“Something in short supply in our family,” Woody said, shifting on his feet.
I nodded. Any self-confidence that Woody and I had was hard won and grown in soil that was never meant to support such an endeavor.
“Fine, I get wanting to fit in with your friends, but why lie to me?”
It was hard to miss the hurt in that question, and I knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“Neither of us had a whole lot, Woody. At least not until you started making money on your poems.”
“Yeah, but whatever I had was always yours. You know that.”
“Yes, I do know that. But I went through a rough patch for a while there, and I knew you’d have given me everything you had, but you had your dreams and I couldn’t take from you like that. Sleeping around felt like a better excuse than telling you where I really was.”
“Where were you?”
If he didn’t like that answer, he was going to hate this one. I remembered our group counselor’s advice, though, and chose to trust Woody with the hard truth.
“Until I got enough side jobs to cover that first shitty apartment, I sometimes slept in my car. And sometimes I stayed with friends who I knew you wouldn’t like.” I shook out my hands. “And, rarely, I’d give hand jobs to guys who’d let me sleep on their couch if I asked.”
Woody went quiet again, but this time when I looked over at him, his eyes were welling with tears.
“How did I not know that?”
“Because I didn’t want you to.”
“But why? There’s no way in hell I’d have ever let you fucking sleep in your car, Rowd. And there’s certainly no way in hell I’d ever?—”
“Where was I going to stay?” I asked, not wanting him to repeat what I’d said. “In your family’s little shithole trailer while your mom was dying? That one-room apartment over Mr. Whatshisface’s garage? Your one-room cabin?”
“Rowdy...”
A tear tracked down his cheek.
“I’ve been going to group therapy, Woody. By the way, that’s where I really met Skylar, not at a club. I don’t like the clubs.”
Woody looked down and toed the dirt, like maybe something about that hurt his feelings.
“It’s hard to talk about it outside of the group,” I said, trying to explain. “But it’s helped me to learn why I did things the way I did.”
“That’s...good,” Woody said, more to himself than to me.
I knew my cousin very well, and he’d have wanted to be the one to come in and fix all of my problems for me. But that wasn’t his job.
“It’s given me perspective, for sure.”
“What kind of perspective?” he asked.
“Like I said, looking in the rearview, I know there was a lot I could’ve done differently, including letting myself lean on youa little more.” Woody opened his mouth, no doubt to confirm it, but I shook my head. “But also, maybe not. Being raised in that house, Wood...you have no idea.”
“Tell me.” His soft request reminded me that, as hardheaded and judgmental as he could seem, my cousin loved me unconditionally. Something I’d forgotten in all of my lying.
“Everything about me was always wrong. Nothing I did made my parents happy, and trying to win their affection only made them resent me even more.”
Woody snorted derisively. “Resent you fortheirchoices? Like you purposefully came into the world to destroy their lives?” He spit in the dirt. “Fucking assholes.”
I let out a dry laugh. He never did hold back his opinion.
“When I think about that little kid who tried so goddamned hard to make his parents love him, especially knowing now that they were never gonna...” I sniffled loudly. “You were the only good thing in my life, Woody. For a really, really long time. And once I was on my own, the thought of overstaying my welcome, of ruining this relationship...?”
