“So, I know we’re supposed to be sticking to the crystal hunt, but Jessalynn told me about how you legally tried to stop me from telling jokes about you, and I hope this isn’t terribly awkward, but…” I grow nervous, which is strange because aside from my romantic feelings for him, I’ve never been afraid to talk to Drew about anything. “I was wondering if you’d tell me your side.”
Drew stops appraising a yellow stone to look at me. The glazed expression is back, but he answers easily after a moment. He’s had much longer to sit with this than I have. “I think you got a good rise out of the crowd with that first set, so you made me a permanent part of your act. That whole confessional angle was really big in your industry at the time. When you went on the road with Clive, youkept adding more and more material about it. At first, I rolled with the punches, figuring it was your way of processing the situation and none of my business, but then your star started to rise and people started recognizing me.”
That explains how those articles cropped up so quickly after our trip to Lucille’s. Nobody had to do much digging to identify the red-haired hottie I was hugging. He was getting media attention alongside me. I hate that I added that stressor on him. “Shit,” I mutter.
He scrubs a hand over his wary face. “It was awful. Bad enough I had to be reminded of you when I went on social media or turned on the TV, but to have people from our past reaching out to me, asking if I knew about it, sending me videos.” Distress torques his brow. “My mom even started getting asked about it.”
Drew’s mom, Belinda, was always a marvelous free spirit. She worked at Bath & Body Works during the week, painted on weekends, always had a different boyfriend, and probably knew about all the pot we were smoking but never said anything because she knew we were “good kids.” She was a reliable mom who loved Drew, but it was clear to me fairly early on in our friendship that if she could be a painter in New York instead of a single mom in New Jersey, she would be.
“You’re kidding,” I say. It’s bad enough I dragged Drew down, but taking his mom into the mud by association doubles the suffocating impact. Drew shakes his head, moving away to hold up a different crystal. I shake my head right back. That one doesn’t look like any of the ones from the goody bag, nor am I ready to drop the subject just yet. “Does your mom, like, hate me?”
“You know my mom—or,knew her,anyway. ‘Hate’ is not in her vocabulary,” he says, not nearly as reassuring as I’d hoped, but it makes a certain sense. “She processes things differently. ‘Art it out, Drew,’ she kept telling me.”
“Did you?” I ask, worried but trying to keep a calm composure. “Art me out of your system?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “No, but I did benefit from her doing it.”
“How so?”
He scrunches up his nose. “Not sure I should say.”
“Come on, what is it?” I’ve seen the bad parts of this life. Nothing can hurt me more.
“She painted some anti-fan art of you and sold the pieces online.”
“For how much?”
“Let’s just say hate might be worth more than love in this lifetime,” he says, skirting around the answer.
I stand there, stunned by how far removed I feel from myself, no better than the dirt trekked in on the floor being ground into the carpet with each passing person.
Drew notices me shutting down. “Jeez, sorry, I really shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Did the money go to good use, at least?”
He nods, offering a conciliatory smile. “Helped me open my shop, so, um, yeah. I’d say so.” My dream indirectly got Drew his. Both of them warped and unrecognizable from the fantasies we shared with each other seven years ago.
“Good,” I say, coming back to life a little. “God, I don’t know how many times I can say it before it loses all meaning, but I am so, so sorry. I’m not just a terrible person. I’m a full-blown asshole.”
“Why does Full-Blown Asshole sound like the name of a ska band?”
“Jeez, seven years and people still know what ska is?” I ask, needing the distraction but not letting it stay. “Seriously, how can you joke with me right now? I ruined not just your life but your mom’s.” That alone downright destroys me.
Drew stops his search at the jewelry display, new lines grooving across his forehead. “You said it yourself,you”—he waves a large hand up and down my body—“yes, butyou?” His hand stops inches from my temple. I’m tempted to tip into it. Make a point of contact. “I’m starting to differentiate the two.”
“How?” I ask. “Even I’m losing myself in the mess of me, and I’mme!”
“Because…” His voice trails off. “I just can. I can’t explain it. I can’t explain anything that has happened since you dropped into my shop, but while we’re working together I’m choosing to forgive you and accept the situation. You have to accept it too. We don’t have another choice.”
Hearing him say this provides a deep sense of relief. Fighting the situation won’t fix it. We’re in it. Maybe nottogetherexactly, but at least in proximity. For now.
“But is being around me right now causing you more pain?” I ask, fully ready to vanish into thin air if he says yes. He fiddles with a ring—a silver band and a purple stone. “I don’t want to cause you more pain.”
It’s stifling enough that I caused him any pain ever. Drew Techler is the singular person that least deserves life’s shit, and I became the leading shit-slinger.
Though maybe I was always the shit-slinger. I was the one always late with the rent. I was the one constantly forgetting to update the calendar. I was the one setting tiny, isolated fires from candles Drew warned me not to light. Maybe he was scooping up my shit faster than I could notice I was slinging it.
“Nolan, I’m not just doing this for you. I don’t know if this is a parallel-universe situation or a time travel situation or a completely different situation that I can’t even possibly perceive, but maybe if I help you get back, things will…” His voice dwindles to a quiet rumble. “Shake out differently?” There is evident hope wound intothose words, and I inhale as much of it as possible, allowing it to penetrate the walls of my heart.
