Page 443 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“Didn’t know how without hurtin' him.

“Didn’t wanna make it worse.

“Wasn’t his fault. Not like he pressured me or forced me—didn’t go down like that. It’s ‘cause I’m fucked in the head. Thought maybe I owed him after that shit with his mom. Like that’d make up for what I did.” He’s still shaking his head, he speeds through the next part, hoping if he says the words fast enough, I won’t absorb any of them. “So I gave him what he wanted, got him off, got the fuck outta there, never talked about it to no one. Rodg never brought it up and acted like it never happened. And I been holdin’ on to that shit for ten years…”

He pauses,

waiting for me to say something,

ask him more questions,

label him,

judge him,

call him out,

anything.

All this time I questioned if he really was some fuckboy addicted to pussy and maybe I was too blind to see. Turns out, Andrew’s never learned boundaries—never thought he could have any.

“Then earlier this year, Rodg died.

“Drank himself to death. Alone.”

My chest tightens as I’m staring at the side of his face, Christmas lights blink in his eyes as he looks straight ahead—red, gold, green, gone.

“Drew…”

I’m afraid to do or say the wrong thing.

“I’m so sorry. I wish—I wish you didn’t have to tell me like this.”

His eyes swing to mine. “Like what?”

“Like what happened with his mom,

“then what happened with Roger,

“then his death…” I shake my head.

“They all happened to you,

“but that’s three different graves,

“three different types of grief…”

He nods, knee bouncing as he looks at me. “Guess you’re right.”

He wipes under his nose with his knuckle, eyes moving back to the tree.

“He was funny,” he says. “Roger. He was goofy as hell.” He tries to smile, but it’s too heavy to hold up. “Used to do this stupid fuckin’ announcer voice durin’ games. Had me and Petey crackin’ up.”

He wipes his nose again.

“But that ain’t the point.

“Point is—since day one, sex equaled the thing I had to get through to get out.” He shrugs. “Somehow it always became my responsibility to make people happy, and that shit got a whole lot easier when I realized all I had to do was make girls come.” He swipes his palms together, like dusting them off—problem fixed. “I can pack away my shit. Ain’t gotta kiss nobody. Ain’t gotta let nobody fuckin’ touch me. Slip the mask on, get ‘em off, then go.