“As you can imagine, Nathan has a lot on his plate in his junior year, what with tennis and fraternity duties,” Bryce jumps in, like he’s saving me. My hear sinks. Did I do badly? “Being Vice President isn’t easy.”
“Vice President, really? It’s Sigma Alpha Psi, right?” Mason sounds impressed, not surprised. That’s good, at least.
I nod while he wipes his mouth on a napkin.
“Why don’t you give the office a call once classes are out and we’ll have a little chat?” He hands me a business card. One of those fancy types with embossed lettering.
“Thank you, sir, I will.”
My hand trembles a little as I put it in my pocket. I didn’t realize how quickly I’d have to start acting like an adult when I left for college. How suddenly I’d be thrustinto the grown up world of business. But I find myself eager to impress. Keeping the business cards of all the associates Bryce introduces me to in a drawer in my room. Practicing my speeches in the mirror. Learning when to laugh and when to be serious. When to be jovial and when to be cutthroat.
Bryce hangs back after Mason leaves. A hand on the back of my neck guiding me towards his car.
“You did well, Nathan.”
My shoulders sag with relief and this ball of warmth emanates from my chest.
“You’ve come a long way. I keep telling you, it doesn’t matter where you start, if anything, starting at the bottom can make you hungrier, deadlier. I wasn’t born into money either … ”
I nod while he recounts a favorite tale of hardship before he reached the dizzying heights of CEO. Bryce likes to think he’s above men born with a silver spoon in their mouths because he had to claw his way to the top, but personally, I hate being reminded that I wasn’t born to live in this world. He can’t even imagine how hard it was having a strong Jersey accent in private school, before I learned how to refine it. Bryce’s version of ‘hardship’ is growing up middleclass in Connecticut and having to attend public school before getting a scholarship to Princeton.
“You get back to school and focus on your studies now. Keep your eye on the prize. Don’t let anything distract you,” he says, giving my neck a final squeeze before letting me go.
The next morning,I slip out of the frat house before anyone is awake. I have a destination in mind, and the closerI get to it, the more the hairs on the backs of my arms start to bristle.
Joe Flannigan’s funeral was the first time I’d returned to this neighborhood in years. It felt weird coming back, seeing my old house next to Evan’s. A new car parked in the driveway. Different kids playing out on the lawn.
The house is quiet now as I pull up, the screen door and crumbling porch exactly how I remember.
I park the SUV Mom and Bryce bought me for my 20thbirthday at the end of the driveway and hope Evan doesn’t take one look at it and tell me to fuck off.
His mom’s car isn’t parked in its usual spot, so she must have gone back to work already.
As I get out of the car, I try not to think about the last thing he said to me at the funeral.Go back to your frat bros, Nate. You don’t belong here anymore.
Was he right? I’ve never felt like I fully belong in Bryce’s world. For the past five years, I’ve been telling myself this disconnect is due to the fact that I belonghere. But if that isn’t true either, what the hell is the issue? Where do I belong then?
Faded chalk marks from Stacie’s hopscotch board are still visible on the driveway. The basketball hoop Evan’s dad put up over the garage door is still bolted in place, starting to rust. The sight of these familiar touchstones bring up memories that I haven’t thought about for years.
When we were kids, I followed Evan around like a puppy dog—jumping into the sea after him, trying to keep up at basketball, helping him steal cigarettes from his dad’s overalls and trying to smoke them under the boardwalk. I always thought that felt like a long time ago, but standing here on his doorstep, waiting with sweaty palmsfor him to come and open the door for me, it feels like no time has passed at all.
Except when Evan comes to the door, he isn’t a gangly fifteen-year old anymore. He’s a grown-ass man in a ratty white vest and sleep shorts. I swallow, remembering that thing I’d pushed down more than any other memory. How I’d watch Evan smoking one of his dad’s Marlboros and think about his lips on the filter when he passed it to me. Hiding my excitement from him when we stripped down to our underwear to jump into the sea. He scowls when he sees me.
“What do you want?”
I swallow, paste on my best smile. “Hey.”
“My ma’s not home.”
“I didn’t come here to see her.”
“What do you want?” he repeats, a little more exasperated this time.
I shrug. “I thought we could hang out.”
He lets out something between a laugh and a scoff. “What’s wrong? Your frat bros all busy hazing kids in the basement?”
I’m momentarily stung, but remind myself that he’s just angry, and grieving. And he has every right to be angry at me. I got us into trouble back then. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me most. But I’m here now. Even if he thinks he doesn’t want me to be.
