Chapter Twenty-Seven The Apology
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Apology
I would be the first to admit that I had no business showing up at Will’s building that night. I just couldn’t figure out what else to do. I could say I didn’t text him for some other invented reason, but honestly, I was afraid that if I asked to come over, he would say no. Still, people did not do that anymore, just show up, notwithstanding the fact that he had done it once and we had had extremely nice doorway sex as a result. Maybe he had used up the one free pass that we had for appearing without discussion, particularly given how things were now. Besides, what if he was in there with someone? Someone else, who was not me?
I tried to ignore the voice that said, There is no one there, because of course he is waiting for you, because that was an irrational voice, and it was engaged in magical thinking. But I sort of believed it anyway, so I came very close to just knocking, but the idea of this visit had been to return to some kind of rationality, not to set myself up for more embarrassing disasters, and so I didn’t do it.
Standing on the sidewalk, I texted him.
Hi.
I was in the neighborhood, and now I am outside your building. Can we talk?
I waited. His light was on, I was sure, although there was always the possibility that I had miscounted windows or floors, and that in fact, he was out on U Street somewhere, pounding booze and making out with very beautiful and very accomplished women at the exact moment I was standing outside on the street like a fool, in my soft clothes and my slip-on shoes that I had put on in my state of exhaustion and surrender. What if he wasn’t even here? What if he was visiting his sister? What if he was visiting his parents? What if he was in the middle of wild and passionate sex with one of those people he met on U Street?
I just got back from walking Buddy. Do you want to come up?
Yes, thank you.
The door buzzed. I jogged up the steps, and when I got to his door, it was open, and he was standing there. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” I said. “Thank you for this. I was…not nearby at all.”
“I figured.” Buddy came up next to him and stood with his head against Will’s hip. The dog might have liked me, at least at one time, but his loyalty to Will was total, and I admit I felt his big, wet eyes appraising me with disappointment. Even the dog knew I had blown it. “Do you want to come in?”
“Yeah, thanks.” I stepped through his door, looked around at the spare furnishings, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to be ravished on his cheap-ass secondhand sofa. He didn’t sit down, so I didn’t either. “I just wanted to apologize,” I said. “I keep having these terrible conversations, and every time I finish one, I feel worse, and I think it’s because I was horrible, even though I didn’t mean to be. To you, I mean.” He didn’t speak. “I’m sorry for the thing I said about the furniture. And I’m sorry that I brought that guy to Madeline’s, that wasn’t fair, that was—well, whatever happened, I should have made sure it didn’t happen. You’re probably not wrong that part of me gravitates toward kind of predictable, easy people and then doesn’t actually like having them in my life. I feel silly about that. But the—the point is, I’m sorry about everything, and I really feel like garbage.”
“You don’t need to feel like garbage,” he said. “Well. Maybe a small can.” He was not exactly smiling, but he maybe let his shoulders drop a couple of centimeters, maybe let his eyes soften enough that I almost involuntarily leaned toward him.
“For what it’s worth,” I said, “I found out recently that Eliza and Toby and a lot of other people were manipulating me in ways I didn’t really know about, trying to make sure I screwed everything up with you so the show would turn out well and I’d end up with Eliza’s guy. And I should have understood that was happening, and I should have prevented it, but I didn’t, and I think I let her get in my head.” I watched Buddy go over and settle himself on his bed on the floor, apparently satisfied that I posed no immediate threat. “Which, I mean, it’s still my fault, it’s on me, but I wanted you to know.”
He nodded, but did not smile. “Okay.”
I so wanted him to say something comforting to me. I so wanted to tell him absolutely everything, down to the word, down to the most granular detail of the scheming that had gone on behind my back. I wanted to complain about Michael #2 some more, how he was cheap and ultimately boring and how he was merely the best of an underwhelming crop of men I didn’t like that much and men who didn’t like me at all. I wanted Will to make me dinner and fix it, and I wanted to fix something for him in return, and I wanted us to just stay in this place together and not quit yet.
“I guess that’s all I wanted to tell you,” I said.
“I appreciate it,” he said.
“Okay.”
“And.” That’s all he said at first, he said “And.” I just stood there, waiting out a suspenseful pause any producer would admire. “For what it’s worth,” he finally continued, “it’s not entirely…your fault, I mean. I think I do have a thing about what I do for a living. Or maybe what I don’t do. And that’s not because of you, that’s because of…well, it’s not because of you. I am unsettled. I am not very prepared for anything serious, and it’s not your fault that you noticed.”
“I don’t think about it that way,” I said. “I promise you, I really don’t. I think your life is much more on track than you think. I mean, you take pictures of congressmen.”
“Well, bureaucrats.”
“And hang gliders.”
“Really just kites.”
“Anyway, I might have thought you weren’t obsessive enough, but I didn’t think you weren’t special enough. I think you’re more…” I looked around. “I think you’re more at home than you think.”
“What makes you think that?”
Just then, with what was, for once, perfect timing, Buddy’s head popped up behind Will and then dropped back down to his bed. “I don’t know,” I said. “You adopted a hundred-and-sixty-pound dog with a skull like a tackle box.” When I said “dog,” Buddy’s ears twitched, then stilled.
“So you’re using the dog against me,” he said, almost smiling, almost, almost.
“I don’t mean to use anything against you,” I said. And I did smile, because I couldn’t not, because I was beginning to realize I always did when we were together. “I just came here to tell you I don’t think anything is wrong with you. And I’m sorry that’s how it felt.” I thought about telling him all about the unfolding disaster at work, the way everything was collapsing, but that wasn’t his to carry for me. So I just said, “I think you’re just right exactly as you are, and if your life in twenty years looks anything like your life now, I think you’ll still be just right. And that’s…that’s all I wanted to say.” I moved to leave before I started crying, because that didn’t seem like the thing to do at all.
“Wait,” he said.
“I have to go,” I said. “I didn’t—I didn’t come here to talk you into anything.” I walked over to Buddy, bent down by his bed, and put my hand on top of his enormous, fuzzy head. “Be good, bubba.” Then I got out as fast as I could.