“There are many different types of people in the world. Some you want to be, and some you don’t. I have friends who I’d never want to be like and—"
“You’re talking about your hometown friends?”
“Yes. I—”
“You never talk about them. Why wouldn’t I want to be like them? Because they’re in relationships?”
“No, not just because they’re in a relationship. They’re… small-minded?”
“Are you asking or telling? I don’t know them, Blackwood. Paint a picture.”
He was being obstinate. And how he stared at me, his smirk never growing, but his eyes tensing further, threw me off my game. I reframed my pitch.
“Ok, so, after high school, my whole friend group went backpacking through Europe. It blew our fucking minds, and we decided to transfer away from the local college, but I was the only one who actually did it.” I rubbed the back of my neck, unaware of how much the memory still stung until I relived it. “All of them, everyone, moved back home after they graduated. Then they got married, mostly to each other or other locals, had babies, bought houses, the whole nine.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. If that’s what they want, but I don’t.” I snorted. “I almost had a panic attack the last wedding I flew home for. Just not for me, or any worldly man, such as yourself.”
“What gave you a panic attack?”
I smiled and looked away. It felt less like a pitch than an interrogation.
“Everyone, including my family, pressured me to move back home, meet a girl and settle down. My dad got nasty, told me to stop dicking around, and that selling toilets halfway across the country wasn’t better than being near family and friends. Wasn’t a great trip.”
“So I should stay single forever because your dad was mean that one time?”
I laughed, shook my head, and smiled.
“No. What I’m trying to say is that whenever I come home, my friends talk about our summer in Europe as if it were a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Something that could never happen again, and,”—I cringed—“it gives me fucking hives.”
“Why? For them, it probably was. Isn’t it better that they went when they could, and remember it fondly, than never getting to go at all?”
“I guess.” My skin felt itchy, and I wanted to get up.
“What do you mean, you guess? You sound like a snob.” He chuckled. “Not everyone can fly around the world, Blackwood.”
“I don’t mean the ability. I meant the desire. They have none. They live their little lives in their little town, never changing, never moving, never seeing or experiencing anythingnew. It’s just…” My spine tickled, and I shimmied as if trying to shake the feeling loose.
“God, that’s pretentious.” Alec sat back, letting his smirk become a grin. “Are you repulsed by the idea of people being happy where they are?”
“What? No! Not repulsed by people being happy. Just like, you know… I don’t want to feel so tied down.It makes me feel trapped.”
“Having a family with the person you love makes you feel trapped?”
“No!” My heart rate continued to climb. “Yes… maybe. I don’t know. Shit—"
“I’m not sold, kid.” He grinned wider. “People have always, throughout human history, wanted to be in stable relationships. Why shouldn’t I want that?”
“I… well…” My brain emptied, and I had nothing more to say.
Alec stared at me until he laughed. “I’m fucking with you. Calm down.” He laughed harder. “I’ve never seen you so flustered.”
I laughed too, grateful for the reprieve. “Thank you, I had no idea how to bullshit that one.” I laughed more. “I only believe about half of the shit I just said, as it is.”
“Half? A good salesperson should believe anywhere from ninety to ninety-five percent of what they say… Oh, sorry, did I say ninety? I meant five.”
We laughed more. His eyes lingered on me as it died, and his smile changed. “Thanks for making me laugh. I needed it.”
