Chapter 10 #3
Tyler dodged through the crowd, joining Addison.
The song ended and as the next one kicked on, Tyler threw up his arms, head tilted back, and let out a whoop.
The sounds of the party expanded and contracted around me.
My hands tingled. I reached to touch my face and discovered I was smiling.
I never went to parties like this in college, or after—or ever.
But I liked it. Tyler and Addison’s comfort in the space, in the world, maybe it was catching on.
What had Tyler said that night at my apartment?
Serious Professor Lausson. He was right. I’m allowed to have some fun.
My mouth had gone gummy. My bottle was empty.
I needed a drink. I called Tyler’s name.
“I’ll be right back.” He answered but I couldn’t make it out.
He flashed a thumbs-up. I smiled and nodded.
In the kitchen, I found an abandoned cup of something.
I rinsed it and filled it from the tap. I gulped it down and poured another.
I found a beer from the fridge and held it to my cheek, the cold soothing—I needed to go outside.
I squeezed from the kitchen, back into the hallway we’d entered, and stepped onto the porch.
The night air washed over me, calming, perfect. This was a good idea. The porch was packed. More people had arrived. Tyler hadn’t been wrong, it was a mix of ages. Columbus was a real city, part of the wider world. I wanted more than Ohio, but this was better than Sawyer.
There was an empty chair in a corner, against the half-wall encasing the porch. I sank into it.
“Are you okay?” someone asked.
“Yes. Thank you.” I looked over. Two girls sat together, one with red curly hair that fell to her shoulders, the other, dirty blonde, pulled back. I realized they were on the back seat from a car—it had been dragged to the porch and propped against the wall.
The redhead noticed me looking and said, “I told her this was disgusting.”
The blonde one introduced herself—“I’m Jessie, this is Rebecca”—then pulled a bottle of vodka from between her feet. “You want? Rebecca, where are those cups?”
“I’m okay,” I said, raising my beer.
“Beer is just going to make you sleepy and cold,” Rebecca said. Jessie filled a cup and passed it to me. They raised their drinks in a toast, and I followed. The vodka seared the back of my throat. It was cheap, I could feel it in my nose, but Rebecca was right. It warmed me.
“I haven’t seen you at these before,” Rebecca said. “How did you end up here?”
“Just tagging along,” I said, “and you two?”
“We were all at OSU together,” Rebecca said. “And now we’re stuck in Columbus.”
“Rebecca’s brother lives here. Connor.”
“Red cap?” They nodded. “We met.”
“Don’t hold that against me,” said Rebecca. “He’s a complete ogre.”
“Well, he was a very friendly ogre.”
“He and all these guys are disgusting. Present company excluded, of course.” Rebecca raised her cup.
“Well, thank you.” I tipped my own and took another drink.
“Actually, you know what the problem with men is?”
“Rebecca,” Jessie said, “please don’t antagonize our new friend.”
“He can take it.”
“I can,” I said. “In fact, I want to know. It would probably be an immense help. What is the problem with men?”
“The problem with men is they hate themselves.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s everything. Deep down in those bodies they stuff with beer and porn and all those stupid supplements they think will change something. They honestly, truly hate themselves.”
“But don’t you think a lot of women hate themselves?” Jessie asked.
“Fair point,” I said, because I wanted to hear Rebecca go on.
“Some women. Sure. But I’m talking all men. Every single one. And women, what can we do about it? We just keep the hate inside, brooding and seething. But men. Because of the fucking patriarchy—”
“Fuck the patriarchy,” Jessie said.
“Men can turn that hatred on the world. It’s themselves they hate, but we all pay the fucking price.”
The door to the house burst open. A guy, face washed of color, shirt half unbuttoned, lurched across the porch in wide swinging steps.
A voice shouted out—“Hey!”—he’d knocked right into someone.
The guy swerved and heaved down the steps, hitting the ground and jerking forward.
A stream of vomit hurled across the lawn.
“Gross,” Jessie said. “Jesus.”
“See, this is exactly what I mean. You have to hate yourself to get like that. I almost feel bad for him.” Rebecca tossed her cup, now empty.
It clattered down the path, landing with a dull echo some feet from the guy.
He was bent over, on his hands and knees.
“Don’t hate yourself so much,” she shouted. “It’s not working!”
Back in the house, throngs of bodies pushed together. The air had thickened, sticky and warm, music pulsing. The lamp was knocked over, unplugged or the bulb broken. I shoved my way back to the kitchen.
No Tyler. Addison was talking with a girl, standing close, his hand at her waist. I started to back away—maybe Tyler was still dancing—but stopped as Addison called out, “Come here.”
He handed me a beer. What had happened to my last one? After this—water. I drew the bottle to my mouth and swallowed. Something malty, rich.
“Don’t go anywhere,” the girl said. She touched the swell of Addison’s arm. As she exited the kitchen, she turned and waved, light sparking off her rings.
“She seems nice,” I said.
Addison laughed. “How’s the party going for you?”
“Fine. Great, actually. I’m having a nice time. And you?”
“The best,” Addison said, broad face beaming. “My parents are obsessed with you, by the way.”
I laughed. “I had a really nice time with them. You’ll have to tell them I say hi. Although”—I swooped my hand in the air—“maybe don’t mention all this.”
He laughed again. “Okay, deal. And you know, Tyler thinks you’re great.”
“Oh.” Was there something in his voice—had it shifted? I glanced at him—standing beside me, smiling, perfectly happy in the moment. There was nothing going on. He was a nice guy being nice. “You’re a good friend to him.”
“That guy is crazy, but I love him.”
“It was cool you were able to bring him back from the airport today.”
“What do you mean?”
“He said you gave him a ride?”
“Well, sure. We flew back together.”
“You were in Charlotte?”
Shouts exploded from the other room, the crowd cheering something on. The music got louder, blaring.
“Tyler was in LA. He stayed with me after the holidays, after Malibu.”
“Malibu?”
“They always do New Year’s in Malibu with his grandmother.”
On New Year’s, I’d ended work early and ordered a pizza. I sat with it and a bottle of wine, texting back and forth with Tyler until midnight arrived. He said he’d gone to a party with some high school friends. He called it tragic and boring. Why would he lie about being in California?
“Ah, here he is—”
Addison shifted, making space for Tyler as he crossed the kitchen. Tyler’s eyes were dark spinning disks, the lights of the kitchen swirling in his enormous pupils. He was with some guy—someone familiar. Where did I know him from?
“Where have you all been?” Tyler asked.
“Oh, hi,” the guy said. He stuck out his hand. “It’s Paul. From Sawyer. We met at the end of semester thing.”
At the Walton Walk. Elaine’s grad student.
“You all have met?” Tyler asked. I saw then that his hand was resting on Paul’s shoulder and Paul’s arm circled his waist, holding Tyler up, or pulling him close, or both. “That’s so funny we’re all here.”
“Small world,” Paul said, grinning.
Tyler peeled himself away and rummaged through the counter’s debris, lifting bottles, finding them empty, putting them down. He grabbed one—still half full. “Let’s go back and dance.”
“Come with,” Paul said, eyes lighting on mine. He turned and moved out of the kitchen. Tyler stepped to follow—I grabbed his wrist, holding him in place, letting Paul leave.
I lowered my voice and leaned in. “What is going on here?”
“It’s a party. Relax.” His eyes ricocheted around the room, looking at everything but me. “That hurts.”
“What are you doing with Paul?”
“I thought we said we were having fun tonight.”
“Just—come outside. I need to talk to you.”
Paul stuck his head back in the doorway, eyes bright. “Get in here!” He stretched an arm toward Tyler.
Tyler yanked from my grip and disappeared into the crush of bodies. I started to yell after him and caught myself. I pushed from the kitchen toward the corridor.
“Hold on.” Addison reached for me, but I pulled away, shoving through the crowd. As the hallway met the living room, I turned to look. Paul and Tyler dancing, closing the space between them. Paul’s hands at Tyler’s waist, Tyler’s palms on his chest.
I flew down the porch, across the lawn, into the street.
I turned left, then right. I needed to get out of here.
Where was the fucking car? My keys slipped from my hand, clanging to the asphalt.
I bent to pick them up and the street spun, out of balance and askew.
I stood, the rush of blood through my brain an avalanche.
“Fuck.”
“Hey, Dr. Lausson! Mark!” Addison was sprinting across the lawn toward me. “Wait up.” He gasped and steadied himself, his breath steaming the air between us. “Are you leaving?”
“I am. You guys are going to have to find some other way home.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I looked down at my hand. I must have knocked it against the ground. The knuckles were scraped, small dark bubbles of blood popping up.
“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in months.”
I turned to leave—the car was down on the left, I could see its bumper—when I felt Addison’s grip on my arm, firm.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can let you drive.”
“Back off.” I yanked myself from him, stumbling then catching myself. I’d shouted, and my bark echoed down the street and Addison stepped back, startled. Behind him, a shuffling on the porch, as people rearranged to see what was happening.