Page 73 of The Art of Drowning

Damien looked at me and his eyebrow arched a little. “Maybe we should, now that we’re in a position to actually keep them. We couldn’t before. You know that. And I know that.”

“It would have been nice to know it back then.” Feeling naked and vulnerable all of the sudden, I stood and clutched the towel so it wouldn’t fall. “I’m… I need clothes.”

I was in the bedroom, stepping into a pair of pajama pants when Damien appeared. He leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

“What?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.

“When you go see your parents, I want to go with you.”

“What makes you think I want to see them? And apparently, they’re not my parents.”

“They raised you. DNA doesn’t make a family.”

“Secrets don’t either.”

Damien’s arms dropped and he pushed away from the wall. I stood there and watched him approach me, wanting nothing more than to fall into his arms, but I couldn’t make myself move. I got what I wanted anyway when he wrapped his arms around me.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry they kept this from you.”

I let him hold me. I buried my face in the curve of his neck and took a deep breath. And then another. My hands slid up his back and rested on his shoulder blades. Damien’s arms were wound around me like a shield. What I wouldn’t have given to have had this kind of comfort with me through college.

Our breakup was hard and it had taken me a long time to put myself back out there. When I finally did, I’d taken things slow with the men I’d dated. And then, when I’d stopped taking things slow, my hookups still felt hollow most of the time. But being held? I’d missed it so much. Sometimes I’d been tempted to go online and put something in my bio to indicate that I didn’t want sex, just snuggles. But I doubted that would’ve gotten me very far.

If I could, I would’ve climbed into his skin and made myself at home. I was so wound up in him, it was stupid. I was an adult and Damien was basically a stranger now. But he didn’t feel like one. Seeing him again had been a kick to the solar plexus, and I wasn’t sure I’d caught my breath yet. But I knew I’d give up a whole lot of shit to hold on to him and that should scare me. And it might have if I hadn’t already lost everything. But with Sam gone, my parents not my parents—allegedly—what did I have left? A handful of friends. A job that was easy to replace. A whole bunch of nothing.

I had a pub I had drinks at sometimes and the bartender knew me by name. I had a diner I drank coffee in for book club on the first Saturday of every month and Arlene always asked how I was doing and she never pressed when I told her I was fine, but sometimes she’d bring me an extra dessert.

“I don’t know what to do.” After I confessed this, Damien kissed the side of my head.

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“It feels like I do. Like I need to confront them or something. I want answers, theoretically. I mean… what if I don’t want answers? What if I’m better off not knowing where I came from?”

“Do you think you would be?”

I shook my head. “No. I think it’s going to drive me nuts until I find out. Like, who am I? Who are my parents? Why didn’t they tell me? Why did Sam know? Did they know Sam knew? But I’m just so fucking tired, Damien.”

He held me tighter, like he wanted me to know that I could let go and he could take my weight. “What do I do?”

“For now? Nothing. For now, you rest and let me take care of you.”

I thought for a split second that he was going to kiss me, or undress me, or something. But he just held me. He let me hang off of him, giving him as much weight as I wanted. He rubbed my back and kissed my hair and just let me breathe and try to find my center again.

Every day since Sam died, it had been a new adventure. On some level, I was upset about Sam’s passing, but on another level, I wasn’t. I wasn’t all that sad. I wouldn’t miss him all that much. Sam was kind of a prick to me even before he caught me with his best friend. It was hard to mourn someone I didn’t like, and I’d already dealt with the idea that we wouldn’t be friends like we had been when we were little kids.

Growing up, Sam and I had been fairly close. And then he got older and temperamental. His moods grew uglier and darker. He put on a good front for everyone else but would take his attitude out on me.

Leaving home had been a blessing. Yes, I’d missed Damien like I’d lost a limb, but the freedom I felt when I realized I wouldn’t have to talk to Sam or see him all that much lit me up inside.

But because of Sam, my life was in shambles again and right then I was too tired to pick up the pieces.

“Come to bed with me,” Damien said, steering me toward the bed. He pulled the covers back and urged me to climb in.

I’d just stepped into the pajama pants, but it was no hardship to take them off again and climb into bed. I scooted over to make room for him.

Watching him undress made anger twist inside me. He’d been a gangly teenager when we were together and somewhere along the way, he’d turned into a handsome man, and I hadn’t been there to witness the transformation.

“We missed so much,” I said as Damien slid into bed beside me. He lay on his back, and I scooted closer, draping my body over his, using his chest as a pillow. I slung an arm around his waist and he put his around me.