have to go back to Denver soon. I HAVE to get back to work."
"I understand –" she starts.
"No, you don't," I snap, starting to get angry. I don't have time for this shit. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to collect myself again. "Listen, I NEED to leave. Work is calling me back. I can't afford to stay here for much longer."
She nods her head and simply says, "I'll do what I can. I'm sure the open house will help."
"We'll see," I mutter.
.
.
After that shitty meeting, I'm feeling pretty down in the dumps.
I head back home and debate on seeing Kyle, but I don't want to start sulking around him. If I do, I'll have to tell him why I'm sulking. Then he'll start sulking.
But I knew this would happen sooner or later. Either way, I have to tell him and either way, he'll be unhappy. I really don't want his optimism and will to better himself to go downhill. He's very wishy-washy at times. When things don't go his way, he acts up. I don't want to be the cause of his poor attitude.
"Well, damn," I say aloud to myself, sighing audibly. I pace around my home for a few minutes. I just really fucking hope he doesn't cry. I don't deal well with tears.
My phone chimes with a text message. It's the Jew.
KYLE: Hey Cartman, how are you?
Speak of the Jewish devil.
ME: I'm fine, you?
A lie. Sort-of.
KYLE: Good. Just riding back with my dad from visiting Ike at his new place.
And by 'new place' I know he means rehab center.
ME: How is he?
KYLE: Good! He's doing a lot better than he was in detox.
Although it's sometimes hard to get a "vibe" for someone's mood via text, i can tell that Kyle seems encouraged. He hardly ever uses a fucking exclamation mark. Now I REALLY don't want to tell him the bad news.
He texts again, before I can even respond.
KYLE: Can I come over?
I hesitate. I don't want him to come over. I don't want him to see me brooding over this shitty situation and I don't want to bring him down. But fuck it.
ME: Sure.
I start regretting it as soon as I hit send.
KYLE: Okay. My dad will drop me off soon.
I put my phone in my pocket and sigh, running my hands through my hair.
This is going to be rough.
I sit in the living room and try to think about what I'm going to say to Kyle. I probably shouldn't beat around the bush. I should just come out and say it, even if he flips out.
Soon enough, my doorbell rings before opening. Kyle lets himself in, removing his shoes and sitting with me.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," I echo. "How's Ike?"
Kyle wrinkles his nose and shrugs. "All right. They have him on some medication, but he's being monitored so he doesn't overdo it."
"Ah, probably a safe idea," I say.
Kyle nods his head. "Probably…" A pause. "So, what's up with you? You seem kind of down."
I let out a groan, leaning back in my seat and slumping. "Well… I got a call from one of my coworkers today…" I start. "They want me back ASAP."
Kyle frowns. "What?"
"I need to head back," I reiterate.
His frown deepens and his eyebrows draw together. "Oh…" He stares at his hands, processing what I just told him. "When are you going?"
"I don't know," I respond. "Soon."
"Have you sold the house?" he asks.
I sigh. "No, I haven't, Kahl."
His eyebrows furrow, again. "So you're just going to leave? Without selling the house?"
"I don't know… I guess," I say, honestly not knowing the answers to any of his questions.
"But it's so soon."
"It is."
"But once you're back in Denver, you probably won't come back here again, will you?"
"That's not true."
"But you have no reason to now," he argues.
"Don't be so fucking stupid, Kahl," I retort. "I'm going to see you,"
"Are you really?" he asks doubtfully in a soft voice. "Denver is two hours away. And you fucking hate this place, Cartman,"
Well, he is right about that.
"Two hours isn't that far," I decide to ignore the latter part of what the redhead said.
"It's far enough," he pouts.
"Well I'm sorry that I don't have a job where I can work-from-home and therefore I can live wherever the fuck I want to," I feel myself getting kinda pissed. Sometimes it really annoys the shit out of me when the Jew doesn't see just how good he does have it, despite his dysfunctional family.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, looking caught off-guard.
"It means you need to stop being so damn negative," I tell him.
He grits his teeth. "I can't fucking help it, you asshole!"
"Yes, you can," I say. "I know you can. You don't give yourself enough credit. It's like you just give up and you dwell because you find dwelling easier than dealing with things and changing things."
"We've already established that I have issues, Cartman!" he shouts, his voice shaking. I don't know if he's angry or if he's just sad. Maybe both.
"Don't let this change anything," I say. "You're doing well. You're finally getting help…"
He scoffs. "Whatever…"
I sit up and move onto the sofa he's seated on, putting an arm around him. "Look, it's not like I'm abandoning you. I'll still be around. In the meantime, just concentrate on yourself."
"It's hard to do that…" he murmurs, sounding drained. "When I think about myself, it drives me insane because all I can think is bad thoughts."
"Therapy will help," I say.
"Maybe…" he responds quietly.
"Look, Kahl," I start. "This isn't really what I wanted to do. I was hoping that my job would be a little more lenient and understanding given the situation, but I guess time is always money for them."
He sits there, just listening.
"Besides," I say. "If you really hate the long-distance relationship thing, you could move to Denver, if you wanted." I'm not really being serious throwing that out there, but I figure I'd just say it.
"I can't," he says sadly. "I would but I can't leave my family right now with everything that is going on with Ike."
Okay, that's understandable.
"Then we'll make this work somehow," I say. "Even if we have to both drive an hour and meet in that really shitty little town in between, we'll make it happen."
He lets out a little whine and then says, "Fine… Yeah, I guess…"
This is going a lot better than I initially thought it would. No tears.
"When are you going?" he asks.
"I'll have to head back this coming week," I tell him.
He nods his head. "All right…"
"Wanna make a night of it?" I offer. "I'll make dinner."
He perks up slightly. "Okay."
"Sounds good," I say. "What do you feel like?"
He shrugs. "Surprise me."
I smile slightly. "All right, but I'll go to the grocery store to grab a few things."
"Okay," he agrees. "I'll go home and shower and whatnot and meet you back here tonight."
With that, I walk him to the door – though it's only a few steps away. I peck him on the lips and he offers me a little smile before leaving.
When he's gone, I grab my wallet and my coat before slipping into my shoes. Then I exit the building, heading to the grocery store.
I'll whip up something fancy. I'll try to make him forget that in a matter of days I'll be out of here.
.
.
When I'm back home, I un-bag all the shit I bought.
I turn on the oven and get all the ingredients out. I figured I'd make lasagne. Sounds romantic, right?
My mind wanders while I cook. I can't believe I've been in South Park a month already. Damn. It really only feels like a little over two weeks, if that. Isn't it really fucking weird that I came back and started a relationship? And with the fucking Jew, of all people! I feel like I accomplished something by helping Kyle get help, or at least helping him get started to get help. But the main thing that I didn't accomplish was that I had come here to sell the house, which I didn't. I guess I'll call the realtor and ask her how I can the sell the house in her care with me back in Denver. I'll deal with that annoying shit tomorrow.
Life is so goddamn weird. You make goals, you set out plans, and then there will always be some weird-ass twist or turn that throws a monkey-wrench into your so-called "plans". And you just roll with it. You try to follow your gut feeling and do the next best thing, although sometimes it's not so easy to know what the "correct" answer is, or what the next best thing is to do.
Was I wrong for getting involved with Kyle? Was I wrong for leading him on, even though I knew I wouldn't be here for long? Nah. Fuck that. It can't be "wrong" when I know that what I feel for the Jew is real. I just want him to see him the way I see him. Beautiful, sweet, smart, and genuine. Maybe someday he will. I think he does believe that I really do see him that way, at least.
I think we'll be able to make it work. If we put in the effort, that is. Kyle might slip once in a while, but I'm not going to grind him for it. I get that he's struggling. I also get that he's trying… which means something, because trying is something I know he hasn't been doing in the past.
I think he's the kind of guy I could really, really fall for… and that doesn't scare me as much as it used to. I think we're a good match.
The only thing that worries me is what will happen when I leave. Will Kyle begin neglecting his health again? Will he cheat on me? God help him if he does…
If he cheated on me, I don't know how I'd feel. I don't know if I'd be shocked. I don't know if I'd forgive him. Maybe. I think it's something we'd have to talk about.
I don't want to think about this shit, but I can't help it. I feel like I'm fuelling the thoughts by even allowing them to cross my mind…
I shake it off for now and try not to let it consume me. Instead, I try to think about this moment right now. I'm cooking dinner for a guy I really fucking like. He'll be here soon. We'll eat. We'll talk. Then we'll see where else the night takes us.
.
.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Well, hai, Kahl,"
I open the door and am very happy with what I see. Kyle is wearing an emerald green sweater over a white button-down shirt, with the collar, cuffs, and the tail ends of the shirt showing. His hair is curly but tamed with some gel. He stands in my doorway with both of his hands shoved in his jean pockets, smiling shamelessly.
"Hey, you," he greets me with a quick kiss on the lips. The Jew seems happy with how I look as well. I'm wearing a silky, black long sleeve shirt with a V-neck line and jeans. I always look sexy in black.
"You made something Italian, right?" he asks, still smiling.
"Yep," I answer. I'm happy that he seems to approve of this.
"Wow, you really set up!" he exclaims stepping into the kitchen. He notices how I have the table all set up with the proper setting of silverware, complete with multiple candles. I have two tall candles on the table and the rest are scattered throughout the kitchen, family room, everywhere.
"Glad you approve," I say.
He just smiles.
I'd ask if he wanted a glass of wine, but that would be a bad idea. So, instead, I pour him a glass of some sparkling fruity drink I know he'll like.
"Mm…" he says with approval after taking a sip.
We take our seats and I let him help himself because I know he isn't a big eater like I am. I watch as he takes the first bite, gaging his reaction. I don't know why I'm nervous since I know he'll like it. I'm a bomb cook, after all.
"Wow, this is really good!" he says to me.
I smile. "Glad you think so."
We chat mildly, talking about simple things. I know if we brought up heavier shit, then neither of us would even feel like eating.
I love making him laugh. I love watching him laugh. I love that I can still make inappropriate, racist jokes and, while I can tell that they still piss him off, he laughs at them, too. Maybe the most adorable thing about our relationship now is that I can make anti-Semitic jokes and he doesn't get so riled up anymore. He may tell me to go to hell, but I can tell that he doesn't really mean it anymore. Not like he used to.
"How did you know that I love lasagna?" he asks, still digging in.
I shrug. "I didn't."
"Then why did you choose it?" he asks.
"Because everyone like Italian food, Jew!" I pick up and throw my cloth-napkin at him and it lands in his face. Flustered, he tries to throw it back but it lands on the floor next to me.
"Ha! You suck!" I tease.
"Fuck off Cartman!" he laughs, embarrassed by his weak throw.
"It's okay Jew," I say, bending sideways to pick it up off the floor. "Your self-worth is not based on how well you can throw napkins."
He rolls his eyes at me, smiling slightly. "You're such a douche."
"Yeah, but you love it," I say knowingly.
He snickers. "Yeah, I guess I do."
.
.
After dinner (and dessert) we move into the living room and I let him pick a movie. He picks some sappy, gay-ass movie I've never heard of, but I don't complain. I want this night to be special. I want him to enjoy himself completely, so if I have to sit through a boring movie I don't really mind.
I have an arm around him and his eyes are glued to the screen. I guess he's enjoying the movie enough for the both of us.
I kind of zone out and stare at him the entire time instead of actually paying attention to the plot.
When it's over, Kyle asks me, "What did you think?"
I shrug. "It was all right."
He smiles faintly. "Did you even watch it?"
"Not really," I admit with a laugh.
He laughs along with me. "I guess I should've picked something more up your alley."
"I don't mind," I promise him.
He smiles again, but then falters, staring at me. "What now?"
"Whatever you want, Kahl," I say.
With that, he shifts, moving forward and pecking me on the lips once, twice and then a third time.
I kiss him back, and at the same time our mouths open and our tongues intertwine. We wrap our arms around each other, but before things get too heated, I pull myself apart. The redhead looks at me, confused. I stand up and offer my hand. He takes it, his eyes never leaving mine. I smile and the Jew has a faint smile on as well, but he looks slightly apprehensive. We don't say anything as I lead him into my bedroom. I guide him to the side of my bed and I sit down. Kyle stands there still, facing me.
"Sit next to me, Jew," I direct him, patting the side of the bed next to me.
"Alright, Cartman." Still holding my hand, he sits next to me.
"Have you enjoyed tonight?" I ask.
"Oh yeah, definitely!" he quickly responds. "Thank you,"
With my free hand I play with his curly hair and decide to mess it up a bit. "No, Jew. Thank YOU."
Kyle scrunches his face. "For what?"
I sigh, actually feeling nervous. "I've always liked you, Kyle. I never thought I would actually ever be able to tell you that, but here it is. Even when we were little. I could never leave you alone. Even if I had to annoy the absolute shit out of you to get your attention, at least I had it sometimes." I chuckle, feeling myself turn red. "Besides, you know how it is when you're young. You tease whoever you secretly like."
Kyle flushes slightly and his lips quirk upward. "Really…?"
"Really," I say.
"Wow…" he murmurs. "That's really sweet, Cartman…" He pauses. "Eric," he corrects.
"I like how it sounds when you say it," I tell him.
"Then I'll be sure to say it lots," he responds. His smile widens slightly and then he adds, "I never thought we'd be here… but I am glad we are. I'm really, really glad."
"Me, too," I promise.
Then I kiss him again. Things get a little heated and I let myself slip a hand beneath his shirt, feeling the warm, smooth skin on his flat stomach. He feels nice.
He moans into my mouth and I feel like I've been waiting to bed the Jew for years instead of weeks, but I wasn't kidding around when I said I wanted it to be special. I want to show him how important he is to me. I want him to be sure of it before we do anything… and I think he finally is.
I very slowly start to unbutton his shirt but he quickly catches on and helps me out. We kiss passionately, hands moving fervently, tongues dancing in between moans and breathes for air. Kyle pulls the sweater off over my head, and I he throws it to the ground somewhere. I grab the front of his belt when suddenly I can feel the Jew trying to say something as he roughly pulls away.
"Wait," he breathes. He sits up on the bed and catches his breath. I do as the Jew instructs me, totally shocked. He's being going on and on about this for the last month and now HE's the one telling ME to wait?!
"What is it, Kahl?!" I ask, slightly pissed and frustrated.
"Eric, I..." He breaths more, staring at the ground. Meekly, his eyes eventually meet mine. "I still haven't gone to the... doctor yet... you know..."
"Oh..." Is all I can say, not thinking about that at all.
"I made the appointment, remember?" he continues. He's still staring at the ground.
That's right. Fuck.
I nearly forgot.
"Er," I pause. "Do you want to wait?"
"I don't know," he says. "I thought that it might make you want to…" He frowns, eyebrows drawing together. "I've just been contemplating it a lot recently…" he starts. "I should start being more careful, right? I don't want to…" he trails off, but I get the gist of what he's saying.
"Gotcha," I tell him. Then I smile, in an attempt to reassure him.
"You're not mad?" he asks.
"No way," I promise. "You're being very responsible. I like that. I definitely don't mind waiting a little longer."
He smiles faintly. "Good."
I think it's nice he wants to be careful. It's a good sign. It makes me feel like he's really taking things seriously – with me and with himself. He doesn't want to throw it away and he wants to play it safe.
"I'm proud of you, y'know," I add.
He chuckles. "Well, I don't really feel like I've done anything that warrants it… but thank you. It's definitely not often that I hear things like that."
I put my arm around him, sitting next to him.
"Aww, FUCK," the Jew says.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"I really wanted to," he says. Then he chuckles. I laugh, too.
"It's okay Kahl," I say. "It'll just even more special when we do do it", I smile, knowing had goddamn cheesy I sound.
The redhead punches me in the shoulder, conveying his annoyance but laughs at the same time. I in turn tickle his sides, turning his laughs into uncontrollable fits of giggles.
"Dammit Cartman you asshole, STAHHPPP!"
But of course I don't. The Jew quickly turns the tables and starts tickling me! I roll further unto the bed, trying to escape. Fuck, now he knows that I'M ticklish!
"Fuck you, hahaha, you fucking Jew! Heeheeheehee!" I realize how I don't sound very threatening. "MERCY!" I shout and he finally relents, giving me a devilish grin.
So, instead of getting into it, we spend the night watching television and talking. It's nice. It's always nice to spend time with him.
Yeah. I really, really think I'm falling for him.
.
.
A few days later, I drive Kyle to the clinic to get his physical done. I sit in the waiting room and when he returns, he looks sour.
"I hate that shit," he mumbles.
"The invasiveness?" I ask.
"No," he says, "the questions… and then the judgement that inevitably comes with my responses. I always get asked what STOPS me from playing safe. Like… I don't fucking know. It just happens."
"Ah, yeah," I sympathize. "People are toads."
"It's not like I'm not trying," he mutters.
"I know," I tell him. "I can tell you are. You're doing really well with everything."
He sighs and shrugs, looking a little hopeless and put off.
"Don't let this upset you," I add as we leave the clinic, heading to my car.
"It's hard not to," he admits. "Little things set me off."
"C'mon," I say as I get the door for him.
"Thanks," he says while he proceeds to the car.
"No problem Kahl," I respond and I rev up the engine. "Where do you want to eat?"
He shrugs. "Doesn't matter."
Well, it's not like I didn't see this coming.
I pull up to an In-And-Out Burger without asking for his approval. I knew that would have been a waste of time. After we order and sit down, I dig right in, but the Jew just sits there, brooding.
"Come now, Jew," I start. "Don't worry so much about it that you won't eat."
He sighs. "I know." He slowly picks up his hamburger and takes a bite. "They said I should know within the next two days."
"I'm sure it'll be fine Kahl," I reassure him while I stuff a few fries in my mouth. But honestly, I'm not sure. I'm just really, really hoping that it will be. Both for him and for me.
He raises a brow, sceptically. "Liar," he calls me out. "You're not sure. No one is."
I drink some of my coke, thinking about how I should rephrase what I just said. "It most likely will be okay," I articulate, and that feels more sincere.
He breathes deeply, again. "I hope so," he continues to brood. He takes another bite of his hamburger, still in deep thought, gazing out in the distance.
I throw a fry at him.
"What the fuck?!" he asks, offended that I forced him out of his brooding. "What was that?"
"I just threw a fry at you, Kahl," I say while chewing. I drink some coke and smile proudly.
He looks at me with a pouty expression, but I can tell he isn't really sour about it. "I wanna be better," he says again.
"You keep saying that," I point out.
"I know," he responds. "I keep saying it because I want it to really, really sink in… for you, but for me as well."
"Actions are louder than words," I say.
"I want to stay on track," he argues.
I nod my head. "You will. Things are different this time. I can tell."
"Yes," he agrees softly.
"And soon enough you'll know what's going on in your head," I add.
"Three weeks," he mumbles. "Seems like forever…"
"Time flies," I tell him. "Just try not to think about it until it happens. Worrying doesn't do any good."
"I'm a worrier," he snorts. "I worry about everything I shouldn't worry about and I don't care about things I should care about…"
"Do you worry about Ike?"
He shoots me a surprised and confused look. "Of course I worry about Ike," he responds. "Why do you ask me that?"
"Because," I start before I throw a couple of some more ketchup-dipped-fries in my mouth, "if you worry about Ike, then you DO worry about things you should worry about," I chew and drink my coke, "so what you said isn't necessarily true."
He looks down. "Maybe..."
"You're too hard on yourself Kahl," I say. "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Stop being so goddamn hard on yourself," I assert.
"I don't mean to," he explains, playing with a french fry in ketchup. "It's just out of habit, I guess."
"Then try to break the habit," I continue. "Do you ever think that maybe it's not that you're as messed up, or incapable, or as damaged as you think you are, but instead that you are a normal human being who has been through some traumatic shit and you're just trying to figure out how to deal with it all?"
He drops the fry that he was playing with just a second ago and his big green eyes widen and they lock onto mine, as if a deer in headlights.
He stares at me, speechless. I can tell that he's trying to formulate a response but he is drawing a blank, because he's thinking about what I just said, over-analyzing it.
"Because that's what I think it is, really," I say. I take another bite of my hamburger while he just sits there, acting like a statue. "The more I get to know you, the more I realize that you're just human, just like everybody else."
He wrinkles his nose. "I don't know…"
"Everyone struggles, Kahl," I continue. "Some people struggle a little more… but we all struggle nonetheless. You need to cut yourself some slack. You're not some horrible person."
He lets out a long breath, staring down at his food. "I know. Gah, I guess I'm just whining…"
"You're allowed to vent," I assure him. "I don't mind listening… but I don't really like to hear you talk down to yourself."
"I'm sorry," he murmurs.
"Don't apologize. I get it. I mean… your self-esteem needs some work."
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I'll say…" A pause. "I don't really know how to fix that, though?"
"Fake it 'til you make it," I tell him simply. "I mean… that's what I used to do."
He snorts. "Yeah, I guess. It's hard, though."
"Everything is hard in the start," I say. "Then it all gets easier."
"You're right," he murmurs, finally glancing up at me. "Which STILL sounds weird to say."
I snicker at that. "Whatever, JEW."
"So," he starts. "Any luck with the house?"
I shrug. "None that I'm aware of. I'm meeting with the realtor tomorrow. We'll have to figure something out."
"You mean so that she can sell it after you leave South Park?" Kyle asks sadly, drinking his coke.
I nod solemnly. "Yeah. We're going to work out all the pain-in-the-ass logistics of doing that."
"When do you plan to leave?" He asks.
"No later than next week," I answer. "I emailed my boss to let him know why it has been taking so long, because of the damn house." I have mixed emotions saying that, because that house does represent where I grew up and so many good childhood memories. But it also reminds me of my myum, and I try not to think about her and how much I miss her. For now. In the future I imagine it won't hurt as much.
"And how did he respond?" the Jew asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
That's right. My boss. "It seems like he was satisfied since I gave him a date for when I'll be back, which is next week."
I finish off my hamburger when the Jew finally says, "I'm going to miss you, Eric."
I can't help but let a smile sneak up on my lips. "I'm going to miss you too, Kyle."
"It won't be the same," he adds.
"It won't be much different, either, though," I say. "I'll visit as much as I can. You'll still see me at least once a week."
"I feel like I'm the kind of person who needs support and guidance," he murmurs the confession, "and I feel like, lately, you've been providing me with it. I like to pretend I'm so independent and that I can take care of myself and whatever… but I can't – not right now, not at this point in my life."
"Try," I plead with him.
"I will," he promises, "but I'm scared." He wrinkles his nose at the admittance. "Ugh, I hate saying that out loud, but it's true. I don't want to fall back into old habits."
"You won't," I insist.
He frowns, looking contemplative. "I hope you're right."
"Just think about your goals and keep them in mind," I say.
"My goals…" he repeats. "Well, I want to be better – for myself, for my family… hell, for you, too."
I smirk at that. "You must like me."
He chuckles. "Yeah, a little bit." He pauses and in a more serious tone he adds, "No… I really do. A lot."
"Well, I really like you a lot, too," I respond.
"Remember what I told you that one time, Kahl?"
He scrunches his nose. "What was that?"
"That the only thing in life that doesn't change, is that things change."
The redhead stares at me for a moment, then his expression softens as he smiles. "Yes, I remember." He laughs lightly. "That was a LONG time ago, Cartman. How do you even remember that?"
I reach across the table with my hand open and the Jew catches on and offers his hand. "I just do, Kahl. I remember all my interactions with you."
His grip on my hand tightens. "I always kinda knew that you liked me, Cartman," he asserts.
I raise a brow. "Did you now, Kahl?"
"I did," he chuckles. "Well, maybe I didn't know, but I had a pretty strong hunch. I mean, you did go out of your way to piss me off,"
"And I still do," I say sweetly.
He laughs, not arguing with that.
"You're going to be fine with me back in Denver," I say.
He softens. "A few more days and you're gone," he murmurs.
"Yeah," I say. "Time really flew."
"Promise you'll call?"
"Every day," I tell him.
.
.
After eating, we head back. Kyle comes to my apartment and I say, "Want a drink? I've got water, orange juice, milk…"
"Water is fine," he says.
So, I grab him a glass and then I grab myself a glass and we sit in the living room. "So, how do you feel?"
"All right," he insists. "How do you feel?"
"All right," I echo. "This was probably the most eventful month of my life, y'know… all things considering. You were the best part of it."
Kyle snickers. "That means a lot, especially when one recalls all the things we've been through as kids."
"This is better," I insist.
He seems glad to hear it. "Good."
After a little while, he gets up from the couch. "Well," he says. "I should probably go to bed early. I actually have a lot of catching up to do with work tomorrow."
I nod and follow him to the door. Christ, I don't even want to think about all the shit that is waiting for me when I get back to Denver.
"Call me tomorrow after you meet with the realtor," he says.
"Of course, Kahl," and with that I lean in for a kiss.
"Good night, Fatass" he says.
"Night, Jew."