“Dude, some of those guys will pay alotof money for you to put them in a diaper.”
“Okay,” he says because that’s his way of moving on.“No pets.What about a friend group?And I’m not talking about Emery and John-Henry.I know they’re your friends, but they’re dealing with their own stuff right now.You need a group of friends—ideally, friends who are grounded in the community, who have connections, who can talk about you and WISP totheirfriends.And they need to be people you genuinely like.”
“Throw a key party,” I say.“Got it.”
That makes him look up.“You ought to be taking this seriously.”
“Come on, this isn’t going to work.Find a group of friends?And what?Circle-jerk while we talk about lawn care and parenting tips and the fucking PTA?”
“It can’t be just you, Gray.That’s what you’re not hearing.You want these donors to take you seriously, and they want to see someone who’s stable.That means more than showing up on time and fulfilling your responsibilities.They’re looking for patterns in your life to make them trust you, and you do that by showing them that other people love and trust you, outside of the work you’re doing and the professional commitments you already have.”
“But that’s so fucking stupid!”
“That’s life.”Darnell flashes a surprisingly evil grin.“Welcome to adulthood.”
“Bro, no.Adulthood is the fucking worst.I want to fuck adulthood raw.”
He shrugs.“Then do it.You don’t have to change anything.You can keep being Gray Dulac.Do whatever you want.”
He doesn’t have to say the part at the end:and watch WISP fall apart.
Dirty looks aren’t enough, so I say, “Fuck, bro.”
He shrugs again.
“If I get a cat,” I say, “do I have to carry it everywhere and talk to it in public and that kind of shit?”
“Yes.You have to do all of that.”
He thinks he’s fucking hilarious.
“Gray, you’re so good at talking to people.When you want to, I mean.When you’re not trying to rub them the wrong way, or when you’re not trying to get attention, or when you’re not trying to get in their pants—”
“Bro, okay, I get it.”
“And I know you know you’re good at it.I know that’s part of the reason you started WISP.Because you wanted to help people, and you knew you could.So, you can put on this show about how you’re a reformed fuckboy—well, kind of reformed, I guess—and I guess I wonder why you’re still pretending to be something that you’re not.Maybe that’s not the right way to say it.Maybe you’re not pretending.But you’re not being honest, either.”
“Yeah, well, talking to somebody when they drop in or call the crisis line, that’s one thing.Because eventually, they walk out the door, or the phone call’s over, and I don’t stick around to fuck up their life.And I’m not pretending to be anything.”
I jump down from the tailgate.Darnell drops the door.
“You want to pick up something to eat?”I ask, trying to make my voice casual.“And then we’ll get this unloaded.”
He’s still red from the move, but I swear to God, his cheeks get a little pinker.“Yeah, actually, I only needed your help this morning.”
“You’ve got to unload all your shit, bro.It can’t sit in the truck.”
“I know.”
“You can’t do it yourself.”
“I’m not going to do it myself.”
“All right, then, but—” Sometimes I think I’m smart.And sometimes I realize I’m a fucking moron.“Oh shit.”
Darnell looks physically pained.“It’s—”
“What’s his name?I’m going to cut him.No, wait, bro, I’m happy for you.No, I’m going to cut that bitch.For real, what’s his name?”
