November

November 2: Wednesday

At lunch the next day, Vichy wanted to talk about plans for his wedding. Jesse mostly pretended to listen and picked at his lunch, which consisted of cooked oysters, potatoes, greens, and vitamins. It was meant to make him fertile. He didn't want any of it.
Vichy was poring over a guest list, and Jesse was dutifully pretending to listen while stabbing a potato quietly with his knife.
"Jesse."
he looked up. There was a chaperone standing in front of their table. His heart skipped a beat. The chap impassively held one hand out and offered him a pretty baby blue box, tied with a red ribbon. With a glance at Vichy, who was regarding the entire exchange with a mix of trepidation and interest, he took it.
The chaperone nodded and left. Vichy looked at Jesse. Jesse looked at the box. Right away, he knew.
"What is it?" Vichy asked, examining the box as if maybe the answer was a rattlesnake.
Jesse swallowed and untied the ribbon; the delicate bow fell away the moment he pulled one corner. He lifted the lid.
"It's a leaf."
Jesse felt a weird mix of relief, excitement, and fear. He turned the box over, dumped the leaf out. A folded letter fell out after it.
There was a note written on the back of the leaf:

Care to take a walk?
- Michael Kieran, 3rd Heir, 2nd Estate of Admiral O'Connor

Jesse considered throwing up, but held it in and looked at the paper instead.
"Jesse? What's it say?" Vichy took the leaf from him and read it, responding only with a raised eyebrow. Jesse moved on to the letter. It was folded in a very official-looking way, printed on thick paper. He opened it up, glanced it over, swallowed and folded it back. Vichy watched him cautiously.
"Who's Michael Kieran?"
Jesse swallowed.
"I met him yesterday. On my unapproved walk." Vichy's face lit with alarm.
"You didn't."
Jesse blinked at him a moment before comprehension dawned.
"Fuck no! I just - we just talked."
Vichy's relief was evident.
"What does the letter say?"
Jesse swallowed.
"It's a copy of the papers authorizing our courtship."
Jesse stared out the window, felt like he was in free fall. When had his life become so tentative, so delicately balanced that it all could go to mess in a matter of seconds? He saw visions of himself and white picket fences. He saw himself sitting in the Centre forever. He wondered which was worse.
Vichy was looking at him in a worried way.
"You going to be OK?"
Jesse shrugged, put the leaf back in the box, then nodded.
"I'm going to be fine."
He looked back up to Vichy for confirmation, but his friend was already gone, lost in thought, going for the third time over a list of possible guests.

~:~

His approved walk got scheduled for Friday at 4, which Jesse distinctly appreciated at first because it got him out of private counseling, but then Sloane had just rescheduled rather than cancelled so now he was missing a Saturday morning. It rained in the afternoon, so Jesse was forced to spend his free hours indoors with Vichy and Ortega. Grant and Honesty had disappeared off for some kind of clandestine purpose, Sai was sleeping, Suleiman had gone off to meditate alone, and there was still and hour and a half to kill before Carrier Counseling.

Jesse's hair had gotten long since he'd been at the Centre, and despite Sloane's constant urging that he do something pretty with it, he mostly left it to its own devices. Straight and black as it was, it grew almost to his shoulders by now, and so to occupy the time, Vichy was now sitting on the bed behind him, brushing it while Jesse sat on the floor. Ortega sat in a chair opposite, chewing quietly on a fingernail.
"So you're leaving early this weekend?"
Tega nodded.
"We're going - going to visit his family in the south. We have to leave early."
Vichy used a comb to slowly work out a tangle.
"You've met his family before, right?"
Ortega nodded, thought back to two weekends before, when he'd met James' brother and two cousins - they'd all been nice enough, but their father had continued to give him at best an icy stare, and at worst a covert strike when James was not around. Tega hated the man, couldn't figure out what made him so angry, so bitter. When he'd asked, James always told him not to worry about it and coaxed him into bed instead. Tega had quit asking.
"They're nice to me."
"What do they think about..." Vichy gestured to Ortega with one hand, referring to his pregnancy in the only way Tega would accept.
"They're happy."
Vichy worked out another tangle.
"Do your grandparents know yet, Tega?"
He shook his head vigorously.
"When are you going to tell them?"
Tega shrugged and began to shift around in his seat, biting hard on his fingernail now. Vichy changed the topic.
"So, Jesse...Michael, that's his name, right? What's his story?"
Jesse shrugged.
"I don't know. He's very blanco. Very rich baby-boy."
Vichy made a sound of interest, encouraging Jesse to go on.
"OK, so what's he look like?"
"Like they all do. Like the end of my freedom."
Vichy yanked through a particularly tangled knot.
"Fuck! Vich!"
"I'm doing you a favor."
A long pause passed between them.
"What does he look like?"
Jesse answered slowly.
"He's broadly built, but he's got a baby face. Irish. Big smile. Dark hair, brown eyes."
Ortega looked interested; nowadays, he looked interested in anything that wasn't his own life.
"So you like him?" he asked with only the vaguest hint of jealousy.
Jesse looked up, winced when Vichy's comb met a knot.
"I don't know anything about him."
Ortega shrugged, staring hard out the window.
"And when has that ever really mattered?"