He would have looked at my face on that corner and known immediately. He would say something that would make me laugh before I could get defensive about it.
I kept walking.
At home, I went to the living room and sat on the floor with my back against the couch. I pulled my knees up toward my chest.
I'd had friends before Bryan and I had friends after, but Bryan was the one who'd known me before I knew who I was. The guy I grew up with knew a version of me that existed before I started editing. He's seen the entire inventory.
Bryan was there for the awkward years, the years I hadn't known yet that I was gay. He knew before I told him.
When I finally said it out loud, we were seventeen, sitting on the hood of his car in the parking lot of a closed grocery store at eleven at night. I'd been working up to it for weeks, and when it finally came out sideways, I was terrified.
He looked at me for a second. Then he said:Okay. So when you said you thought that guy from the lacrosse team was annoying, you actually meant he was hot.
I swallowed hard.I actually meant he was hot.
Got it.He nodded like I'd told him something practical, like deciding to buy a different car.Is there anything you want to do about it, or are you just telling me?
Just telling you.
Okay.That was that.
He never made it weird. It was just a fact about me, the same as any other fact, and Bryan had approximately nine thousand facts about me filed in his head.
After that, it was easier to breathe.
Sometimes I thought about how much real estate he'd occupied. How completely I'd assumed he'd always be there, six houses away, or a phone call away, or available for a two-hourlunch at a diner booth whenever our schedules crossed. He was permanent until he wasn't.
I got up eventually and got ready for bed. It was early, but sleep was the fastest way to get to Friday.
Before I reached the bedroom, I turned back and crossed to the living room wall. I put one knuckle against the drywall and knocked.
Nothing from the other side, of course. Pratt was in St. Louis, likely in a hotel room with the temperature at sixty-six degrees and the blackout curtains pulled before he'd set his bag down.
I'd spent the past three years constantly on the move, trying to keep the rooms around me full. That way I didn't have to think.
It worked.
At least it did until a man moved in next door who wanted to look at me when I was still. I took my hand back.
I climbed into bed and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. Bryan would have had a read on Pratt immediately. He'd have met him once and generated an accurate take on the situation. He'd have watched Pratt for about twenty minutes and then found me at some point later, saying something like:He doesn't need you to be on, you know. You know that, right?
I'd have saidI know.
I turned onto my side, facing the wall, and pressed my palm flat against the drywall. On the other side, everything would be in its place, waiting for Pratt's return.
I kept my hand there.
He doesn't need you to be on.
I know, Bry. I know.
Sunday was three days away. I was already counting.
