“Not Hallsten-Novack?” Sana said.
“No siree.”
“She left me a little cold,” Scott said.
“Well, yeah, and I think that’s because you actually like women,” Letty said. “Because same. That’s the kind of woman a gay man likes. I mean, she’s a riot, but sexually? You just picture the whip in her hand.”
Scott couldn’t help laughing at this. “Yeah, actually. Exactly.”
“Ice queens have their appeal,” Sana said in a faraway voice.
“Careful,” Letty said with a smile.
“I just think you don’t get it ‘cause you’re a top.”
“Hon,” Letty said, laughing. “In front of Scott?”
Scott put his hands up in innocence.
“Sorry,” Sana said, laughing too. “I haven’t been high in so long.”
“Look, I’m just saying, Carver can’t even bring her to funerals anymore because she doesn’t act right,” Letty said. “She can’t be somber. Like, can you imagine being married to that person? Go home to each other at night, take care of each other when you’re sick married? I can’t. Something’s off if that’s who he chose.”
Scott nodded. He saw what she saw, though he wished he could just ignore it.
Letty hit the joint one last time and blew out smoke, raising her eyebrows at Scott. “But, I defer to you on Carver’s sexuality. And this is cashed, by the way.”
“It’s cashed ‘cause you’ve been sitting on it,” Scott said, digging his Ziploc bag of weed and rolling papers back out of his pocket.
“It’s literally the night before my wedding?”
“I’m rolling as fast as I can, sir.”
“Hurry up,” Letty said, making a gun with her thumb and forefinger and pointing it at him. “Go, go, go.”
Scott licked the paper to wet it. Sana jokingly pounded the table, and Letty turned her finger gun sideways.
“There’s no need for violence,” he said.
“There is, ‘cause you dodged the question,” Letty said.
“There was a question?”
“How high are you? Carver’s sexuality.”
Scott looked down at the joint as he rolled it. He instinctively knew the answer — that Carver wasn’t actually attracted to women — but felt queasily traitorous about saying so. He’d brought this exact point up when they argued about California, and he knew he’d hurt Carver’s feelings with it. He worried that in his selfish teenage heart, he had meant to.
He’d known how likely it was that Carver would turn him down. He couldn’t offer Carver a life that would make his parents proud; in fact he could only offer a life that would make Carver’s parents tear their hair out. He knew Carver was determined to make himself a success at all costs and wanted to make the best start possible, to come sprinting off the blocks. There wasn’t room for Scott in that picture. Scott only ever had one thing going for him: he was the object of Carver’s affections, and even if Carver could bring himself to toss him aside, no woman could take his place. And only a woman would do in the eyes of Doug and Nora and most everyone else.
But it was fucked up of Scott to try to levy this against him, or more accurately, to rub it in. Carver had responded with a frightening canine smile. “You fucking dickhead,” he’d said, sounding wounded yet thrilled that Scott had ceded the moral high ground. Scott, who could be happy with a woman if he chose to, had spoken homophobically. Scott grew up with hippie parents and had traveled among committed liberals and leftists for most of his adult life, so for him this was verboten — exceptfor those years around the millennium when teenage boys were so steeped in homophobia that to resist was to be immediately marked as gay. It was within that hateful atmosphere that he lashed out at Carver, and within the pain of rejection that he wondered who the fuck Carver thought he was fooling.
Perhaps the joke was ultimately on Scott, though, since he wasn’t even married. He had fallen in shallow love here or there, he’d had a lot of fun, but no one had volunteered to share his life permanently and he hadn’t felt stirred to ask. The most he’d ever asked for was from Carver:come to California with me. And the answer was no. And Scott ended up writing a lot of songs about California.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “That’s his business.”
The patio door scraped open. They all glanced up and saw Carver coming out. He’d taken his button-up off and was now in a white t-shirt and tight black jeans. He was carrying a lowball glass with some scotch in it. It was a good look on him. A curated look? Or was that delusional to wonder about?
“Carv,” Letty said, too brightly.
