For a moment, I honestly can’t say anything.And then “Jesus fucking Christ, thanks so much.”
“You didn’t.”He shrugs.“You traded one form of attention and validation for another.Instead of fucking your way through the entire male population, you got yourself a grant, and you got yourself this nonprofit, and you surrounded yourself with all these people who want things from you and need things from you.It’s not a bad thing.I imagine the chlamydia rates are lower.”
It takes a lot to make my jaw drop.Finally I manage, “Bro.”
He shrugs again.
“What the actual fuck?”
“And for the record, you’re not staying away from relationships because you’re afraid of hurting someone.You’re staying away from them because you’re afraid of being hurt.I understand that for a perennial fuckboy like you, it was a big emotional risk, entering into a serious relationship like the one you were in with Darnell.And when that ended, it hurt.A lot, I imagine.And you’re still hurting, and you’re convinced that you’ll never be able to be in a real relationship because you fucked up the first one so badly.”
“What the fuck is actually happening right now?”
“But here’s the thing, Gray.You’re a good guy.You’re a colossal fuck-up, but that’s a separate issue.It’s okay to be hurt.And it’s okay to take time to heal.But at some point, taking time to heal is only another way of hiding because you don’t want to get hurt again.”A strange smile crosses his face.“Everybody screws up; ask me sometime about Billy or Alec.But you pick yourself up, and you try again, and you do better.”
I push the mug away like I’m going to stand, and the sound of the ceramic sliding across the countertop is small.But I stay there, sitting on the stool.My face is hot.I stare out the window, and the pollen is so thick it’s rippling in the air like a golden wave.
When I finally speak, my throat is so tight I’m not even sure he can understand me.“I didn’t want to hurt him.”
Emery nods.“I know.And believe it or not, John knows too.He was surprised and—and upset.The last year has been difficult for him, and I think seeing the two of you, I think it scared him.For what it’s worth, he knows he acted poorly.”
“The one thing I said I wouldn’t do was hurt him.I kept telling myself I wouldn’t let it happen.Because Sam’s such a good guy, you know?”The tears sting my eyes, and I blink them away.“And then John-Henry said I was ruining his life, and it was like—like it was true.Like as soon as he said it, I knew it was true, and I’d done that.Me.I’d fucked up everything in Sam’s life.I couldn’t think.I didn’t even know what I was saying.It was like this—this fucking autopilot of being an absolute asshole.And everything I said made it worse.”
Emery nods.
I sit there for a while.The mug cools between my hands, and I forget about the rest of the saltines.Emery doesn’t say anything.But that’s okay, because I’m not there.I’m somewhere else.I’m with Sam when he’s doing that stupid workbook.And Sam at the gym, that stupid golf pencil behind his ear.And Sam reading reviews on a pair of joggers because he wants to be sure they’re good quality.And Sam warming up his gran’s chicken enchilada casserole, but really, he’s throwing me a lifeline, and I start dragging myself out of that place inside myself.Sam.Sam, Sam, Sam.
My whole life, I never fucking hid.So why the fuck am I hiding now?
“I guess I need to talk to him,” I say.
“Great,” Emery says.“Then the two of you can bother each other and leave my husband the fuck alone.”
21
Sam
I drive home like I’m seventeen years old and a jackass to boot—running stop signs and lights, taking turns too fast, hitting the brakes hard enough to make the tires skid.Gran’s house is dark when I get there—she’s out again, on another date.I slam the truck door when I get out.And I slam the front door when I go inside.Gran’s not home, part of me thinks.I can do whatever I want.
And I do.I go into my room, and I slam that door too.I yank it open and slam it again.And then I open it again and slam it a third time, so hard that the wall reverberates.
Fuck you, I think.Fuck you.Fuck you.
I don’t even remember crossing the room to my desk, but I’m standing there, the wastebasket in hand, shoving anything that has to do with WISP into the bin.Everything I’ve printed out.All the plans.Pictures I wrote on.There’s one, a stock image, of people at a party under string lights, and Gray drew a penis on everybody.I wad it up, and the edges dig into my palm.
Half the desk is clear.
And then I sweep my arm across the desk, and the rest of it goes in the bin too.All the stupid workbooks.My dogeared copy ofWhy Most Mentees Fail.Axel Ryder’sUnmuzzled.Everything.The homework.The articles.All the work I’ve been doing with Mr.Somerset, it goes straight into the trash.
The night is cold when I get outside, but it’s the kind of cold that feels good, like it’ll make your eyes pop open.I dump everything in the trash can on the side of the house, and then I stand there, in the dark, and then I go back inside.
I don’t slam the doors this time.I’m tired.And the house is quiet.I put the wastebasket back under my desk.I sit on the bed.It’s a while before I realize I’m waiting.It seems like somebody should be coming to check out what’s going on.Like any minute now, somebody’ll knock on the front door and want to know what’s all that racket.But they won’t.Because everything’s so quiet.And that’s a surprise because I feel like I’ve been screaming.
I can’t sit around forever, so I finally take off my shoes and undress.I can’t stand the thought of getting up and washing my face and all that, so I turn off the light, but that’s worse somehow, because in the dark, everything seems closer.Seeing them standing together off to the side of the party.Knowing before I even got there what was happening.Knowing without really knowing.And then everything with Gray, everything he said.
It was like my brain snapped off.As soon as I heard him say,It’s over, I couldn’t hear anything else.
Oh God.What did I do?
