28. James
JAMES
When Donna told me someone was coming to the house to take our measurements for our wedding attire, I pictured the stylists from Queer Eye lecturing me on my lack of taste and class.
Instead, a blue-haired, tatted-up young woman named Autumn showed up and asked us to stand naked on a rotating pedestal while she took measurements on her iPad.
Theo volunteered to go first, not because he was eager to get naked in front of a lady, but because, in his mind, this was a dress rehearsal for his wedding to Ryan. As a result, Will and I were alone for the first time in days.
Will spent very little time at the house anymore.
When he wasn’t filming or at the gym, he was off rehearsing with his father.
Most days, I’d be lucky to get thirty minutes with him, and then only at the end of the day, when he was exhausted.
He’d pour himself a bedtime bourbon, and I’d casually try to get a play-by-play of the day’s shooting.
Of course, that’s when Theo would swoop in, demanding to know everything Ryan had said, done, or thought that day.
I knew our relationship was fake, that I shouldn’t feel cast aside like a 1950s homemaker, but I did. I told myself I was just jealous that he got to be part of Travis’s movie and I didn’t, but I was starting to suspect it was more than that. I was developing a crush on my fake boyfriend.
I knew it was just a product of celibacy and forced proximity—except there was a serious lack of proximity lately—but that didn’t stop it from being really fucking annoying, especially with him spending so much time with Derek.
I missed showing Will new things: hiking to the old beaver pond, going off the rope swing under the Rockford bridge, floating the river with a cooler full of beer.
Faced with anything fun, Will’s default was to resist, and I felt a perverse sense of power every time I bent one of his “absolutely nots” into an “I suppose we can.” Or maybe I just liked seeing him smile.
I still couldn’t get over what he’d done for us.
He’d told the police he’d seen a deer and panicked.
And when I’d promised him I’d take away Theo’s computer and guitar as punishment, he’d said, “Why? That won’t accomplish anything.
The real consequence already happened: he wrecked the car and now feels terrible.
If you create some totally unrelated consequence, you’ll just give him a new target for his discomfort—you.
Rather than sitting with the consequences of his actions, he’ll blame you for being unfair. ”
It sounded like horseshit to me—at least at the time—but it got me thinking about my own dad and how the only lesson I’d ever learned from him was how not to get caught.
So, I heeded Will’s advice and started giving Theo driving lessons again instead, and for the first time, he was taking them seriously.
I snatched an orange from the fruit bowl, tossed it in the air, and caught it. “How are things going with the movie?”
Will shrugged onto a stool at the kitchen island, his skin glowing under the skylight. Even though he wore copious amounts of sunscreen, William Chapman was getting a tan. “It’s good.”
“Just good?” My hackles rose. “Is Derek giving you shit?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s just been .
. . weird.” Will stared out at the barn’s weathervane, the horse galloping northwest. “Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve wanted to be in a movie with my dad.
And now I am, and that part’s actually pretty awesome.
But when it’s all said and done, it won’t be me in the movie.
It’ll be Derek. And I know that shouldn’t matter, that it’s about the journey, not the destination, but . . .” His voice trailed off.
I’d been trying to get the orange peel off in one continuous spiral, but I got a little overzealous thinking about that tatted-up fucker stealing all Will’s glory—again—and my thumb slipped.
“Every artist needs an audience, and anyone who says otherwise is lying. Even people who never share their work fantasize about becoming the next van Gogh when they die. What you do is amazing and should be seen.”
I thought of Travis and how he’d never get to watch his movie.
“My brother spent years writing a book, and wouldn’t show it to anyone, not even me.
I told him books are supposed to be read, not just written, but he wouldn’t hear it.
” Why am I bringing this up? I never talked about Travis if I could avoid it, and he had shown it to someone, a private editor who’d torn it to shreds.
“But this is different,” I continued. “All your work is gonna end up on the cutting room floor. No one will ever see it, even if you want them to.”
Will forced a smile. “Did your brother ever publish his book?”
Of all the stories I could’ve told. “Yeah, eventually.”
“Was it any good?”
“It was all right.” I finished peeling the orange.
“He’s the pee-shy one, right?”
I couldn’t believe Will remembered that. Man, I used to give Travis so much shit for being pee-shy. I used to stand outside the bathroom door and shout, “Hurry up, other people live here, too!”
“What’s he doing now?” Will asked. “Is he a famous novelist? Are you James King, brother of Stephen King?”
I popped an orange slice in my mouth and sucked it dry before swallowing. “He died, actually. Killed himself.”
Will’s smile vanished. “Jesus. I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine.”
I shrugged. “It’s okay. These things happen.” Normally, I told people the official story: Travis drowned in a boating accident. But with all the lies I’d been forced to tell Will, it was nice to share something real.
His dark, unblinking eyes found mine. “How long ago?”
“About a year and a half.” I knew I should stop there, but I kept going. “I should’ve seen it coming. He wasn’t just my big brother. He was my best friend, too, and I still didn’t know. I mean, how oblivious can you get? We were friggin’ living together at the time.”
“I get why you’d feel that way,” Will said, his dark eyes surprisingly warm. “You’re still around to shoulder the blame, and he isn’t. I don’t know him, so I can’t speak to his ability to keep a secret. But I know you, and you’re one of the least oblivious people I know.”
Travis had been good at keeping secrets—that was true—but I still should’ve known. “I was supposed to be in charge, the one with a clear head, but I was fucking high half the time.”
Will nodded sympathetically, and I braced for the inevitable it’s-not-your-fault speech, both dreading and needing it.
But instead of trying to pull me out of this hole, he climbed down in with me.
“I think the saddest thing about getting older is realizing everyone is just faking it, even the so-called experts,” he said.
“Sure, that can be freeing, not having a higher power to look up to, but it’s also a huge fucking burden because without one—even if it’s just Oprah—there’s no one to absolve you, no one to say, ‘It’s not your fault.
’ At least, no one you’ll believe. Your therapist will tell you, ‘You have to learn how to forgive yourself,’ but I don’t think that’s actually possible.
I think that’s just something people say because they want it to be true, like, ‘You can be anything you want to be if you put your mind to it.’ No, you can’t. ”
Will’s little speech, while bleak, was the most comforting thing anyone had ever said to me regarding Travis’s death, and though it made no sense, I wanted so badly to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that Derek probably had it coming.
Instead, I said, “I think your advice about Theo is paying off. He seems genuinely sorry, and he’s taking our driving lessons a lot more seriously now.
So thanks. You’re obviously an amazing teacher. ”
Will scoffed. “I’m really not. I’ve read a lot of books and gone to a lot of workshops, so I know all the things you’re supposed to do, and I do a lot of them, but that can only get you so far.
To be truly effective, you need to be superhuman.
You have to be intimidating enough that they’ll do what you ask, yet warm enough that they feel safe and supported.
You need to be in complete control at all times, or at least convince everyone you are, so that they always know justice will be served, even when everyone decides to be fucking assholes all at once.
But you also have to wield god-like benevolence, because for seven hours a day, you’re their fucking parent, and you need to love them unconditionally.
It’s fucking impossible. Well, not impossible.
My friend Tiffany can do it, but she’s the exception. ”
I handed him an orange segment. “Yeah, but you’re a terrible judge of your own talent. So, forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
He examined the orange slice like I’d dropped it on the floor. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure my principal would back me up on this one.”
“Then fuck her.”
“Nah, she’s all right. She’s just doing her job. Besides, it’s actually kind of nice to be hated for something other than what I did to Derek.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you. There’s no way anyone could know you and still hate you.”
“You’d be surprised. Christ, my own mother can barely stand me.”
“That’s not true. She may not be the warmest woman on the planet, but she loves you.”
Will shrugged.
In the other room, I heard Theo’s muffled voice say, “So, that’s it? I can put my clothes back on,” and knew my time with Will was coming to an end.
“I don’t mean to change the subject,” he said, “but my dad was wondering if you and Theo wanted to come to dinner tonight. I told him you guys like to do your own thing, but I thought I’d ask.”
I laughed. “You’re ridiculous. Of course I wanna meet your dad, and not just because he’s Robert Chapman, either. I wanna see the prototype, see if he’s the reason you’re so fucking charming.”