32. You Can’t Lose Something You Never Had
32
You Can’t Lose Something You Never Had
I stand on the sidewalk outside Luke’s house, staring up. The confident nun inside me must have worn herself out from the walk because I don’t seem able to move another step forward.
Lights turn on in a room on the ground floor. Probably because it’s a rental house, no one thought to hang curtains to block someone from peering right inside.
Luke steps into the frame made by the window. Roger joins him. I can’t hear what they’re saying but I don’t need to.
Luke steps closer to Roger, almost no space left between them. They stare into each other’s eyes. Roger plays coy, turning his head away, then back, gazing up at Luke.
As they speak, Luke links both his arms around Roger’s neck.
Roger pushes against Luke’s chest but makes no real effort to move away. He reaches up and brushes Luke’s hair back, letting his hand linger as his fingertips trail down Luke’s cheek and jaw.
Luke leans in, his lips draw nearer to Roger’s.
Then Luke stops.
His lips move. I don’t need to hear him to be able to make out the shape of the three words he says to Roger, encircled in his arms.
I’ve watched and rewatched them said over and over at the climax of every movie I love.
I grip the book harder, my other hand covering my mouth and jaw, squeezing my fingertips in. I clench my eyes shut. My heart beats deep in my ears, throbbing and drowning out all the other noises of Little Elm. An ache bleeds through me and fills, so dark and heavy and deep. It sits there, pressing and crushing me from the inside.
I know Luke and I established we are only friends. We agreed. Friends isn’t so awful.
But seeing Roger in Luke’s arms, seeing Luke profess his feelings, it hurts in a way I never knew it could. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold in the summer-night air.
Wanda knew from the second she met Luke. Uncle Andy knew too after my birthday. Luke could have liked me. But I chose not to see it. I denied it. I played it safe. There were no big plans. No grand gestures. There were only books and a bench and a night in a pool.
I start to leave and trip over the uneven sidewalk, falling face down and toppling over several metal trash cans. Garbage explodes everywhere. The book shoots away from me. My palms and knees scrape. I pick myself up. My gut bulges, the waistband of my shorts cutting in. I pull out my tucked-in shirt to hide as much as I can.
The door to the front of the rental house opens and light from inside pours over me.
Luke’s and Roger’s shadows stretch out tall, long, lean in front of them. My shadow blobs into a puddle at my feet.
As Luke comes closer, he says, “You’re bleeding.”
Roger leans his muscular frame against the railing and crosses his arms and ankles.
“I tripped,” I mumble.
“Come inside. We’ll get you cleaned up.”
“It’s not that bad. I’m fine.”
“He said he’s fine,” Roger says gently, placing a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Did you come here for a reason?”
“No,” I say. My eyes dart along the sidewalk.
Roger notices the package and hops down the steps, retrieving it before I have a chance to move. “What’s this?”
“A book.” I pick myself up.
Roger starts to untie the string. Luke stops him. He takes the book and holds it out to me.
I shake my head. “It was for you.”
Luke rips the corner of the paper and sees the title.
“She only wrote the two,” I add quickly. “They’ve spent all that time together. They should stay together.”
“You didn’t have to come all this way,” Luke says. “I could have gotten it from you next time we hung out.”
I clear my throat. “I wasn’t sure when that would be. The festival is keeping me busy.”
“I guess I’m to blame for that.” Luke takes another step down. “Stay here. I’ll get you a wet paper towel for your scrapes.”
“I don’t need one,” I say, but Luke has already gone back into the house, leaving Roger and me alone.
Roger places one hand on his hips and sways them ever so slightly as he bridges the distance between us.
“I drank too much the other night,” he says. “Despite the video, I was the one who looked bad, not you.”
“Is that an apology?”
“An explanation.” He pauses. “But I am sorry. I know I’ve given you no reason to believe me.”
Luke returns and goes to press the paper towel to my cut.
I take the wet wad from his hand. “I can do it.” I dab at the blood and wince.
“You should come inside,” Roger says.
I shake my head. “I have plans.”
“Always a scheme.” Luke grins at me.
I dab at my palms with the wet paper towel. They sting worse. “What else would go awry for mice and men?”
Roger puts his hand on Luke’s shoulder again. “He’s referencing Burns’s ‘To a Mouse.’ I used to recite it as one of my audition pieces. My Scottish brogue once got me the role of Macbeth. One day it might land me Shrek.”
Luke and Roger stand in front of me looking like they walked out of a movie. Luke with his skin laced with gold and Roger with his Hollywood appeal. A power couple on the edge of greatness. They make sense together. They look perfect side by side. They look like a couple I could have matched together. I should be happy for Luke.
“I’ll see you both another time,” I say and start down the block.
“Let me walk you,” Luke offers.
“No. Thanks. I’m fine.”
Roger says in a hushed tone, “Let him go.”
The universe did give me a message. The two books are the same. They belong together. Anyone can see it. But a hefty tome like War and Peace can’t sit on the same shelf. It doesn’t belong. It’s all wrong.