He put his phone back. “Sure, yeah. Thanks.”
As the two of us climbed into my car, he lifted his eyebrows at my melting fairy-world makeup. “Don’t you want to wash off first?”
I waved toward the surrounding grass, trees, lake. “It’s a park. There’s no dressing room. I do it all at home.”
“Ah. Right.”
We rode a minute in silence, rolling out of the park and into the neighborhood.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” I said.
“They heard you were in it, said it sounded cool, and somehow we all settled on a plan to show up today.”
How ambiguous. “Glad you made it.”
He nodded. Another minute of silence.
Then he said, “You’re really good. At acting. I always forget how good you are until I see you do it.”
“It’s easy for people to forget me.” I kept it flippant. That’s how we were doing it, apparently.
“I disagree,” he said—also lightweight, but the words seemed to fill the car.
I said nothing.
After another minute, he said, “How’s your new place?”
“It’s okay. Small, but it’s good to have a yard and stuff. It’s quiet. My landlady keeps to herself.”
“Cool.”
I touched my tongue lightly to my grainy, glitter-covered lips, then added, “You can come see it if you want.” Because best friends also made offers like that.
“Sure.” He gazed forward, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. “We could go there first.”
At the duplex, he glanced around the interior, which I had furnished with the basics—kitchen table and two chairs, sofa and coffee table, bed on a simple metal frame, large cardboard box for my clothes. “I like it.”
“I’ll get a dresser soon,” I said, waving toward the box.
His eyes traveled along the walls. “And baby stuff?”
“That too. I’m waiting till it’s all finalized.”
He nodded and said, “It’ll be a nice place for her.” Then he focused on my costume and came closer, a smile relaxing his lips. “You look like a mutant dragonfly.”
“Thanks. That was our hope.”
He poked the iridescent vest, then moved around to my side to touch the folded wings. “These are cool. How do they go on?”
“It’s all one piece. See?” I unstuck the hidden Velcro patches at the front of the vest and peeled it off, wings and all.
Which left me standing half-naked in front of him, in the doorway to my bedroom.
I tried to make light of the moment, sighing in relief at taking off the costume piece, and tossed it onto a chair. “Gets super sweaty. I have to wipe it down after every performance.”
His gaze had snagged on my chest, then lifted to my face. He smiled again, though his eyes stayed serious. Possibly sultry.
My heart started thudding.
“You need to be wiped down too.” He ran a finger along my collarbone, and held it up to show the glitter.
“Yeah.” I had gone breathless. “I should shower. Do you mind, before I take you back … ?”
He shook his head. “Go for it.” But he didn’t step away. Didn’t stop eating me up with his eyes, despite my green insectoid glamour.
I swallowed. “Join me?”
His breath hitched. He nodded.
We rushed to get naked, turned on the shower, twisted the knob to the cool side, and got under the spray. While I scrubbed off my makeup with the face-wash stuff I kept in the shower, Andy held me by the hips and pressed up against me from behind, hot and hard.
All my problems fell away as lust consumed me from toes to ears. I turned, swiping back my wet hair, and slid my thumbs over his nipples.
He moaned, then ran his fingers along my lower lip. “Some sparkles left over. There.” Having wiped off the lipstick, he twined his arms around me and locked us into a soaked kiss.
I pressed him to the shower wall, setting my feet apart to put us at the same height. We ground against each other, hard and slicked up with running water. He gripped my ass, sliding two fingers into the cleft to tease the sensitive flesh there. I groaned against his mouth.
I slapped a hand at the wire shelves hanging from the shower head until I found the soap, then spun it in my palm to work up a lather. I let the soap fall, caught us both in my slippery hand, and began stroking. I should have made it last longer, should have savored what I’d been missing all these weeks. But in his absence, I’d become so ravenous I couldn’t stop, and he clutched me tight, matching my frantic pace.
He moved with me, pressing his fingers deeper into me, both of us panting. His teeth bit my shoulder. I shuddered apart, and he followed within seconds. Warmth filled my hand, then washed away in the cool spray. As my muscles relaxed, I suckled the edge of his jaw, drinking shower water off him.
His fingers eased around to my hips. “God.” He slumped against the wall. “I didn’t mean to do this today.”
I kept holding him, my face against his neck, my legs wobbly. “Nice surprise.”
He caressed my ear. “Dry off and talk?” He sounded serious again.
This was possibly not going to be my favorite talk ever. But nothing short of an asteroid obliterating the city could have stopped me from hearing what he wanted to say. I nodded.
He got dressed while I wrapped myself in a towel and padded into my room. From the cardboard box, I took out underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt, and put them on.
I turned around and my heart seized. He had wandered in and picked up the long-sleeved white T-shirt from my bed.
“This is mine,” he said. “I’ve been wondering where it went.”
“Yeah, I … guess I took it. You can have it back if you want.”
“I have one of yours too.” He was still holding the shirt, bunching it in his hands. “Your Joy Division one.”
“Oh. Hadn’t noticed it was missing.”
“It smells like you.”
I sat on the side of the bed. “Yeah, that one … yeah.”
He sighed, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him sniff the shirt, then set it on the pillow. “Keep it for now.”
He sat on the bed too, next to me, two feet of space between us. Just the way we’d started out the day I kissed him when we were fifteen.
“You know,” he said, “we weren’t acting like friends with benefits. We were acting like boyfriends.”
“I kind of wondered.”
“At least we were, up until …”
“I got someone pregnant.”
“Right.” His feet were still bare. He slid his toes back and forth across the warped wood floorboards. “I tried to reset us to just friends. I thought it was for the best, with everything going on, and it seemed like you agreed. But I must have failed, because … I still think about you like that. Like a boyfriend. I miss you.”
I couldn’t speak through my surge of terrified hope. I just stared at his bare feet. I didn’t even know which thing I wanted him to say next: I’ll put up with anything to be with you or This is never going to work, so let’s officially stop hoping.
“I guess what I wanted to say is, we could be that for real,” he said. “Boyfriends. But I need to know if that’s something you want. Something you can be serious about.”
“I …” I cleared my throat. What with performing Shakespeare, making out in a shower, and being pinned down to reveal my emotions, all in one afternoon, my voice had lost its strength. “I’ve definitely wanted it, thought about it. I’m even …” Maybe in love with you.
But people loved their friends, didn’t they? Even ones they had sex with? It was complicated. I could only be sure of that. And I shouldn’t say it if I wasn’t sure.
“I didn’t think you wanted to be involved, was the thing,” I said. “With this whole shitstorm.”
He tucked his feet under the bed. “That’s why I’d need you to be serious about it. I’m risking a lot here, man. My heart got stomped less than a year ago,
and I’d rather not have it happen again. Which is why I’ve been protecting myself, trying not to care so much.”
Touched, I looked at him, reinterpreting in a flash all those closed-off moments I’d run into with him in the past few months.
He kept his gaze on the floor and continued, “But I do care, so … look, I would cancel Tokyo, stay with you, face the wrath of your parents, be a … co-dad. But only if you’re ready. Ready to come out, to commit. Otherwise …”
With that addendum, all my anxieties flooded back, nauseating me. My gaze slid away from him to the brilliance of sunlight spilling onto the opposite wall.
A slideshow clicked unstoppably through my mind, each picture a slap across the face. The loathing in my parents’ eyes at the country club. The disinterested disgust of my grandparents. Each ex-girlfriend who had realized she was better off without me. Fiona, pregnant and heartsick because of me. The millions of people in the world who would grimace or shout insults or literally try to kill Andy and me if they saw us kiss.
Andy had learned to live with that danger, and I probably could too, for my own sake. But when I had to consider the safety of my infant daughter, when all the hate and judgement could grow even more vicious because she was involved …
I almost couldn’t breathe.
I forced some stifling summer air down, felt my lungs creak open to accept it.
“Here’s what I picture,” I said. I gazed at the glare of sun on the white wall, my vision unfocused. “If I asked you to stay, and you accepted, it wouldn’t be long before you resented me for keeping you from Tokyo. Your dream job. Maybe we’d sometimes be happy, but with Verona, we’d also be stressed and sleep-deprived and not knowing what the hell we were doing, and we’d start yelling at each other. My parents and the rest of my family might just never speak to me again. I’d be this pathetic, isolated parasite hanging onto your family, and you’d lose all respect for me and not want to see me anymore, and …” I ran out of air.
“Wow. Is that really how pessimistic it is inside your head?”
If he’d sounded warm and amused, the Andy I liked best, that might have changed things. But he sounded dismayed, impatient. Like he viewed me as pathetic already.
“That’s what I’m saying.” I gripped the edge of the mattress. “I’m messed up. I’m damaged. And if you stayed just because I asked, and had to deal with my shit all the time, I don’t know how long we’d even stay friends.”
He let out a sigh, turning his head away. “So, what, you refuse to ask me to stay?”
“I think you should take your dream job. I would hate myself if I denied you that.” I angled my knees toward him a few degrees. “But … once you get back, after the dust has settled with me telling my parents about Verona, and she’s not a newborn anymore and I’ve figured out what I’m doing, then I might be in better shape to take on … everything else.”
“Coming out,” he said flatly. “That’s what terrifies you so much, isn’t it? Dude. Please. Like no one in the world has ever had it as hard as you?”
“I know! That just makes me feel worse. I can’t even handle what people in harder circumstances handle every day. But you are the one person I haven’t completely disappointed yet, and I can’t stand the idea that I might break that. Which I would, if I tore you away from this awesome job and tied you down to a kid when you weren’t ready, and made you deal with my insecurities and my stupid family. You’d be out of here, and I’d never see you again.”
He had turned to look at me, incredulity shaping his features. “Whereas if we wait six months, everything will miraculously be fine?”
“No—I don’t know.” I ducked my head. “I’ll have figured out some of it, I hope. But I’m not asking … look, I can’t ask you to wait for me. I know that. It’s a long time. Things can happen.”
“For instance, you might decide it makes sense to get together with Fiona. Who is conveniently the mother of your child.”
“No. That is not going to happen.”
“Or some other woman,” he went on. “Who loves your adorable baby. Or some man. Could be either. Could be both.”
“This—” I blinked in bewilderment. “No. I really don’t think so. And this isn’t even the issue. I want us to be friends, like we were. Not acting like this all the time. So obviously we have stuff to work out—or at least, I do—but me forcing you to stick around isn’t the way to do it.”
“No.” He stood up and walked to where he’d left his shoes. “I guess it isn’t. I hear you.” The closed-off tone was back in his voice. He sat on the floor and put his socks and sneakers on.
“What, you’re just leaving?”
“It sounds like I’m supposed to.”
“But … I was going to give you a ride.”
“I’ll call a lift.” He got out his phone and tapped a few things. “There. Should be here in three minutes.” He climbed to his feet.
I rose too, dizzy with panic. “Okay, but … we have to stay in touch. Please. I want to know how you’re doing. I want to … be able to tell you how I’m doing.”
“So I can hear what I’m missing out on? Thanks, how thoughtful.” He walked to my front door.
I followed. “If we stop being friends because of today, then everything I just said was pointless.”
He opened the door and put his sunglasses back on. He looked down at his phone, his back against the door frame, his body silhouetted by the brightness in the front yard. “We’re still friends. But I haven’t done a very good job of not getting my heart stomped today, unfortunately.” His voice wobbled a little.
I ached to wrap my arms around him, say the right thing—whatever that was. But a red car pulled up at the curb and idled there, waiting for him. “Me neither,” I said.
He stepped out onto the porch and shot me one last look, his mouth set firm. “You can fix this. You can fix all of it, if you would just be brave enough. And you’d better, because I’ve got to tell you, man, the closet is no place to live.” He turned and strode to his ride, and got in without looking back.
CHAPTER 37: THIS IS THE DAY
ANDY AND I DIDN’T SEND ONE ANOTHER A SINGLE MESSAGE, COMMENT, OR SOCIAL-MEDIA “LIKE” FOR the rest of August or the first few days of September. Neither of us posted much to comment on in the first place, but even so, we had reached that dreadful stage: radio silence.
Oh, I thought of things to say. Many things, a buffet of monologues to choose from: self-righteous defense, abject apology, logical bullet list, confident declaration of commitment. But I delivered none of them, because of one nasty sticking point.
He hadn’t said he loved me.
He had come to see me, seduced me, claimed he’d stay if I asked, and sounded heartbroken when he left. But he’d never actually said “I love you,” and wouldn’t he, if he felt that way? It might have helped me clarify my own feelings. Or so I told myself.
Though even if he’d said so, I might still have told him he’d be throwing his life away to join me right then. Because I sucked. He was better off this way, regardless of how he felt.
As to whether I was better off …
I slept with his T-shirt bunched in my embrace, when I could sleep at all. I obsessed, I fumed, I sulked. I told myself to quit it and get shit done instead.
So I turned my focus to the baby—the one aspect of life I had gotten serious about. I bugged Fiona at least once a day to check if she was in labor yet, and eventually got this message:
Sebastian: Would you let the woman sleep. Someone will tell you when there’s anything to tell. Calm your tits
I thanked him and shut up. But I remained a jittery mess, pacing around, ready to hit up the airline reservation page every minute. A Midsummer Night’s Dream wrapped, and I wasn’t acting in anything else—no point auditioning when I’d likely be gone for half of September. My only work was at the café, where Chris and Kam gave me extra shifts to keep me occupied.
On the sixth of September, during an afternoon s
hift, I got an email from my mom. Its subject was “Vacation.” Perplexed, I opened it.
Hello Joel,
Just letting you know we’re in Carmel for a few days, at our usual hotel. Thought we’d go before the summer’s over. We can be reached there in case anything comes up.
Hope you are well.
Take care,
Mom
My head felt surreally light. That was nowhere near the world’s most conciliatory email, but for my parents, after that scene at the country club, it was major. I finished my shift in a daze, pondering how to answer. Pretend nothing happened at Granddad’s party? Say it was good to hear from her? Wish them a nice trip? And oh, by the way, I’m expecting your grandkid any day now, ha, funny story about that?
A text buzzed me as I stepped out of the café into a breezy, cloudy afternoon.
Fiona: Been admitted to hospital with contractions. They’re getting stronger, so yes, doctor says it is time. Fly over if you can
I stopped dead, staring at the message. People brushed me on both sides, slipping around me on the sidewalk. I started breathing heavily. Looking in the direction of the duplex, I broke into a run and sprinted a few yards, then skidded to a halt, spun around, and ran back to the café.
Kam was behind the counter. I raced up, waving the phone at her. “The message—she’s in labor—I need to go to London. Can you guys—will you—?”
“Oh my gosh!” Kam pressed her floury hands to both cheeks. “Yes! Yes, go! We’ll buy your baby stuff; we’ll coordinate with you later—go, go! Keep in touch! Eeee, wait!” She hurried around the counter and hugged me, leaving floury handprints on my clothes, then shoved me toward the front door. “Hurry, go!”
I fumbled out a message to Fiona.
Sinter: Holy wow. I am on my way. Will get plane ticket and tell you the flight asap. Stay strong! Keep sending updates. xxoo
Six hours later, I stepped out of a ride-share car at Sea-Tac. While I shuffled through security, I made myself a hotel reservation in London, choosing a place not far from the hospital Chelsea had specified. She was with Fiona, and had taken over as the person responsible for sending me updates. Fiona, being in labor, was growing uncomfortable and not in the mood to type messages.
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