Raze

by Roan Parrish

  I didn’t add that there was also the chance Dane was some kind of emotionless machine rather than a human person, because it felt like if I said that in the Museum of Natural History, in the dim, after-hours light, with a kindly security guard who might or might not be a storybook figment of my heartbroken imagination, then there was the distinct possibility that a machine-Dane would manifest alongside animate dinosaur skeletons and tear me to pieces. Sue, too, if she was real.

  Real or not, Sue gave me a wry look.

  “Fighting’s a skill you have to learn, kiddo. Me? I never fought with my wife when we first got together. I thought if I told her I didn’t like something she did, or I got upset about a choice she made, that she’d leave me. I thought I just had to accept her exactly as she was, because that’s what I thought love was.”

  “Kinda sounds like what love should be?”

  “Well, yeah, you should accept the essence of a person as they are, but I think love in a partnership is encouraging each other to be the best versions of ourselves that we can be. And certainly you can accept someone’s glorious essence exactly as it is and still say, ‘God dammit, my love, it was your turn to go to the store and you didn’t, so now all we have is lentils and peanut butter.’ ”

  I smiled, imagining Sue and her wife irritably trying to make dinner out of lentils and peanut butter.

  “My point is that I had to learn how to fight kindly. And before I could do that, I had to feel safe that she wouldn’t leave me. Maybe your boyfriend doesn’t know how to fight. Maybe he doesn’t feel like he can fight with you. Maybe you don’t know how to fight. I don’t know, but you need to find out.”

  I replayed Dane’s words in my head: Not having this conversation with you right now. He had been trying to leave and deal with a crisis.

  “I think, uh…I think my timing might have been epically flawed.”

  “Well, you do seem to have a little problem with timing,” she said, tapping her watch and winking at me.

  “Nah, this was all just part of my diabolical plan to get to hang at the museum after closing and wait for the exhibits to come alive.”

  She glared and I smiled sweetly.

  “Feel any better?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I mean, I don’t really know what to do next, because my sister’s on tour and my boyfriend basically doesn’t use a phone, and also probably hates me for being a selfish brat, but. Yeah.”

  “It’s not about them, kid. You gotta figure out your shit. Figure out your desires. Figure out your ambitions. And ambitions don’t have to be about career or fame. Hell, I’ve been a security guard here for fourteen years and I like it just fine. My ambition is about being a good partner, being a good aunt to my niece. I like to paint. I like to watch my bird feeders. I like to cook. Doesn’t have to be big, but figure out what you want your life to look like. You’re the only one who can.”

  “Wow, that was some full-on wisdom dispensing right there.” I grinned.

  “Laugh all you want, but there’s a reason that there are wisdom-dispensing older people popping in to tell young people how to get their shit together.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Because we’ve got some damn perspective. We’ve had more time to watch the experiment of life and see the long-term results. We’ve seen the same situations play out enough times to know pretty well how they’re going to resolve.” She tapped her temple. “Observer of human nature, remember?”

  “Well, I feel extremely fairy godmothered,” I said. “Thank you. For the advice and the tour.”

  We had arrived at a side door and Sue took out her keys.

  “Felix.” It was the first time she’d said my name. “Can I tell you one more thing?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “You’re going to be fine. I know it might not seem that way. But you are. Maybe this guy’s your soul mate and you’ll talk it all out. But even if you never speak to him again, you’re going to be just fine.”

  I nodded, not quite believing her but wanting to. The thought of never speaking to Dane again made my heart race.

  “Thanks.”

  “And then—” She fixed me with a stern look. “You’re going to come back here and tell me how it all went, won’t you? I hate not knowing the end of a story.”

  “I will, I promise. Thank you, Sue. Truly. I—shit, I didn’t even ask how you are.”

  She laughed and opened the door, ushering me out into the evening.

  Chapter 13

  Huey

  Black lines crisscrossed my torso and crept down over my hips and thighs—so many words layered over each other that my body couldn’t contain them. Messages to myself, from myself. Attempts to corral the horrible, gaping emptiness that opened after my fight with Felix.

  It still wasn’t enough.

  I got onto the train, duffel bag slung over my shoulder, and two women moved away from me. In the cloudy window my expression was grim and twisted. I found a seat and pressed my palm to my stomach, trying to feel the words—so many words—too many to untangle or hold onto.

  I was going to Sleepy Hollow. Caleb and Theo were at Matt and Rhys’s, and they’d invited me to come up for the weekend. Well, Rhys had invited; Caleb had instructed.

  I fucked up, I’d texted Caleb when I got home from Jerome’s and Felix wasn’t there. I hadn’t really expected him to be, but a part of me hoped that I’d walk in to find him conked out on the couch in front of the TV, or curled up in my bed, hogging the pillows. But my apartment had been empty and still.

  Caleb had become one of my closest friends over the last few years. Hell, my closest, since Reggie died. And as Caleb had needed me less as a sponsor, I’d let myself relax around him a little more. Been friendlier, more open. He’d talked about Theo; I’d gone over for dinner or helped in the garden. But I’d never reached out to him before. Never confessed anything.

  Sleepy Hollow in early October looked like the autumn leaves jigsaw puzzles that had been perpetually in progress on the green felt card table on my grandmother’s screened-in porch when I was a kid. Variegated greens shot through with great plumes of color soared over quaint cottages painted white and black and green.

  Caleb was waiting for me in his truck at the train station, and it was only a few minutes’ drive to Rhys and Matt’s.

  I’d known Rhys for years, since he was Caleb’s ex-partner and they’d made music together for nearly a decade. Last year Rhys had put out his first solo album and toured behind it, and from what Caleb said it seemed like he was well on his way to recording a second. Matt I had met only a few times, one of which was the night he and Rhys met. Then, Matt had been hollow-eyed, with defenses a mile thick. Now he and Rhys were married and had a dog and lived in a blue house with a barbecue grill out back. They seemed happy. They all seemed so damn happy.

  As Caleb parked the truck, I felt a pang of dread at spending the next two days with the most in-love couples I’d ever known. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

  “Huey!” Rhys’s voice boomed from the front door. Rhys was big and blond and seemed comfortable anywhere and with anyone. He shook my hand and then pulled me in for a hug.

  Caleb snorted. “Jesus, it’s like Clash of the Titans.”

  “Hey, Huey!” Theo called. I turned to see him and Matt heading toward us, walking Rhys and Matt’s dog, Max, who was a very sweet dog even though he had a strange sideways gait like a disturbed show pony.

  Matt had dark hair and watchful dark eyes that seemed to take in everything, though he rarely seemed to be looking at anything. He was often quiet, though sometimes he started talking out of nowhere, like he’d been part of the conversation all along. He jutted out his chin and squared his shoulders to any new person, making it clear he’d take on anyone, but when Rhys was next to him Matt leaned towa
rd him like a flower to the sun. When Rhys touched him, his watchful eyes went calm.

  I got a pouncing hug from Theo and a quiet “Hi, Huey” from Matt. Matt didn’t like to be touched; I didn’t take it personally.

  I put my duffel bag next to the couch—Caleb and Theo were sleeping in the guest room, which also held guitars, amps, and coils of cord. It looked out on the backyard, where Rhys and Matt’s wedding had been last year.

  Caleb and Theo had brought some vegetables from their garden, and apparently they were determined to pickle them. There were Ball jars and ingredients scattered all over the counter. Matt raised a suspicious eyebrow at the kitchen and flopped onto the floor next to Max’s dog bed, petting the dog’s soft ears.

  “Who makes pickles?” he muttered. I was pretty sure he was talking to Max, not to me.

  After a few minutes and some strange smells wafting in, though, Matt and I both made our way into the kitchen to observe the utter chaos that was occurring.

  “They’re called dilly beans!” Caleb ranted. “They have to have dill in them!”

  “But I hate dill,” Theo pointed out.

  “You don’t have to eat them!” said Caleb. “They’re for me!”

  “Oh yeah.” Theo grinned and Caleb chucked him under the chin. “Do you just…eat them with a fork?”

  “Well, uh. Really they go in Bloody Marys, but I guess I could…have them as a snack?”

  “You could just make Bloody Marys without alcohol,” Rhys pointed out.

  “Oh, yeah, baby, we could use tomatoes from the garden,” Theo said.

  Caleb bit his lip and I could practically read the inside of his head: If I have a virgin Bloody Mary, will I wish it were a regular Bloody Mary, and will that make me want to drink a Bloody Mary, which will lead me to wanting other things?

  He looked at Theo, bouncing excitedly next to the counter, and said, “That’s a great idea.” Theo grinned and slung an arm around his shoulders.

  They pickled carrots, green beans, small cucumbers, and asparagus, until the whole lower floor of the house smelled of vinegar, garlic, ginger, and chili. Rhys got vinegar in his eye and howled, which made Max howl, and made everyone else crack up. Caleb said he wanted to try pickling eggs, and Theo muttered something about hash that got him a swat on the ass and a smile from Matt. Rhys dared me to drink straight vinegar and seemed genuinely surprised that I didn’t respond to dares. And through it all, Max raced around the kitchen hoping for a fallen scrap of food, until what fell was a clove of garlic and he pounced on it, to his great dismay a moment later and our great dismay for hours to follow.

  By the time the pickling had been sorted out we were all starving, so Rhys and Matt fired up the grill and we ate burgers in the backyard as the sun set. Rhys flicked a switch, and fairy lights sparkled in the trees and around the eaves of the house. They’d put them up for the wedding and liked them so much they’d never taken them down.

  Matt brought out a pie and Theo said, “Is that the peach?” Matt nodded and Theo licked his lips.

  “How’s your project going, Matt?” I asked as he served the pie.

  Matt worked at an organization that connected youth transitioning out of the foster care system with jobs, skill-building assistance, and educational opportunities. Over the last year, he’d begun a program that provided art supplies and studio space for those same youth. Rhys talked endlessly about how impressive everything Matt had done was.

  Matt brightened.

  “It’s good, I think. Yeah, pretty good. We just got a commitment for a big donation of materials from this one art supply company.”

  “You,” Rhys said.

  Matt turned to him. “Huh?”

  “You got the donation, baby. You’ve done all of it, not a bunch of other people.”

  Matt ducked his chin and shoved his fists in his pockets, but a faint smile played on his lips.

  “Yeah, well, okay. It’s going good.”

  “Good. Caleb, how’s—”

  Theo interrupted me with the world’s least subtle throat clearing. He was practically bouncing in his seat. Caleb squeezed his knee.

  “So, um, Huey,” Theo said. He was trying to sound casual and failing. “What happened with Felix?”

  I glared at Caleb, who grimaced.

  Now they were all looking at me.

  The sensation that had dogged me my whole life settled over me like a cold mist. The desire to disappear. To direct the attention elsewhere. To retreat so deep inside that no one could see me.

  It had begun with the growth spurt that sent me towering over my classmates when I was twelve. Suddenly I drew attention instead of repelling it. The older I got, the bigger I got, the worse it got. I would stand very still, eyes fixed on a point in the distance, praying that eyes would pass right over me. Praying that I could disappear.

  When I began lifting weights, it was out of a desire to exert some control over one element of the body I’d never consented to. If I was going to draw attention, it would be better if it was for strength, imperviousness, than anything else. I began to hone the meat suit I was saddled with, and slowly, I turned the thing that made me feel too noticeable into something that kept people away.

  Football helped.

  Shaving my head helped.

  Glaring helped.

  But these were my friends, and I didn’t play football anymore, and no amount of glaring had ever had any effect on Theo’s curiosity.

  I sighed and fixed my eyes on the thick base of the tree in front of me, its trunk and branches reaching for the sky, its roots digging down deep into the earth to anchor it.

  “Felix is having a rough time right now. His sister left on tour and he really misses her. Doesn’t like his job. Doesn’t know what he wants to do. I had to leave to sit with a sponsee when we were supposed to spend the day together. He got real upset. Thought I was choosing my sponsee over him. Said he couldn’t tell if I liked him or if he was one more thing I did to…to atone.”

  “What did you say?” Caleb asked.

  “I left.”

  They all winced.

  “Time-sensitive situation,” I muttered.

  Caleb nodded. He knew how it went. “So what happened after?”

  The food turned over in my stomach.

  “Nothing.”

  They winced again.

  “Has he gotten in touch with you?” Theo asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, you definitely need to talk,” Rhys said. “Does Felix have a problem with you being a sponsor in general or was he just upset you were leaving at that moment?”

  “He’s never had a problem before.”

  The questions came from all directions, one after the other, all of them with the same spine: apologize and explain.

  Finally, through a break in the deluge, Matt said softly, “Why can’t he tell that you like him?”

  His words reverberated in the quiet garden and everyone fell silent. I frowned.

  Suddenly Matt’s words—Felix’s words—slashed through me like a blade. Felix didn’t know that I cared about him. Felix was out there right now, truly not knowing how I felt about him.

  All the times I’d stared at the beautiful lines of his face, the angle of his collarbone, the cowlick in his perfect, messy hair. All the times I’d breathed deeply into his neck, trying to fill my entire being with the sweet, comforting scent of him. All the times I’d felt his heart beat against mine when I touched him, kissed the corners of his eyes because they seemed like the most intimate place I could think of touching another person. All the times I’d stayed silent so that he would never stop talking to me because I loved the sound of his voice…

  And he didn’t know.

  My beautiful Felix thought I didn’t ca
re. And it was my fault.

  My desire and affection had screamed as loud as a teakettle in my head, but I had been so fucking scared that I had locked it all away, tight as a walnut, and let Felix live in uncertainty.

  I thought I might be sick.

  And still they were all staring at me. I snaked a hand to my belly and pushed as hard as I could.

  * * *

  —

  The next morning, Caleb and Theo must’ve gotten up early, because Caleb tapped on the doorframe to the living room while I was still asleep. He perched on the edge of the couch. It was strangely intimate. I’d seen him in all states of nudity, disarray, and desperation, but he’d never seen me anything but fully dressed and in control. I pulled the blanket up to my neck self-consciously. Even after multiple showers, the tangle of words remained. He snorted and tossed me my T-shirt from the coffee table.

  “So I was thinking about everything,” he said.

  “Everything, huh?”

  He glared at me.

  “Look, real talk?”

  I nodded. God knew I’d delivered it to him enough times over the years. It was his turn.

  “The reason you were such a great sponsor? Was because you didn’t let your sponsees’ feelings touch you. I’m not saying you don’t have feelings. Just because you don’t show them doesn’t mean I think you don’t have them. But you were a wall, man. All the slimy, grimy, twisty shit we vomited up in front of you just slid to the ground and slithered away. It worked so well because it meant I never had to feel guilty for burdening you, because it didn’t stick to you. I didn’t have to worry about you judging me because you were removed. You didn’t take anything personally—not success or failure—and you never really reacted.”

  That was how I’d felt for so long. Like I was a black hole where judgment and feelings didn’t exist, so people could toss them into me and I could give advice with perfect, flat neutrality.