Chapter Thirty-Two
Larenz
“I fucked up, Larenz,” B.D. said when he showed up at my dorm room unannounced, on a warm evening after the May campus commencement festivities had wound down and the last of my residents had moved out for the summer. “I’m so embarrassed.”
After I shut the door, B.D. pulled me into an embrace. No words. Then the dry heaves and tears.
“What’s going on, B.D.? I’m here.”
B.D. pulled away, wiped his eyes, and walked to my desk chair, managing to avoid my summer orientation spreadsheets on the floor. I couldn’t believe it was time to welcome another cohort of new students, much like I’d welcomed B.D. almost a year before.
“I know we agreed to lay low for a bit. But…I can’t come back to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
The dry heaves and tears started again. “I’m moving to California in a few days.”
“California? Why?”
“I did something stupid.”
“What’s going on?” I almost didn’t want to hear it. In my heart, I knew. Or, at least had a feeling.
“Macy’s pregnant.”
“Oh shit.”
“We didn’t plan…”
“On the plan backfiring like this,” I said, staring out the window behind where B.D. sat. “On you and her sleeping together again.”
“It was just a few times.”
“I shoulda known better,” I said, sitting down on the floor, trying to distract myself with my upcoming summer work. “Stupid me.”
“You’re not stupid. I’m the stupid one.”
“You said it, not me.”
After a beat, B.D. said, “Anyway, Macy’s dad wants us to get married.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t doing the best job pretending to work. “Married?”
“I’m sorry, Larenz.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you,” B.D. said. “I want us. I’m trying to figure it out.”
I pretended to review the orientation work, but it wasn’t working. “What is there to figure out? You’re the one who said you’re moving to California.”
“People do long distance.”
“We’re twenty and twenty-one years old with no money and no degrees yet. I’m not quitting college for a—”
“I want you, Larenz. I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”
“I can’t either. But it’s too late for that. You can’t have Macy and me.”
“I know. I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, B.D.”
“How can I not? I want to be with you, Larenz.”
“I do, too. But like that Denise LaSalle song says, ‘it just be’s that way sometimes.’ ”
“So it’s like that?”
“How else can it be?”
Weeks later, once B.D. had left campus and moved to California, I messaged him just to check in.
Larenz: How are you?
B.D.: I’ve been better.
Larenz: Same.
B.D.: I’m sorry.
Larenz: I think about you all the time.
B.D.: I do too. But I can’t.
Larenz: You can’t stop me from loving you.
B.D.: You have to. I’m a married man now and with a baby on the way.
Larenz: Maybe I shouldn’t have given you up so easy. Maybe being outed would have changed things for us.
B.D.: Let’s not do this.
Larenz: Maybe I should have let you fuck me harder. Sucked your dick even better than what I did.
B.D.: I’m deleting our messages. Should have done it already. I’m married now.
Larenz: I know you miss the way I used to sit you in the chair.
B.D.: Look. I need you to stop texting me. You sound desperate and disgusting. I have a new life out here in California and I’m going to try to make it work out. I suggest you do the same. Move on with your life.
Larenz: You can’t turn off feelings like that. You can’t deny who you are.
B.D.: If you don’t stop, I’m blocking you. I’m sorry.
Larenz: I’m sorry for being an inconvenient mistake or an experiment in your life.
B.D.: You’re neither. Please stop.
Larenz: So…delete, block, forget.
B.D.: Delete. Block. Forget.