Page 72 of The Art of Drowning

“I just showered.”

“Showers are for washing. Baths are for relaxing, and I’m going to make you relax before you give yourself an ulcer.” And maybe somewhere in there, I’d find a moment to read the rest of Sam’s letter.

This whole thing with Sam had me thinking about how you can know someone, but never really know them at all. It was clear that Sam had known about Callum’s paternity for years, and he’d kept that a secret. It was also clear that he saw me as more of a possession than a person. I had been his friend first, so I was supposed to be his friend only, last, and always, or I was no friend at all.

Five years as Sam’s best friend, and I’d hardly known who he really was. That made me terrified that, despite how it felt to be here, sitting next to Callum, maybe I didn’t know him either. It felt like I knew him. Down in my soul, since that first connection had been formed between us, it was like my soul woke up and recognized his.

But I didn’t know him. Not really.

I knew nothing about his life between that night and the day of the funeral. He might as well have been a ghost. But now he was solid, and real, and I didn’t know how to hang on to him. Or even if I should. It would be so easy for this to slip through my fingers again despite how tightly I wanted to cling to it.

I didn’t know how to let go, even if I wanted to. My new reality was that I was already in over my head again.

THIRTY-FIVE

callum

NOW

Having Damien around grounded me in a way I didn’t think possible. All in all, I’d had an easy life. Our sudden breakup and separation had been the most difficult thing I’d been through, and I’d managed to get through it without him.

And while I sort of felt like the whole fabric of my life was a lie, having him here made things easier. True to his word, he ordered dinner and ran me a bath. He didn’t keep me company in the bath, saying that he wanted to give me some breathing room.

I could hear him talking to Crudinski and every so often Crud would answer back. The idea that the two of them were bonding made my chest tight. Having Damien around wasn’t something I’d ever let myself imagine. We’d been woefully young and too eager to please Sam, who probably hated everyone and everything his whole life. We’d done everything Sam asked, and I knew now that nothing would have been good enough for him.

What I couldn’t wrap my head around was why my parents would keep my paternity a secret from me? I mean, if it was true, it was pretty fucked up that Sam knew and I didn’t.

More than anything, it was that fact that burned a hole through me. How could Sam know, but I’d been kept in the dark? I guess it made sense, though, because they were fine with me living far away and only coming home for short visits around the holidays. They had their real son to keep them company. Something ugly twisted in my insides, and I rethought every interaction. Every holiday. Every phone call where they pretended to miss me. Had everything been a lie?

“Food’s here,” Damien called from the other room just in time to save me from my downward spiral.

I pulled the plug and stepped out of the bath, feeling wetter, but no better than I had felt when I got in. After drying off quickly, I didn’t bother with clothes and just wrapped the towel around my waist and joined Damien in the living room.

The clean living room.

It wasn’t that I was a slob or anything, but it had been a day, and I’d sort of acted like an unhinged goblin and had maybe made a bit of a mess. The letters and their contents were tucked away somewhere. Out of sight, out of mind.

“I hope you still like burgers,” Damien said when I sat down next to him. “I got one with fries and one with onion rings so we can share.”

He glanced over at me and took note of my lack of clothing. Heat flared in his eyes, but he kept his hands to himself. “Are you going to be warm enough?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine,” I told him, flipping the lid of the container open. I picked up the burger, which had been wrapped in foil, and carefully unwrapped it.

The burger was juicy and full of flavor, proof that life went on even when you didn’t know who your parents were. Was I maybe going to obsess about that until I got answers? Probably, yes. I must have made progress, though, because when I’d lost Damien, everything had tasted like ash for weeks. Grief had been this burden that felt too heavy for me to carry. I’d dragged it around behind me for months and, eventually, it started to get a little easier.

Either I’d gotten better at weathering bad news, or teenage me had felt more for Damien than adult me felt for my whole family.

I didn’t want to dissect that just yet so I picked up an onion ring and bit it instead.

“Thanks for coming,” I said once our burgers were done and we were picking at the sides. “I was kind of losing my shit there for a bit.”

“I’ll always come when you need me,” he replied, looking at me like he wanted me to know that it was the most important thing he’d ever said and that he meant it with every bone in his body. “Always,” he promised.

I wanted to hate the promise because we’d made them before and at the first sign of resistance, we’d folded like lawn chairs. But we were young. It wasn’t until years later that I realized how young we were. Still in high school. Still relying on our parents for everything. Still regular teenagers who thought they knew everything, making plans for a future that revolved around another person. It had been insanity and maybe it had always been doomed to fail.

But if things had been different, we might at least have had a chance.

“Maybe we shouldn’t make promises,” I said anyway, because deep down I was still a scared kid who’d been hurt and didn’t want to go through that again.