I hop into Toro and drive away, yanking off the stupid cummerbund and tossing it onto the floor.
July.
Carter
“Dude,” Bodhi says, in the voice memo he sent several hours ago, “I know you’ll probably say no to this, but you should come out with me and Lizzy tonight. We’re gonna hit up that new ghost movie.”
I’m planted on the family room couch in front of the TV, which has become my regular Friday night routine. And my Saturday night routine. And Sunday night. Really, all the nights. And some of the days too. It’s been about a month since that shitty wedding, and, at least since school ended, most of that time has been divided between two locations: couch and bed. I don’t have the energy or enthusiasm to be anywhere else.
My parents would prefer this wasn’t the case.
Not my problem.
Only five months till I loop away from all this.
It’s funny that I thought apologizing to Layla Banerjee might solve my situation. Obviously it was never going to do anything. Even if shewasthe person I’d broken up with, it all sounds so ridiculous now. Which is why I won’t be apologizing to Vivian Spear either.
Can’t make it, I text Bodhi as I keep half my attention on this weird-ass Netflix show about the circus. A fire-twirling woman just cheated on her muscular acrobat husband with the charming, androgynous ringmaster. Pretty fucked-up.
My bro’s about to come home, I type.Have fun buddy.
Lincolnisabout to come home from his internship for a couple days to celebrate Dad’s birthday with us, but not till tomorrow. So it’s a weak excuse. I don’t feel like being a third wheel tonight, though. Nor do I need to watch a movie about ghosts. That’s already my life now anyway.
I’ve ghosted myself from everything. Because it feels better.
You put yourself out there, you try too hard, and you just get fucked over.
I also stopped going to therapy. Soren’s mustache was annoying the crap out of me.
And Maggie finally stopped texting too. For the best, really.
After her many messages over the weeks—and once even showing up at my house; I had Mom tell her I didn’t feel like talking—I get how bad she feels.
But I hated how that all went down.
On the TV, the fire twirler and ringmaster are hooking up again, this time in a grunty, fully clothed sex scene in a grimy dressing room. Seems like a ridiculous place to do that, they’re obviously going to get caught.
“What’re you watching, bud?” Dad says, appearing behind the couch. I race to hit the Pause button. He and Mom don’t mind if I watch stuff like this, but I definitely don’t need to watch itwiththem. “Oh!Three Rings!This season was so good. Are you into it?”
“Um, yeah, it’s fine, I guess.”
“I was always obsessed with the circus when I was a kid,” Dad says. “So it was cool to see what’s actually going on behind the scenes.”
“Uh. You realize it’s not a documentary, right?”
“Come on, Carter,” Dad says, ruffling my hair. “I’m old, but I’m notthatold. I felt so bad for Stefan during this plotline.”
“Stefan?”
“The acrobat guy. Whose wife is humping someone else on-screen right now.”
“Dude!”
“What? I always find adultery plotlines uncomfortable!”
“No, just—Don’t sayhumping, Dad.Never sayhumping. We’ve talked about this.”
“I know, I know.” Dad pats my shoulder. “I was hoping it might make you laugh. It’s good to see you smile for a second.”
