Chapter 28 #2
But Leo isn’t asking. He’s just sitting beside me, quiet, his hand around my waist. Waiting. Not pushing.
I want to tell Leo this.
“He just stopped…liking me. He was my best friend growing up, but somewhere along the way, I became someone he couldn’t stand to be around.
And the worst part is, I never understood why.
There wasn’t a specific moment. It was gradual, like a tide going out, and by the time I noticed, the water was gone. ”
There’s bewilderment in my voice. The same bewilderment that lives deep inside me.
After Vaughn left home to go to college, he’d responded to my messages less and less frequently.
One of the hardest things to understand when you’re growing up is that relationships aren’t frozen in time. They change, and with that change, they can warp into a shape you no longer recognize.
And no matter how hard you try, you can’t change it back to the way it was originally.
My own brother, who had been my best friend, my favorite person in the world, reached a point when he didn’t want me in his life anymore.
For a genius, it took me far too long to actually clue in to what was happening. Vaughn had to spell it out for me.
It was at my second PhD graduation. Mom, Dad, and Vaughn had flown over from the States.
I’d been so happy when Vaughn agreed to come.
I’d taken it as a sign that maybe the emotional distance between Vaughn and me was mainly due to the geographic distance between us.
Maybe seeing me in person would fix whatever had gone wrong over texts and missed calls.
The ceremony was in the Sheldonian Theatre. I remember the light coming through the windows, catching the dust motes, making everything look like a painting of itself.
And Vaughn was there. Third row. I spotted him as I took my seat, and he gave me a nod.
The ceremony was long, filled with Latin and lots of formalities.
A speech from someone important. I sat through it, running the probability that afterward, over dinner, Vaughn and I might actually have a real conversation.
He’d ask about my research, then I’d ask about his work, and we’d somehow find our way back to something that felt like us.
When I stood to receive my degree, I looked for him.
There was an empty seat in the third row.
Mom and Dad were still there, beaming. Mom had her hand pressed to her mouth. Dad was taking photos with his phone.
After the ceremony, I found Vaughn outside, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone.
“You missed the end,” I said.
“I got a call from work. Had to take it.”
His voice was flat. He didn’t look up from his phone.
“On a Saturday?”
“Things don’t stop just because you’re getting another piece of paper, Archie.”
I stood there in my gown, holding my scroll, searching for the thing to say that would bridge the gap between us. The one that had been widening for years despite all my efforts.
“Do you want to go get dinner?” I said. “It could be just us. There’s a pub around the corner that does—”
“I’m flying back tonight. I changed my flight.”
I’d blinked at him. “You just got here.”
“I’ve got things to deal with.”
“Vaughn.” I hated the sound of my own voice. The pleading in it. “Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. But I can’t change whatever’s pissing you off if you don’t tell me about it.”
When Vaughn had finally looked up from his phone, his eyes were hard and tired and closed to me. “It’s nothing that you’ve done, Archie. It’s…you.”
My stomach hollowed. “What do you mean?”
“No one will ever be able to stand to be around you for long periods.” His voice was matter-of-fact. Like he was telling me something I should have figured out on my own by now. “You’re exhausting, Archie. You’re too much. You’ve always been too much.”
He pushed off the wall and pocketed his phone.
“I’ll text Mom and tell her something came up.”
I watched him walk away across the courtyard. He didn’t look back. His footsteps echoed off the old stone, and then he turned the corner and was gone.
I’d stood there for a long time. Long enough for other families to stream past me—graduates laughing, parents taking photos, someone popping champagne on the lawn. The whole world was celebrating while I just stood there clutching my scroll.
And I’d thought of the future ahead of me, the one mapped out by my parents and professors.
The one where I accepted the professorship offered to me and spent the rest of my life in lecture halls and research labs, being the version of myself that had driven away the one person whose opinion I cared about most.
And I’d thought, what’s the point of being the smartest person in the room if the room keeps emptying?
You’re too much. You’ve always been too much.
Vaughn’s words echo in my head now as I stare at the panels of Joseph, and the warm buzz I’ve been feeling from spending time with Leo evaporates.
“He told me I was too much,” I whisper as I meet his gaze.
The words come out smaller than I intended. Like even saying them aloud is proof of their accuracy.
“You’re not too much.” Leo’s voice is low and fierce, leaving no room for argument.
Looking into his eyes, I want to believe him, but what did I learn from Vaughn? I learned that even someone who’s loved me for years will eventually find me too much.
Vaughn used to laugh at my jokes, ruffle my hair, and tell me I was the funniest person he knew. And then, one day, the laughter stopped, and what replaced it was something cold, tired, and final.
You’re too much, Archie.
Four words. And I’ve been trying to make myself smaller ever since.
Not intellectually—I can’t turn that off, even if I wanted to. But emotionally. I keep things light and funny. I make sure no one ever has to deal with the full weight of me because the last person who did told me it was unbearable.
Because I am a lot. I know I’m a lot. My brain doesn’t have an off switch. Believe me, I’ve looked for one. Checked behind the ears, under the hippocampus, everywhere. There’s not even a dimmer switch.
I talk too much. I know too much. I feel too much. I make everything into a joke because at least jokes make people laugh instead of leave me.
I glance away from Leo’s intense gaze, looking back at the Joseph panels, at brothers frozen in paint for five hundred years, caught in the moment between betrayal and forgiveness.
My stomach lurches.
How long until Leo realizes I’m too much for him to cope with?
“We should probably find Elizabeth,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”
His expression is troubled as he helps me up. His hand lingers on my arm for a moment longer than necessary.
I don’t pull away.
But I don’t lean in either.