Would it have been better if our break-up had taken place in my apartment, in my arms just after making love? Or would it be worse to have that one bad memory tainting all of my good associations of our intimacy?
“What was his reason?” Liam asked.
“He was lying.”As usual, I silently added.
“Well, what excuse did he give you?”
“That we’re too different. That he didn’t fit in.”
“He might be right about that.”
“That’s bullshit. Matteo gave him an ultimatum, and rather than end it with him, he ended it with me.”
“Are you sure that’s what happened?”
Matteo wouldn’t have to be explicit. He’d assessed me as a threat early on, and this was a convenient way to get rid of me, when Arden was feeling vulnerable and upset. But, even if that’s what had happened, Arden still made the choice.
“Doesn’t matter why he did it. I can’t let him go, Liam. I won’t.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed in concentration while he sized up my predicament. “Here’s what we’re going to do, Michael. We’re going to spend a few hours here getting day drunk, then we’ll continue the party at Carousel where Franco will get you night drunk. Then you’ll stumble home with one of us, wake up tomorrow morning with a terrific hangover, and we’ll assess the situation then.”
For all of our disagreements, Liam’s plan sounded like a solid one.
“It’ll all work out,”Franco said in his aggravatingly nonchalant way. Where was this optimism when he was having relationship troubles of his own?
We were at Carousel. Marquis had just finished his strip tease, this time in cowboy boots. He was backstage, presumably counting his money, and would soon join us upstairs. Travis sat back in the loveseat he shared with Liam, taking up more than half the room. One hand rested on Liam’s upper thigh while the other hand gripped a sweating tall boy of Old Milwaukee. He must not share in Liam’s expensive taste.
Despite Liam and Franco’s best efforts, I was onlymostlydrunk.
“How bad are his finances?” I asked Franco who only shook his head.
“You know I can’t discuss it with you.”
I grumbled and checked my phone again. No missed calls or texts. Maybe I should fire off something short and sweet.Thinking of you.
“Don’t do it,” Franco warned. “Paciencia.Give him some time to cool off. Don’t be like your father.”
It was the first time the comparison had been made, and it caught me off-guard.
“You may not like it, but you two are a lot alike,” Franco continued. “Stubborn, determined, focused.”
“Oblivious,” I said dismally.
“A little,” Franco agreed. “And solid as a rock, protective, and loyal. Arden knows your good qualities too. He’ll come around, Michael.Lo sé.”
I wasn’t so sure. Arden had been so furious with me for interfering. He’d warned me he would end it, and he had. Arden was accommodating, but I’d never known him to be indecisive.
Marquis came over then and insisted everyone join him on the dance floor. I dragged my leaden feet along to the beat and tried to boogie away my sadness. I danced alongside my friends in the press of sweaty, gyrating bodies and thought about how stupid this all was. How stupidhewas. To throw it all away like that.
Liam was right, I thought dismally. We hadn’t even made it until the end of summer.
Part VII.
The boy had an unusual relationship with the captain. They really only had two modes. Well, three, in fact: fighting, bickering, and silence. The silence was sometimes due to their practiced efficiency while sailing, in which case, the quiet was near transcendental, like when the boy was with his lovers and they knew instinctively what each of them needed to get off.
But more often, their silence was the result of one of their many fights, and on those occasions, it festered like a wound, swollen and ugly, until one of them would cool off with a swim in the water or a trip to one of the islands, and then, upon returning, would look at the other uneasily, and decide, usually with the clinking of beer bottles, that the fight was over.
When they learned of the captain’s diagnosis and that the man was unwilling to undergo the treatment required to heal him, or at the very least, buy him more time, their fight was monumental. It lasted for hours, with the boy pacing and raging on the upper deck, then chasing the captain into the cabin where he spat fury at him some more. Like a hydra, the boy followed the captain to the backyard of his aunt’s house where the boat was docked and into the used pick-up truck the man had bought since he’d resigned himself to becoming a landlubber. They passed out that night, both of them shit-faced, the boy’s voice hoarse from yelling.
