by Sarina Bowen
I guess I won’t point out that my father just compared my sexuality to a drug addiction. You have to pick your battles. “So you’re not disowning me,” I tease.
Dad rolls his eyes. “For your sexual orientation, no, Keaton. For your betrayal? I’m still considering it.”
“Keat!” Mom chides, lightly swatting his shoulder.
“What if you came to work for the finance department after this expedition docks?” he suggests hopefully.
Somehow I knew he’d ask this. “I’m back in mid-July,” I admit. “But I don’t want the internship. I just don’t want it. And we both know I don’t deserve it. But I know someone who does.”
“You want me to hire Bailey?” He hands the page back to me. “I am pretty sure they already made him an offer.”
“Really?” This is a detail I hadn’t heard. “He turned it down?”
“I’ll ask Bo.” Dad pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen.
“Is this trip dangerous?” Mom asks. She’s taking a turn with my Chile letter now.
“Not really,” I hedge. “It’s on a research boat in the ocean. But we’re not diving with sharks, Mom. We’d be looking for a new species of whale.”
“A new species?” She makes a skeptical face.
“I know, right? There’s a strange kind of killer whale that people have reported once in a while over fifty years. But it’s never been filmed or tagged. This expedition aims to prove that it exists.”
“How is that more important than curing diabetes?” my father asks.
“I never said it was. But my interests are my interests. And nobody ever told you what to study.”
“The hell they didn’t.” He snorts. “You think your grandfather was an easy man? He used to dig through my school bag for corrected tests and berate me for each missed math problem.”
“And you think that’s horrible?” I challenge him. “Because when you parse through my credit card charges to comment on my life, it’s kind of the same.”
He flinches. “You’re an adult, Keaton. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I was checking up on you.”
You were. I bite this criticism back, though, because it won’t help me get what I want. “I’m going to Chile. And then graduate school. I’m sorry if you wanted me to take over the company someday. That’s a nice idea, but I don’t think it’s in anyone’s best interest.”
He sighs. Then his phone chimes, and he picks it up. “Bo seems to think that Luke wanted the internship but didn’t think he could make it work. Bo offered him an unpaid position.”
“Oh.” I feel a pain right between my ribs for Luke. A job he wants but can’t afford? That’s just cruel. “Luke can’t work an unpaid internship. He barely has enough money right now to eat. He works late-night hours every weekend just to make the rent.”
“Isn’t there financial aid for that?” my mother asks.
“He has a full academic scholarship. But it only covers tuition. And his mother calls every couple of weeks asking him for money.”
My father sits back in his chair, a disgusted look on his face. “What kind of mother asks her kid for money?”
“His kind.”
Dad picks up his phone and starts tapping again.
“Honey, at the table?” my mother complains.
“Just a sec,” he says. “I’m telling Bo to offer that kid an actual summer job and one of our corporate studios in Hoboken.”
I wonder if Luke will kill me for interfering? Then again, what difference does it make? He’s not currently talking to me. If he gets this job, he’ll be better off and still not talking to me.
Yup. Worth it.
The waiter puts a plate down in front of me, overflowing with scrambled eggs, two big pancakes with strawberry butter and two thick slices of bacon.
Things are looking up. And let’s face it, everything wrong in my life falls into the category of First World problems.
So I pick up my fork and tuck in.
As we’re finishing breakfast, my mom talks me into visiting the Vermeer exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art with her. “Come on, any good gay son would look at art with his mother.”
I practically spray my coffee on the table. But since my parents are taking my career change—not to mention my sexuality—much better than I thought they would, I agree to go with her anyway.
By the time I get back to Darby, it’s evening already. I climb the stairs to the third floor with the usual amount of trepidation. Lately, I’m always listening for Luke’s key in the lock, so I can accidentally appear on the landing at the same moment.
Subtle of me, I know.
Tonight, though, I hit it just right. Luke is walking out of our bathroom and unable to reach the safety of his closed bedroom door before I arrive. “Hi,” I say quietly.
“Hi.” He jams his hands in his pockets. “If you had anything to do with the job offer I just got, I appreciate it.”
“What job offer?” I say stiffly.
He rolls his amazing dark eyes.
“Fine. Go ahead and yell at me some more. I may have nudged my father into checking into your summer application. But it’s only because I care about you.”
Luke’s gaze drops to the floor. “Thank you,” he says so quietly that I almost can’t hear. “I’m sure I don’t really deserve it.”
And before I can argue, he goes into his room and closes the door.
Two more torturous weeks pass. I’m not someone who gives up easily, but it’s starting to look like this time I don’t have a choice. Luke is still keeping me at arm’s length, and I leave for Chile tomorrow.
It might be time to call it.
“No way,” Annika’s outraged voice exclaims out of the speakerphone. She’s keeping me “company” while I pack for my expedition, and clearly she’s not happy with the conclusions I’ve reached. “You’re not calling it, Keaton. You care about this guy.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t care about me,” I protest.
She snorts loudly. “Ha! Of course he cares about you. Why else is he avoiding you this hard? He’s running from his feelings.”
I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation, but I can’t deny that it feels nice to talk to someone about it. Judd and I are barely speaking, and while I’m on good terms with Tanner and the others, it’s not like we sit around talking about my newfound gayness.
I’d been nervous as hell the day I told Annika, but she was so immediately supportive that I almost feel stupid for thinking she might not be. She’s my best friend, and her warm response to my news only proves that she’ll always be that.
“Maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re not together.” I’ve been trying to chip away at Luke’s defenses ever since his arrest, to no avail. He’s a stubborn man, and it’s obvious the events of the last month not only embarrassed him, but sent him right back to his default state of pure distrust.
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” I say glumly. “And he hasn’t even said goodbye yet.”
“Yet,” she echoes. “I’m sure he will.”
I’m not sure at all. These days, Luke’s either holed up in the library or working at Jill’s. He’s so determined to keep his distance from me, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t come home tonight at all.
“It’s over, Ani. I don’t know what else to do to get through to him. He’s never going to fully open up to me. Or anyone, for that matter.”
She gives a soft sigh. “Oh babe. I’m sorry. But I still don’t think you should give up. Before he got arrested, he was opening up to you. Right? He was talking about himself, his feelings, that kind of stuff?”
“Yes, but feelings is a bit of a stretch. The only time I think he was truly transparent with me was when we were chatting on the—” I stop suddenly. The app.
That’s it, the answer. Luke has never been great with face-to-face interactions, outside the sexual variety. But when we were getting to know each other on Kink, he was s
o candid, so beautifully honest, it was one of the reasons I wanted to meet him.
“I have to go,” I tell my ex-girlfriend. “Just thought of something.”
“Oooh! What’s the plan?”
“Not a plan, really. I’ll fill you in later.”
After we hang up, I tear off a sheet of notebook paper and start scribbling. My final message to him, this man I never expected to fall for, is short and sweet.
L—I’m leaving tomorrow and so I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m hoping this isn’t a forever goodbye. Really hoping that. For now, I’m giving you the space you so obviously need. But I have one request. Just one, and I promise it’s not insanely unreasonable.
Don’t unmatch me on Kink.
Love,
KHIII
Then I slide it under his door and hope for the best.
Who Am I Kidding?
Luke
It’s nine o’clock on a July morning, and I’ve been at my desk for an hour and a half. I’m hopped up on free office coffee and I’ve already finished the project Bo gave me last night on his way out the door.
This desk is mine for only six more weeks. But I’m going to make every one of them count.
Bo—my boss and the CFO—finally saunters in, phone pressed to his ear. “Uh-huh. And why do we care if our options are bid up? Right. Gotcha. But can’t we hedge out that interest rate risk?” He sits down in his chair and nudges his computer mouse to wake the system up.
I love working here, and I wish I could hear the other side of that call.
Instead, I tidy up the printouts I’ve prepared and staple the pages together. And when Bo hangs up, I pounce before someone else can steal his attention. “Hey! Morning. Here’s the rates you asked me for.” I drop the papers on his desk.
He blinks. “The convertible comps?”
“Yeah, see?” I flip past the cover page to show him all the data I assembled from his Bloomberg terminal. “I know you said you only wanted drug companies, but I threw in a couple of medical equipment manufacturers because the data set was pretty small.”
“I just asked you for this at eight last night.”
“Sure. But your terminal has the data I needed, so I sat down after you left and knocked it out. So what’s next?”
“Breakfast,” he says. “And reading your report. Then I’ll ask you to start looking at senior debt because our bankers want to talk about a long-term debenture.”
“Sweet!” I say with undisguised enthusiasm.
He laughs. “Get a life, kid. I can’t keep up with you.”
“You are my life this summer.” I’m not even joking. They’re putting me up and paying me a terrific wage. I’m spending all my time here, learning the ropes. What else am I going to do, anyway? I have to save every penny I can. My textbooks for next term aren’t going to buy themselves.
“And I appreciate that,” Bo says. “But I’m old and I need caffeine and carbs. The hospital directors I entertained last night can sure hold their liquor.” He digs his wallet out of his suit coat pocket. “I’ll buy, you fly. Scrambled eggs with bacon and cheddar on a roll. And—”
“—double cappuccino with skim milk and cinnamon.”
“Good man.” He hands me a twenty. “I’ll read your report while you’re gone.”
On my way toward the elevator, I stop by his administrative assistant’s desk. “Marcy, I’m going down to Lenny’s for breakfast. Anything I can bring you?”
“Luke Bailey, you are dreamy,” she says, handing me a five-dollar bill. “I don’t know what I’ll do when you go back to school. Feed myself, I suppose. Please bring me a muffin. Corn or blueberry. I can’t decide. And my usual tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Five minutes later I’m rattling off our order and then stepping aside to wait for it.
Honestly, pleasing people at Hayworth Harper has been easier than I ever thought. All you have to do is pay attention and ask questions. I’m having a great time. And I feel calmer, somehow. Like it’s all going to work out for me eventually.
I really needed to get out of Darby-fucking-Connecticut.
The deli is full of people dressed like I am—pressed shirts and trousers, in spite of the summer heat. Leather shoes, and corporate ID’s on clips or lanyards. I don’t mind being a worker drone. It’s going to get me out of Darby for good.
Someone’s order is called, and the line shuffles forward. My phone buzzes in my pocket with a notification. I’m not going to check it. The line is not that long.
Okay, who am I kidding? I’m totally going to check it.
At first, I didn’t think it was a good idea to let Keaton text me this summer. I knew I’d hurt him. And while I’m not proud of it, it’s hard to express how deeply freaked out I was by a one-night trip to jail. For weeks afterward I couldn’t sleep. My brother had almost managed to blow up my entire life in a single weekend.
I felt stained, if not toxic. And I didn’t want to take anyone else down with me.
When my terror eventually began to wear off, it was too late. Keaton had stopped giving me the kicked-puppy face, and he was all jazzed up for his trip to Chile. I didn’t want to complicate his life, so I let him go.
Now I miss him terribly.
The phone in my pocket is yelling my name. Keaton is my big weakness, so I pull it out and open our favorite app. One of the first things I did after he left for Chile was to Google the places he was headed. And I learned that the waters where his expedition would travel have, according to National Geographic, “the worst weather in the world.”
Honestly, that scared me almost as much as a night in jail.
So in spite of the fact that each new message from Keaton is—obviously—proof of life and doesn’t really need to be speed-opened, I do it anyway. Because a message from him is still the highlight of my day.
Today I open up the app to find a photo of a calm sea and a purple sunrise. And, incredibly, a pod of dolphins variously breaching the surface of the water.
Day 47: We have calm seas, which is nice, but still no orcas. Last night at dinner I was thinking about you. Lots of things make me think of you, but this time it was lobsters. Remember that early text when I told you how lobsters have sex? I was sure you were going to block me just for being weird.
But since you’re still reading these messages, here’s something you probably don’t know about lobsters in Chile. They don’t have big claws! The claws are just not there where they should be. You see the legs, and then the antennae. And…no big hooked claws. Which means 1) they look more like bugs and 2) the lobster emoji is ALL WRONG down here.
I mean, my world is rocked.
Also, I still miss you. And I wonder what you’re doing right now.
Until the next update. --K
“Bailey? Bailey?”
My chin snaps up as I realize the guy behind the counter has been calling my name. “Thank you,” I say quickly, taking the bag and the molded paper tray with the drinks on it. I head back out the door and down the block to the office.
I haven’t been chatting up Keaton, because I promised myself I wouldn’t play with his emotions. But I feel the tug. It would be so easy to slide back into our familiar conversation. And into bed, of course. Some nights I miss him so badly that my chest aches. He’s my only regret.
The rest of my life feels so optimistic now. Like maybe I can have some of the things I never thought I deserved.
The lobby of Hayworth Harper is teeming. I wave my ID past the sensor, and the turnstile gate slides open. Every time it does that I feel irrationally happy. You belong here, it says.
There’s an elevator that’s just about to leave, so I hop inside as the doors begin to close. Everyone else on the elevator looks a little stiff, and I don’t realize why until a voice says, “Luke Bailey.”
I look up into Keaton Hayworth Jr.’s face, and realize that I’ve lunged into the elevator with the CEO. “Hello, sir. Good morning.”
“Isn’t it?” H
e chuckles. “I see you’ve made a run to the deli for Bo. After last night, he needed an egg sandwich, didn’t he?”
“There may be some truth to that, sir.”
He snickers. “Keaton likes those egg sandwiches, too. I think they might be the only thing he ever liked about Take Your Kid to Work Day. Have you heard from my son lately? I shouldn’t have Googled his expedition. It says that part of the Pacific has, and I quote…”
“The worst weather in the world?”
“You read that page too, huh?”
We both step aside to let a few people off the elevator. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open the app, blowing up the photo to cover the whole screen. “See? Smooth sailing today.”
He gazes at the photo. “That is just incredible. I’m happy to see that.” He hands back my phone with sigh. “If I wasn’t so pushy last year I might be getting those photos, too.”
Okay, awkward. I keep my mouth shut, because I refuse to weigh in on the boss man’s parenting in an elevator full of coworkers.
“At least he’s coming home soon,” he says. “Just two and a half weeks more.”
My stomach lurches, and it isn’t because of the elevator. I knew Keaton’s summer excursion was shorter than my internship. But I can’t believe it’s only two and a half weeks. How do I become a completely new man in two and a half weeks?
I can’t, obviously.
The elevator reaches the executive floor, and the doors part, and we both step out. “Better give that sandwich to Bo before he expires at his desk.” Mr. Hayworth puts a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks for showing me the photo.”
“Anytime, sir.” Depending on the photo.
Honestly, texting Keaton was some of the most fun I had all year. And then I let my fucked-up life ruin it.
I deliver food and drink to my grateful colleagues and take care to give them their change.
Then I go back to my desk with the sandwich I bought for myself. I set the bag on the desk. I take a photo of the bag and open up the app on my phone.