Page 43 of The Art of Drowning

“I’ll go get my things and call an Uber.” I left the kitchen, being careful not to rush. I didn’t want them to catch on to just how badly I wanted to be away from them. I should be a good son and want to stay around and comfort them in their time of need, but I’d felt superfluous since coming back. Like my presence was just another burden they had to bear.

I took my time getting my things, even though I’d barely unpacked. And it wasn’t until my Uber was almost there that I felt safe enough to leave the room. Mom and Dad hovered near the front door, waiting to send me off.

“You’ll call us when you get home? Let us know you arrived okay?” Dad said. It was the same thing he always asked of me whenever I left. Usually, it made me feel good to think that they cared enough to want me to check in with them to make sure I got home okay. But now everything felt hollow and cheap, like it was a performance they’d perfected over time.

I delivered my lines flawlessly. Yes, I’d call. Yes, I’d miss them. Yes, I’d come home for a visit. I also invited them to come see me, something I never did before. But I doubted they’d show up. Sam might not be here anymore, but he still ran the show. I could see that Mom didn’t want to visit. It was written in the guilt that crossed her features when I suggested it.

Unlike other visits, Dad walked me to my car when it arrived and he helped me with my bag, even though I didn’t need the assistance. And before I left, he pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.

“Don’t be a stranger.” His voice cracked when he spoke.

“I won’t.” But I’d always felt like a stranger. Like an interloper. An intruder. An unwanted guest star on the Sam Weeks Show. But maybe now things could be different for us.

I climbed into an Uber that smelled of air fresheners and waved at my dad out the window. And after, when I couldn’t see him anymore, when my street disappeared from the rearview mirror, I exhaled for the first time since arriving.

I’d come back, but next time I’d stay in a hotel, or I’d stay with Ginny. I even entertained the idea of coming just to see Ginny and my other friends and not letting my parents know that I was in town at all.

The airport wasn’t busy, which was nice because I got breakfast and a coffee and sat in relative peace until it was time to board my flight. By the time I finally arrived back home and unlocked the door to my apartment, I was done. Fatigue made every bone in my body feel like cement. Crudinski, my so-ugly-he-was-cute rescue cat, greeted me at the front door with bossy meows to show me just how displeased he was that I’d left him.

I dropped my suitcase by the front door, toed out of my shoes, and scooped Crudinski off the floor and into my arms. “I missed you too.” I kissed the top of his furry head.

Crudinski was already purring, his front paws making little biscuits, poking me in the chest with his needle-sharp claws.

“I saw him, Crudinski,” I said. Crudinski had been with me for a few years now. He’d lived through a few failed relationships and had always been there for me when I needed to vent about stuff. Including Damien. He was the only one who knew the whole story. “I saw him and it was like no time had gone by. According to my heart, anyway.”

Crudinski purred and I pretended it was because he was happy for me, when in reality it was because Crudinski always purred when he was the center of attention.

I carried him over to the couch and I lay down, letting Crud stand on my chest. He stared down at me, purring aggressively as I continued to pet him.

“I can’t call him yet. That would seem desperate. Wouldn’t it?”

Crudinski never answered, of course, but he did give me a slow blink and that felt like a yes. Or maybe I just wanted any excuse to reach out to Damien again.

Crudinski looked into my soul with his yellow cat eyes. His black fur was a little on the long side, and he had bottom fangs that stuck out of his jaw. His nose was a little pushed in. He was clearly some kind of Persian mix and I would die for him, knowing that if I did, he would definitely wait at least a full thirty minutes before snacking on my corpse.

He blinked again, long and slow, and it was all the pretend permission that I needed to fish my phone out of my pocket and send a text, first to my parents to let them know I arrived. And then to Damien, whom I couldn’t decide if I already missed or if I never stopped missing him at all. Our time together had been short and it felt like a fever dream now. Part of me didn’t expect him to answer.

But he did.

He answered like he’d been sitting there, staring at his phone, waiting for me to reach out. And if he wasn’t going to waste time pretending he was aloof and cool and could wait to talk to me, then I wasn’t going to pretend that I didn’t want to see him. Nothing could be further from the truth. I not only wanted to see him, I wanted to drown in him. I wanted to cling to him like a life raft. He was the only thing in my life that made sense.

“Callum,” Damien answered, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath waiting for me and could finally breathe now that I’d called.

“When can I see you?” I blurted, not caring if I sounded needy or desperate or too eager. Even if I played it cool, Damien would’ve seen right through me. He always had.

His answer came quiet and confident, and if I closed my eyes, I could pretend he was there, whispering in my ear.

“Whenever you want,” he said.

TWENTY-TWO

damien

NOW

The first thing I did after Callum and I reconnected was add him on all my social media accounts. I was more active on them than Callum had been over the years. Part of me had always wondered if he’d ever looked me up, but I hadn’t worked up the courage to ask. Besides, it didn’t matter now.

We talked every night. Really talked. We’d arrange to call at the same time every night, after we were both off work and home for the night. Bowie tried to get me to go out Friday night, but I told him I had plans, to which he just raised an eyebrow and didn’t ask me to elaborate. He was a true friend.