“I know.” He hesitates for a moment. Then says: “Are you coming back to Parker next semester?”
I shake my head. “I got a job. So I’ll be around but not…here.”
He’s silent for long enough that I have to actually look at him again. Wyatt’s expression, for once, is unreadable. I can’t dissect a single interpretable emotion from that face.
“What?”
“Are you leaving because of me?” he asks. He keeps his voice low, as if—despite the bustle and loud murmur of the gallery crowd—he’s still worried about being overheard. “I know you were invited. Am I the reason you aren’t staying?”
I make a face. “Don’t be a narcissist. Not everything’s about you.”
“Why, then?”
Trust Wyatt to be completely undeterred by my name-calling. I blow out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I want to focus on my original ideas, not assignments. My scholarship money ran out, and I don’t want to pay tuition. The Sotheby’s job pays great. I just got the card of a curator at a major museum. Pick your favorite reason; there are a million of them.”
“Well,” he says, “I’m happy for you. And I think you’ll do just fine, with or without Parker. Although I’ll miss you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’ll miss me? I’ll still just be an L train transfer to the G, transfer to the 7, transfer to the N/W, and then a nine-minute walk away.”
Am I mistaken, or is it Wyatt’s turn to look a little pink in the cheeks? “So you’re staying in New York long term, then.”
“At least for the medium term, yeah. That’s the plan. Why? Are you entertaining some seriously inappropriate daydreams about following me back to my apartment once we’re done with this thing?”
Fuck.Shit, I need to learn to keep my mouthshut;I keep freakingcatapultingmyself into these awkward-ass situations—
“Pretty much,” he says.
I blink. “Oh.”
“Is that okay?”
I can’t believe that’s an actual question he’s asking. “Yes. I mean…yeah. It’s okay. But if I’m honest, I’m a little fucking surprised.”
His mouth twists into a grimace. “Yeah. That’s fair. I’ve…I’ve been an egotistical, scared-out-of-my-mind douche.”
“Yep. Go on.”
“I should have been clear with you from the beginning. I should have put you ahead of my reputation and my own…feelings about what any of this said about me. Yeah, sleeping with a student is fucked up—”
“Because you can’tunsleep with me,” I say, and he nods, then goes on:
“But it wasn’t just that. It’s more. I—I love you, Ely. Goddamn it, but I do.” He laughs, a desperate, broken sound. “I love you, and that scares the shit out of me.”
And now—now here we are, standing in this gallery, me staring at him as if I’ve never really seen him before in my life. This man, this perfect,beautifulman, and he said—
Did he really say that? Am I imagining things?
I love you.
“If I’m honest with myself”—he drags a hand back through his hair, messing it up horribly, which doesn’t at all fit with the cool-guy perfectly coiffed look he’s affected for this show—“I’ve always tried to control everything. After I got clean, especially. I didn’t want to ruin anything. I worked so fucking hard to be here, and…And you too,youworked so hard to be here. I was terrified of messing it up. For either one of us.”
I shouldn’t trust him.
But I do, as it turns out. Possibly because he’s standing there fumbling around like a dumb sloth, and right now, I love that look for him. He should try groveling more often.
I can’t figure out what to say, although Wyatt is looking more and more distressed. I mean, he should. But enough is enough, and I’m starting to feel kind of bad for the man.
Should I say,I love you too? My mouth feels dry, like my tongue won’t work properly. Have I waited too long now? Is it too late?
