by Dave Connis
“Well, I expect you to be Dez Coulter.”
“Okay, that’s really nice and all, but you need to be more aggressive with me. You need to assert yourself if you ever want me to listen to you.”
“Dez?”
“What?” she snaps.
“Shut up.”
She sighs, says “Fine,” and then walks toward the dining room, which looks like the ballroom in Beauty and the Beast, except without the dancing brooms or mops.
Disappointing. I thought the rich could have it all.
I follow Dez in right as Mr. Coulter starts telling my dad about Dez’s brothers, Rich and Terry Junior. When she hears their names, Dez turns to me and cocks her jaw. Before she has the chance to storm out again, I point at the chair next to mine, trying to pack some seriousness in my eyes. Her jaw resets and slides into a smile. She even laughs. I can’t keep up with where she’s at emotionally, but Dez = drop-dead, blazing hot in her black jeans and a white sweater, which drops to reveal her left shoulder.
Dinner is served. It’s amazing, of course. The only thing that could make it better is if Dez’s parents didn’t spend most of the time talking about people my dad and I don’t know. Finally, halfway through the filet mignon wrapped in bacon, Mr. Coulter says, “So, Greg, I heard you were a literary agent.”
Dad’s back tenses, but he continues eating like he’s never been asked to dinner by someone trying to score an agent before.
Dez gets up from the table and grabs my hand. “I’m going to show Adam the house.”
Her dad waves us away. Though he says, “yes, yes, sure,” I’m pretty sure he has no idea what Dez said or even cares.
As I stand to leave, Dad looks at me with “please don’t leave me alone” eyes. I raise my hands in helplessness as Dez pulls me toward a giant spiral staircase.
She points toward two big, black bulldogs sprawled out on a Persian carpet in the living room. “The one on the left is Indecent, the one who can’t stand not getting the ball. The one on the right is Roll Tide. He has very few opinions. How’s porn going?” She lets go of my hand and bounds up the steps.
“The last time I looked at some was the night before we started fighting for each other or whatever. My head’s a mess and I’m not sleeping well, but you’re worth it.”
“You’re going to relapse,” she says.
I shrug. “You’re going to die.”
She spins halfway up the stairs, “Why the hell would you say something like that?”
I laugh at the sudden snap. “Why would you tell me I’m going to relapse? It’s not like that sort of thing is super encouraging to someone on his first try at getting un-addicted to porn.”
“I say it because everyone does. They call this the pink cloud. Your realization that you need to change gives you enough of a buzz that it replaces your addiction buzz. You drop your addiction, but it’s only for a time. Then you realize changing is damn impossible, and you go back to your vice with open arms. I’m just warning you about this now so you aren’t crushed under the weight of relapsing.”
“Dez—”
She holds up a hand. “Just … stop.”
“What’s going on with you?” I ask.
She walks into a room, one about as big as our house. There’s nothing on the walls but a poster of the twelve steps. She grabs me by the collar, pulls me in, and shuts the door.
“Ever since you showed up, everything’s been so confusing!” she yells. “I was fine with assuming I’d always be an addict. I went to Addiction Fighters to make me feel better about myself. To know my fixed shitty-ness was understood. It took nothing from me to be there. It felt good to be heard, because I’m sure as hell not going to be heard around here. That was all I wanted out of that place, and then you came and now I actually want to be better and everything’s messed up. Now I want to actually be better. I want to break my cycles instead of just talking about breaking them, but I don’t know what questions to ask or what things to believe. I want to stop consuming everything around me—for you, Adam—and thinking about it is already putting me through withdrawals.”
“You didn’t have to call me,” I say. “You could have called any other person in Addiction Fighters, but you didn’t. And now you’re yelling at me for wanting to be better like it’s my fault. You think I’ve been gliding in the proverbial air since I met you? I’ve asked more questions in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life and I hate it. I can’t watch porn anymore without feeling horrible. So what used to make me not feel like shit now makes me feel like shit. I’m having depressing dreams. Mark’s dead, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t know the guy, but it’s scared the crap out of me.”
“I am Mark, Adam. Can’t you see that? I’m Mark.”
“So am I!” I yell.
We’re both silent. She sits down on her bed. My phone buzzes.
UPDATE ME!
Arguing with Dez.
FAIL, ADAM.
I sit next to Dez.
She grabs my hand. “I read the most confusing first line ever the other day.”
“What?” I ask.
“‘It was a pleasure to burn.’ Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.” Her eyes narrow in thought. “Like, who says that? Since when has it ever been a pleasure to burn?”
I think about the feeling that ripples up my arm when our hands come together after being apart. Could that be it?
“I don’t know. Maybe you should read the whole book.”
She falls back on her bed. “I’ve never read a whole book.”
I lie on my back and turn my head toward her. I’m on a bed with an incredibly sexy girl. I’ve dreamed of being on a bed with a sexy girl forever, and all I can think about is how to make her feel like I see her: a holy and broken hallelujah. I’m not selfless, so why am I not trying to have sex right now? The question makes me wonder if I should try, but then she turns to look at me. Her hair drapes over her cheek. I see blue eyes shining at me like a sunrise. What is it about Dez Coulter that makes me want better things for her? For me? For everyone?
She sighs. “I can’t stop wondering. Can two addicts actually love or can they just … be addicted to each other?”
“Maybe the answer is yes, even for non-addicts.”
She slides closer to me and presses her head into my chest. She folds into me like we’ve always been that way and it’s up to the rest of the world to catch up. There’s something about her tenderness that ends all thoughts of sex. Something about the way she presses against me makes me want to keep her safe. I know trying something would be the opposite of keeping her safe, though I can’t explain why. Would she be this close to me if she knew why I was suspended? The reason that makes me feel more and more like shit each passing day?
“Adam Hawthorne, don’t ever let me wear you down. Don’t ever let me stop fighting for us.”
“That sounds like dependency to me,” I say.
“Just … shhh,” she says.
So I do. I just shhh.
ON TOP OF ME
Time seems to move quicker than it had before. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not just spending all my time in my room, or if it’s because I now have Dez, or Addy, or Trey and Elliot. I just know everything feels more awake than it ever had before. It’s like I was rusty car and someone had to push me down a hill to get me to start. I feel like I’m picking up speed. Moving. Being something that isn’t filled corner-to-corner with dark and rust.
The weird thing is, I feel like I’ve passed my slowness onto Mr. Cratcher. We’ve been recording for three weeks now, and I feel like going up the stairs takes a few minutes longer. Getting him set up with his guitar is like putting boots on a finch. He just wanders around moving things. Persnickety fidget here and persnickety fidget there. I wonder if it’s just a new morning thing or if he’s this sluggish at school, too.
One night after Addiction Fighters, the Knights of Vice, plus a few extra, go to Pritchett’s. Trey and Elliot sit across from me and Dez,
and Addy’s in a chair at the end of the table. We’re all talking about how, during the sharing time at the meeting, Dez walked to the podium like she was going to speak, but just stared at everyone for at least a minute and then sat down.
Dez shakes her head. “Everyone’s always talking about how life’s so hectic and overwhelming.” The obstinate smile she gets when she’s arguing a point playfully, but with the conviction of someone who actually believes it, appears on her lips. “I thought it would be nice to enjoy some silence together, but you didn’t even applaud when I walked off the podium. You plead for order and calm, but when it’s given to you, you stare at it like you’ve just walked in on a fat guy you don’t know on your toilet.”
“You didn’t actually say that was happening,” Elliot says. “If I walked up to a piano, sat down on the bench, and just stared at you instead of playing, you’d think I was a moron.”
Dez opens her mouth to say something, but she realizes she’s trapped. “I’d expect you to do whatever you wanted.”
Elliot lets out one strong laugh. “BS! Dez, you are always so full of manic pixie BS.”
Dez’s mouth drops, and she looks so offended that I wonder if she’ll ever say anything to Elliot again. “I am not a manic pixie.”
Elliot and Trey look at each other and then both say. “Right.”
“I think it’s …” I start, but then try to think of a different word for cute. Adorable. Sexy. “Avant-garde.”
“Oh God, so much BS everywhere,” Elliot says, pretending to hurl into a napkin holder.
Trey laughs but then looks at Addy. “You know what isn’t BS, Adelaide? Us. Come on. What do you say? Let me take you out. Just once.”
Addy shakes her head as the rest of us chuckle at her expense. “Who told bro that my full name is Adelaide? Raise your hand now.”
No one raises their hand.
Trey gets an embarrassed smile. “Chica, no one at this table told me. I asked Mr. Cratcher for all the information he had on you.”
“Dios mio,” Addy says. “Listen, Trey, if you want me, you’ve gotta step it up.”
“Yeah,” I add. “For one, you need to win her brother over first.”
Trey waves me away. “Oh, that’s easy, man.”
Dez raises an eyebrow. “And you’ve got to win over the brother’s girlfriend.”
When everyone, including me, turns and looks at Dez, she realizes her mistake.
Dez tries to correct herself, “I mean the brother’s …”
She can’t think of anything else to call herself. It’s funny, but, at the same time, I can’t keep up with what she thinks we are.
“Mujer de la noche?” Addy asks.
Trey laughs. “How do you not see we could be perfect together?”
Dez throws a french fry at him. “Elliot, tell Trey to leave poor Addy alone.”
Elliot flicks Trey in the neck. “Hey, man, relax. Dez wants to talk about Dez, not Addy.”
Dez grabs the table with a big grin. “Nuh uh! That is not what I said.”
I shrug. “That’s what I heard.” I look at everyone else. “That’s what you guys heard, too, right?”
Everyone holds back their laughter long enough to agree.
Dez shakes her head in defeat. “I am me, and he is he, and she is she, and you are all assholes.”
We laugh, and I realize I’ve never felt like this: included, like I fit, like I have a place.
Suddenly, as though my heart realized its vulnerability, images of porn crash in on me. In a matter of seconds, all the freedom I was feeling is replaced by my want for porn. My knee starts bouncing. My palms get hot. I get fidgety. I know that I’m not going to survive tonight. Dez takes one look at me and knows exactly what’s happening: the pull of withdrawal. The intense incompleteness.
“See?” she whispers. “This is why we aren’t dating yet.”
“Dez, can you please not make me feel guiltier than I already do?”
“I hate it when couples whisper to each other when they’re in a group,” Elliot whispers, and everyone laughs.
“That wasn’t a joke,” he adds. “For real, I hate it.”
Trey throws his arm around Elliot as another round of fries is brought to the table. “Hey, man, relax,” he says again.
Dez and I look at each other unsettled. Our volcano-ness is spilling over into each other’s struggles and we haven’t even officially dated yet. I turn away and catch Addy gazing at Trey while he talks to Elliot. Addy catches me catching her, and her only response is a mischievous grin.
—
“You can’t make fun of me for not dating when you know exactly why we can’t,” Dez says.
We’re standing outside of Pritchett’s. Everyone’s left except for Addy, who’s waiting for me in her truck.
“Dez, I’m sorry. I just—it sucks not to have something you want because of something that feels so out of your control. I just wonder like, what’s it matter what we call it? We’d be pissed if either one of us dated someone else, right? Doesn’t that mean we’re dating? The whole ‘we have no title but I’ll be pissed as hell at you if you no-titled with someone else’ thing is just as much of a title as dating.”
Dez uncrosses her arms and steps closer to me. “We can’t be boyfriend and girlfriend yet. We can’t date yet. We have to defeat our addictions, remember? Otherwise we’ll just burn each other up. We can do this. We’re awesome.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
She collapses into my chest like she’s exhausted, so I just hold her.
“You don’t think I’m a manic pixie dream girl, do you?”
“I think you march to the beat of your own conga line and it’s adorable.”
“So, yes, but it’s fine, is what you’re saying?”
“I think it’s hot when you just silently stare at a room full of addicts.”
She pulls herself off my chest, her lips pressed into a concerned line. “I just … my brothers are the same as my dad; carbon-copy, moneymaker, rich, ignorant types. My mom is the perfect woman and wife who never makes a mistake, but is hollow on the inside. I don’t want to be that. I can’t be that.”
“I really think you’re awesome.”
She rests into me again. “You’re the first one, then. One of my sponsors once said that I was too focused on being different to ever be in a healthy relationship.”
“What did you say?”
“Oh, I agreed, one hundred percent.”
“So, what does that mean for us, then?”
“I think it means if you look at porn tonight, I’ll kick you in the nuts,” she says. “How’s that for incentive?”
“A: That’s not an answer, B: the scariest thing about that is I know you’ll actually do it.”
“Yeah, I will. I want to date you.”
I wonder why she moved on so quickly from my question. I wonder what her quest to be different from her family means for us, but I let it go for now. I probably have some sort of backlash from The Woman affecting my relationships in a similar way. I don’t think anyone escapes their families without some sort of bruise.
“So you’ll kick me in the nuts to date me?”
She nods. “Yeah. So worth it.”
I take a deep breath and then step away from her and spread my legs into a rockstar-ish stance. “Alright, I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”
She laughs but then kisses me on the cheek. “If only it were that easy. See you in the morning, Hawthorne.”
—
I watched porn for an hour.
I hate myself.
I hate myself.
I. Hate. Myself.
—
The next morning, I sit at the kitchen table with my dad. I shovel spoonfuls of Cocoa Puffs into my mouth, but the act of lifting the spoon, chewing, and fishing more puffs out of the milk seems like a placebo happiness compared to what I felt last night being with everyone. I didn’t think Cocoa Puffs could ever lose their shine.
I thought their unnatural molecular structure could keep them shining way past their expiration date. I guess all it takes is something brighter to make a shine seem dull. My shine-o-meter rankings are now Addy, Dez, my friends, and then Cocoa Puffs.
Glad that happened.
My phone rings, and it makes Dad look up from his e-reader with his eyebrows all scrunched.
“Hello?”
“Why five?” Dez asks. “There are twenty-four options to choose from. Why five in the morning?”
“Because he’s an old man, and though I don’t go to school currently, he does.”
“Oh, yeah, I suppose I still have to do that later, too. At least it’s Friday. Do I have to kick you in the nuts this morning?”
Truth? No truth?
Pros: I tell the truth.
Cons: I avoid hurting her, hurting my balls, and being vulnerable.
“Nope, you don’t. You sure you’re okay with this?”
“I’ve never recorded anything. Ever. This is a temporary conquering until we can come up with something better.”
“Alright, I’ll see you there then.”
She doesn’t say good-bye. She just hangs up.
“Dez is going to Mr. Cratcher’s?” Dad asks.
“Yeah, she’s going to sing.”
“Huh,” he says. “Just make sure you’re still focusing on spending time with Mr. Cratcher. I don’t want these mornings to turn into the Dez and Adam Show where nothing gets discussed. I think the mornings have been good for you and I’d hate to see those go, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“Promise me you’ll take advantage of the times you have to have with Mr. Cratcher to focus on yourself?”
“I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing, but yes. I will. Hey, we should get a different kind of cereal,” I say, standing to grab my keys off the counter.
“Leave it to love to get a man to change cereals,” Dad says.
“We’re not dating.”
“I never implied you were dating. I implied you were in love.”
“I guess. I don’t really know what that means.”