“Yep. Thinking I might do a keg stand just to get the party going.”
“Now, that, I’d like to see.” He laughs, and it almost feels as if the tension between us never existed.
I’m about to say I’ve changed my mind, that actually I’d love a drink, when all of a sudden Alex’s gaze shutters. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Joey? Can we talk for a second?”
I turn to find Ellie standing there.
I haven’t spoken with him since the altercation in the doorway of his dorm room. I purposely—cowardly—skipped the class after Thanksgiving where his story was workshopped. Helen gave me a full rundown, though, and assured me that it did not get a good response. If I’m to believe her version of things, and I think I do, her own scathing critiques led the charge.
I did attend the next couple of classes, doing my best to pay Ellie no attention, and from what I could tell, he was doing the same. So it’s surprising to have him come up to me at a party, of all places.
I realize I’ve been silent just a touch too long. Ellie’s hopeful smile fades, replaced by a look of shame-filled awkwardness. I decide to take pity on him.
“Sure. You wanna go outside?”
He nods, and I tell him to go ahead. I turn to Alex and say, “I’m going to go talk to him for a few minutes. I’ll be back, okay?”
He stares at me, silent. Finally, he asks, “You’re leaving me for him?”
I open my mouth to object to the wording, but I don’t even know where it’s coming from, so I can’t begin to formulate a response.
“He’s just a guy from class,” I say carefully—nottechnicallya lie, but also notnota lie. “I’ll be back,” I repeat.
I don’t wait long for an answer, though it’s long enough that I get thesense that one isn’t coming, before I follow Ellie through the crowded room and out the back door.
I glance over my shoulder at Alex once and see him looking after me, his expression unreadable. I resolve to have a serious conversation with him after the party’s over, because I really have no clue what has been going through his head for the past several days.
But first, I need to get some closure with Ellie.
When we’re finally alone together—as alone as one can be in the backyard of a frat house during a party—I wordlessly wait for him to explain himself.
“I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to on what might be the last night of the world—I mean, it won’t be, I know that. I don’t want you to think I’m someone who believes the world is going to end tonight.”
“I’m surprised you care what I think about you,” I interject, a little meanly.
“Honestly, I’m starting to think maybe my problem is that I care too much whateveryonethinks of me,” he says with an awkward, flat laugh as he rakes his fingers through his hair.
This self-deprecating confession, this nervous gesture, would probably be endearing if I weren’t still upset with him.
Because I am, I realize. I’m stillsoupset with him, and that might be a feeling I never quite escape. Because he’s not just some one-night stand who disappointed me. He’s my best friend of over a decade who unknowingly shattered every perception I had of him.
“So you care what people think of you—join the club. Is that all you wanted to say?”
I wait for an answer, and when one doesn’t come quickly, I turn to leave.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, and when I turn back to him, he continues.“I shouldn’t have written about you. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t realize that would be the story she’d send.”
“So you admit it was about me.”
“Of course it was about you. I—I’ve never told anybody this, but I’ve always wanted to be a writer. But I’m not particularly creative—I can’t do what you do and invent a new world layered with meaning and subtext.” It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about.The Shape of Water. A hysterical laugh nearly bubbles to the surface. “So I mostly write from my own experiences. Problem is, I haven’t experienced much.”
Now I actuallydolaugh, and his eyes light up. He continues, “I always imagined I’d live this exciting life, or at least have… I don’t know. Exciting thoughts, if that makes any sense and doesn’t make me sound like a pretentious loser. That night was just—it was the most exciting thing to happen to me in a long time. It was, like, straight out of a movie or a book or something. Like ithadto be written down. Written down, but probably kept to myself.”
I smile at that last comment and nod. “I forgive you.”
He doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. “Really?”
