Chapter 9 #2
Safie picked up a bottle of Scotch and whistled. “Their classes must be really popular. This stuff is not cheap.”
I took the bottle and poured. “Drink up, little lambs.”
“It tastes like,” Priya grimaced and stuck out her tongue, “mulch?”
“It’s the peaty resilience of being a viable major,” I said.
“Let’s make some rounds.” Safie’s gaze landed on Maria, who smiled and lifted her chin in hello.
We were about to move in Maria’s direction when across the room, in stepped Tyler and Addison. They snaked through the crowd, heads low. I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed.
“I’ll catch up,” I said. “I skipped dinner—I’m going to graze off the fat of the land.” Before anyone could protest, I grabbed a slice of something and shoved it in my mouth.
Tyler and Addison settled in a darkened corner near a bookcase, leaning in close and conspiratorial.
Addison was acting something out, an impression or a scene, hands raised like claws beside his face.
They exploded in deep laughs that bent them over.
Tyler straightened and pulled something from his jacket—a bottle.
With a quick glance to either side, he poured its contents into two cups and stashed it on a shelf.
“Mark! So wonderful to see you.”
I turned. Elaine Friedman. “Elaine. Hi.”
“And where’s your better half?”
“Oh—” Apparently the rumor mill hadn’t kicked in yet. “Stephen couldn’t make it.”
“Well, please say hello.” A youngish guy I didn’t recognize stood nearby and Elaine’s hand fluttered, beckoning.
“Paul, join us.” He took a small step forward, sheepish look on his face.
“Come, come. Paul is a doctoral candidate. At Michigan. Doing fascinating research in Mato Grosso. He’s here on fellowship for the year. ”
“I was at your talk, at Fall Fest,” Paul said. “I really enjoyed it.”
“That’s kind, thanks.” I peeked across the room: Tyler lost in conversation with Addison. Had he not seen me? “I was glad to get it over with.”
“It’s always good to get it over with,” said Elaine.
“No, it was brilliant,” said Paul. It intersected with his own work, he explained, an ethnography of a farming village.
They had suffered a series of brutal, unsolved murders a decade ago.
It had deeply impacted the village and he was trying to track the stories they told to make sense of it, especially in terms of gender.
The victims had all been young boys. “Americans think of Brazil as this violent, dangerous place, but this is a small community. Very isolated, very intimate. Things like that don’t happen. It’s not like here.”
As Paul talked, I stole glances at Tyler and Addison, making quick work of the bottle. They were in constant physical contact: Addison’s hand on Tyler’s arm, Tyler pressing his forehead to Addison’s shoulder, overcome. Something electric passing between them, sizzling and white.
And then Addison moved from the corner, handing his cup to Tyler. He headed for the door.
“Pardon me,” I said, cutting off Paul. “I see someone I should say hello to.”
“Sorry,” said Paul, “I’m talking your ear off. But I would love to get together if you have time.” He smiled. “To talk about your work.”
“Wonderful, delightful,” Elaine said. “I’m so pleased you made the connection. And Mark, Stephen and you must come for dinner. Robert’s a little in love, I think.” She laughed.
“Sure, sure,” I said, not really listening. “That sounds great.”
I crossed the room and Tyler acknowledged me with a slight dip of his head, the smallest gesture. There was something feline in the arc of him, lithe and disinterested.
“What are you doing here?” I spoke quietly, willing him not to draw attention our way.
“Nothing. Hanging out.” I’d seen this look on his face before, nights when he showed up late at my apartment, damp and tingling with drink.
“This isn’t really for students.”
Tyler shrugged, but not even. Less than a shrug. “No one else seems to mind.”
“What happened to Addison?”
“He went to the bathroom.” Tyler slouched into the wall, examining his cup.
“Is something going on?”
“No. Why?”
“I haven’t heard from you.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I got busy finishing up classes.” He looked up at me. “Are you upset?”
“Of course not.” There was an insistence in my voice I didn’t like and I tried to soften it. “But is something bothering you?”
“Not at all.”
“It’s just—you seem a little off.”
“I think I seem just like myself.” He reached for the bottle. Vodka. More than half of it gone. He refilled his cup and I glanced around us.
“You should be careful with that. It’ll be a mess if you get caught.”
Tyler snorted.
“I’m not trying to hassle you,” I said.
That half shrug again. “It’s no hassle.”
“Tyler, listen.” Why were we fighting? “I didn’t mean—”
And then Safie was beside us—I hadn’t even noticed her approach.
“What’s happening over here?” Her eyes passed from Tyler to me and back to him. “I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Dr. Hartwell.”
Tyler smirked. He raised his cup and emptied it in one long swallow.
“I was just wishing Professor Lausson happy holidays.”
I followed Tyler’s eyes across the room. Addison had returned—he stood by the doorway, watching. Tyler signaled for him to turn around.
“Well it’s probably time to say goodnight,” said Safie.
Tyler grinned, a tight smirk. “Goodnight.” He reached his empty cup toward the shelf—he missed, and it clattered to the floor. I watched him weave across the room, limbs loose and swinging.
“What is he doing here?” Safie asked.
“I have no idea.” My words had been coming out wrong and I’d upset Tyler and now I’d lost my chance to set it right.
“He’ll get this whole thing shut down,” Safie said. “Some of these kids are so spoiled.” She bent to pick up the cup he’d left behind.
“It’s not that big a deal.”
“It kind of is,” Safie said. My face felt hot and patchy, throat parched. The lights of the Christmas bulbs burned red and harsh. I wanted out of there, out of this conversation. “I think I saw him at your talk. Is he a student of yours?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Safie blinked and stepped back. “Excuse me?”
“I had a handle on things, you didn’t have to interfere.” Safie and her meddling, thinking she knew what was best for everyone else.
“I was just helping.”
“I didn’t need your help. That was humiliating.”
“What?”
“I know you like to be in charge of everything, telling everyone what to do. But I was dealing with it—I’m not a child, I don’t need a babysitter.”
And then a voice interrupted—“Here you are.” We both turned to look—it was Maria. “Oh sorry, I’m one short.” She’d brought Safie a drink. “The infamous Mark. Hello.”
Safie lifted the drink from Maria and looked directly at me. “Mark was actually just leaving.” I stared back at her, her stony expression, like I could be anyone.
“That’s right,” I said. “I was.”
And then I left.
I stalked my apartment in a storm of fury and shame. Why had the conversation with Tyler gone that way? I felt belittled, a nobody. As if nothing of these last weeks had happened.
How had I ended up here?
Hours later, the phone rang.
“What?”
A long pause.
“What are you doing?” Tyler’s voice gauzy, distant.
“What am I doing?” I had finally calmed down but everything jerked back alive, kicking inside me. “What the fuck was going on tonight?”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Is this a game for you?”
“No. I just—”
“You have fucked up my life, Tyler.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You have. You have fucked it up completely.” I was heaving, quick, sharp breaths. “This is such a mess.”
Tyler’s voice broke. “Please. Stop.” And then he was crying, great, wracked sobs, deep and desolate.
“Tyler.”
He said nothing, just kept crying.
“Tyler, come on. It’s okay. I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”
I waited. A minute passed. His breathing slowed and evened out. A space opened and filled with quiet.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” He sounded flat, spent.
“What’s wrong?”
“I know I’m fucked up. I don’t know why I act that way. I shouldn’t drink. I’m such an asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole.”
“I can’t stand the idea that you’re disappointed in me. I hate it.”
“Tyler.” Something released in me, a latch letting go. “You could never disappoint me.”
I poured a whiskey and crouched to scan my record collection, untouched for months—a year?
I needed something to help calm me down, even out the emotional upheaval of the night.
I pulled an album and set it on the turntable.
I lowered the needle; the comforting crackle.
I stretched across the couch, the music cocooning around me.
Soon there was a tap at the door.
Tyler’s eyes were swollen, his face puffy.
He looked hollowed out, beautiful. I pulled him to me, holding him to my chest in the fold of my arms. He poured heat against me, pushing into me, burrowing.
I kissed the top of his head, petting his hair and the back of his neck.
I would have taken all of him into me if I could.
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
He pulled back, smiling. “I hope not.”
“Did something happen tonight?”
“Yeah. It’s stupid.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” He laughed. “Is that okay?”
“It’s okay.” I noticed then he’d brought a duffel bag with him. It was packed full, heavy on the floor beside him. “What’s with that?”
“I can’t deal with the dorms right now. Could I stay here? Until I go home?”
I looked at him, his patchy face and bloodshot eyes.
“Of course.”
He threw himself back at me, quick and ferocious, wiry arms wrapped tight. I kissed his head again—once, twice, and then once more.