21. Emerson
TWENTY-ONE
EMERSON
“So talk.” Bryce stares at me from across the table. He’s not even touching his meatballs. His arms are crossed. Bobo looks at him, then me, then at the delicious food on the table not being eaten. I don’t know who’s being tortured more.
In his defense, I’ve suddenly gone speechless. I’ve been wanting to talk with him and clear the air all week, and now that it’s finally here, I have stage fright. Bryce Derrickson, a professional performer, has little patience for stage fright.
“Come on, Sister Mary Ignatius,” he says. “Explain it all for me. We’ve barely spoken at all this week. You’ve been like a ghost.” Bryce is trying to be stoic, but I can see emotion breaking behind his eyes. He still wants me. Us.
I take a deep breath and stare at my uneaten food.
“I lost someone very close to me when I was younger, and I’m not the type of person who gets close to people. So when I lose someone I care about, it hits hard. Really hard.”
“Your sister?” Bryce asks, his voice softer now.
“Yeah.” I pause, the weight of the loss pressing down on me like quicksand.
“We were driving home from a movie. Melanie had gotten her license a few months prior. She’d promised me a Friday night out—just the two of us.
I was itching to see Armageddon , and even though she had zero interest, she took me.
That’s the kind of big sister she was.” My head dips, and I stare at the table, fingers lost in my whiskers.
“The other car came out of nowhere.” I close my eyes and swallow hard.
“I lost her and my hearing, too. It’s … hard to explain, but it all happened in the blink of an eye.
The doctor said a piece of glass from the windshield punctured my ear drum.
We’re in the car singing and laughing one second, and the next, my entire world was upended. ”
Bryce’s gaze softens. “Oh, Em. I’m sorry.”
“I promised myself I wouldn’t get close to anyone again, to avoid feeling that kind of pain. But then … I met you.”
“And you’re afraid I’m going to die?” Bryce asks, the vulnerability in his voice catching me off guard.
I shrug, feeling exposed. “New York’s a dangerous place.”
“You’re worried about me.” His lips twitch, a small, understanding smile forming. “That’s sweet.”
“I thought it was best that I kept my distance at first. But not being around you hurt even more. I thought I could just end what happened, have it be a one-time thing, but that was ultimately more painful. You slept twenty feet away from me, and yet I missed you, Bryce Derrickson.” The feeling of not having him in my life crawls up my chest again, the phantom pain seizing me.
“I don’t want to live in an apartment knowing that the person who I deeply care for is right there and I can’t hold him.
” I swallow hard and blink up at his handsome face. “You. I’m talking about you.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
I smile, taking another deep inhale. “I don’t want to live in a world knowing that the person that I deeply care for is just out there walking around, living his life, talking to other people, and that I’m not one of them.”
“It’s like missing out on a role you were meant for,” Bryce says, a familiar thought scrunching his eyebrows. “Sure, the other dancer may do a good job, but every time you watch them on stage, you think I should be up there. ”
“Exactly. I tried to chalk up our dalliance to a one-time, emotion-free occurrence, but I failed miserably because, Bryce Derrickson, I still like you.”
“You don’t have to keep using my full name.”
“I like your full name.” I reach out for his hand and rub my thumb over his knuckles. “My feelings for you may have eventually lessened over time, but I know they would never fully go away. Kind of like herpes.”
“That is a horrible example. Truly terrible.” Bryce rubs my thumb back, his eyes sparkling across the table. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
“I don’t have much experience with relationships.
I’m not even good with people in general, so the fact you’ve gotten this far with me—I think it’s a feather in your cap.
I thought I could just have us go our separate ways, but I don’t see that being possible.
So I want to show you that I care about you …
hence all this.” I motion to the table and lights.
“You have a beautiful face and terrible taste in music, and I’m definitely falling for you, Bryce Derrickson. ”
I hold up my wine cooler, and we cheers. With a satisfied smile, I take a bite of my meatball, knowing I’ve gotten that off my chest.
“Okay, your turn,” I say, my mouth full of Luigi’s phenomenal food.
“Oh. Okay. Wait … what?” Bryce scratches his head.
“I just divulged my feelings and explained what happened. I think you should explain, too.”
“Explain what?” Bryce huffs.
“Why you ditched me in bed a few hours after we copulated like jackhammers.”
“Jackrabbits. And I didn’t ditch you. I went to brunch. ”
“I know brunch is very important to gay men, but sex is also very important to gay men, so I’m a bit confused. Also, I know that’s horse shit.”
“I have an iron deficiency. I needed the eggs.”
I cross my arms, not entirely convinced myself, but also somehow finding all of Bryce’s excuses very endearing.
“Okay, fine. I was scared,” Bryce says. “I liked you, too. But I’m not good with relationships. Or I thought I was, but guys tend to leave me. Always. They leave. I’m just … this transitory place.”
My heart rips.
“I think it could be something,” he continues.
“And then boom, they’re gone. And I thought that was gonna happen with you, and I got scared.
Because I really liked you, too. Like. Still do.
A lot. Like a lot, a lot. I like you more than all the other guys combined.
You are a good man, Emerson. I do not date good men.
I do not have sex with good men.” Bryce’s eyes go wide, like he’s even shocked he’s saying all this.
“So I got scared, too. We both got scared. We’re even. Our scaredness cancels each other out when you think about it.”
I shove another piece of meatball in my mouth. “So you like me?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to be with me?”
“Once you learn how to make appropriate metaphors and chew with your mouth closed, yes.”
“Okay, it’s settled.” I twirl some pasta on my fork.
“Wait!” Bryce bolts up from his chair. “This should be a big, dramatic moment! Emerson, we just told each other that we like each other. It’s a little too early in our relationship to be so nonchalant. This is big!”
He steps toward me and holds out his hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“This is an important moment. I have someone who cares about me, who is a good person. A good person likes me. That does not happen to me. Ever. I mean, not until now. We need to celebrate.”
“I mean, I’m assuming we’ll have sex again.”
“Right now”—Bryce doesn’t move away, and I put down my fork—“we need to dance. Dancing is for celebration.”
“You’ve seen me dance.”
“I’ve seen you pretend to dance.”
Bryce takes out his phone and pulls up a song. A familiar clapping beat comes on. I’ve heard it many times come from his side of the apartment.
“Carly Rae?” I ask.
“‘Cut to the Feeling,’” Bryce confirms. “Ooh, I trained you well.”
Bryce extends his hand further and makes me get up from the table. We walk under the string of lights, the Manhattan skyline all around us—tall buildings stretching to the sky, filled with a million people with hopes and dreams and heartbreaks and love.
A million dreams are happening in the city right now, and we’re just two of them. But at this precise moment, that’s all that matters.
Bryce pulls me to him, and we sway in a slow dance.
“I don’t think this dance matches the tempo of the song,” I point out.
“You’ve never done a slow dance to a fast song?” he asks. “It’s like being in the eye of a storm, being calm amid all the chaos. So I want to slow dance with you to this song.”
Bryce knows dancing, so he leads the way.
My feet want to go faster. My body wants to move, but he slows me down. That’s what Bryce does—all the chaos crammed into my brain, and he keeps me grounded.
He leans his head against my chest, and I hope he can feel my heart thumping along with Carly Rae .
The music swells with emotion and a faster tempo, and yet it makes perfect sense to dance slow. Somehow, it all works. Carly Rae and slow dancing. Me and Bryce.
As the song charges up, Carly gets fully into it.
It’s the best dance I’ve ever had. Dare I say, the best dancer I’ve ever been.
I tip Bryce’s chin up to me, and run my fingers across his cheek. We kiss—a deep kiss full of warmth and all the emotion slow dancing to a fast Carly song about dancing on the rooftop on an actual rooftop can provide.
“Well then,” I say.
I feel his growing erection digging into mine.
“Maybe after dinner we can do something else.”
“Oh, Em.” Bryce gives me a loving but patronizing laugh. “We’re gay. I suggest we do that first. The meatballs can wait.”