24 #2
“I don’t care that he wants his dad’s approval.
I mean, I do care. I wish he didn’t, mostly because I think Noah would be a hell of a lot happier if he could tell the lot of them to fuck right off.
But honestly, that’s always worked in my favor.
The dad likes me. Loves me. Jesus, it’s fucking embarrassing sometimes, the way he goes on. ”
“You?” Auggie murmured.
“Yeah me, sugar tits. Is it so fucking hard to believe that somebody might actually fucking like me?”
“Uh, no. Nope.” And then he even shook his head, just to make sure. But then he ruined it by saying, “So, what’s the problem?”
The problem is me, I almost said.
“The problem,” I said, “is Noah managed to blow up my entire life because he wanted his dad to pat him on the head. Half my followers unfollowed me when he tagged me. Probably more; I haven’t checked since this morning.
And I know I’m not shaving my asshole on camera for a million followers like you—”
“I’ve literally never done that.”
“—but I worked really fucking hard to build that account. And it’s part of my business. It’s how clients find me. Fuck, I’m close to being able to monetize it. Si and I have put some really good shit up there, and Noah blew it all up with one fucking post.”
“But—” And for the first time since he’d shown up at the door, Auggie looked like he might be reconsidering his decision to drop in. “But Cart, I mean, you guys are married.”
I waited.
“So, like—” The poor kid looked like he was dying. “—people know you’re gay.”
“I know people know I’m gay, Skippy! That’s not the fucking point!”
Auggie’s shoulders dropped. He wouldn’t look at me.
“Look,” I said. “It’s not about that.”
“It’s kind of about that,” he said in a small voice.
And maybe it was, if you came at it from the side.
Because a long time ago, when Theo and I had been dating—or sleeping together, or fucking, or whatever you wanted to call it—Auggie had talked Theo into throwing me a birthday party.
A surprise birthday party. With all my friends.
And now, after a lot of years and a lot of therapy, I could believe that Auggie hadn’t been trying to fuck up my life.
But I’d been closeted. And Theo had been pressuring me to come out—if not to everybody, then at least to a few friends.
Because Theo had told me he wouldn’t live like that, wouldn’t be somebody’s secret.
And the party seemed like—like it was meant to force me to say something or do something.
Except it wasn’t. It was fine. Right up until the minute Auggie let it slip that Theo and I were together.
That had been the end. I’d run away from everything. I’d been hurting. Angry, too, to cover the hurt. And drinking didn’t help. So, I found something that did. It helped me kill myself day by day until I blacked out in a bus station bathroom, shooting up between my toes.
“That was different,” I said. But he still didn’t look up. “Hey, I’m the one who freaked out. I’m the one who ran.” The refrigerator hummed. “I’m the only one who did anything wrong, Auggie.”
At the sound of his name, he glanced up. But he didn’t say anything.
Elbows on the island, I put my face in my hands. “Fuck me. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
“No,” Auggie finally said. “Not exactly.”
“What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Cart, it’s—” But he stopped. “I’m sorry. Noah’s such a kind person. If you talk to him, explain—”
“No.” I still had my face in my hands, and my voice came out low and strained. “No. No, because then we’re just going to keep doing this over and over.”
After a while, I managed to pull my head up.
Auggie was watching me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I groaned. “What the fuck did I ever do to you?”
“You’re mean to me constantly.”
“Fuck off. You like it. You like it even more because it gives Theo ants in his pants.”
Auggie laughed. “Well, yeah, obviously.” But then his smile faded.
“Just— Talk me through it. You’re such a strong person, Cart.
You went through something awful, and you came back from it.
You built yourself a new life. You’re smart, and you’re talented, and even though I’m going to regret saying this in about five seconds, you’re so sweet. ”
“Eat my dick.”
“You don’t give two fucks what other people think. If you did, you wouldn’t have come back here. You definitely wouldn’t have stayed.”
He didn’t ask the questions. Maybe he didn’t even know what to ask.
But I did: So why do you care so much if somebody sees you holding his hand?
Why do you care if someone sees you kiss him?
Why do you care if he screams and jumps and gets excited?
Why does any of it bother you, when the other ninety-nine percent of the time, you tell the world to take a flying fuck?
Because he’s going to be mad.
The thought went through me in a wave of prickly heat. Not just the old fear, but shame, too. And something like exhaustion. Because I was so tired of feeling like this.
“I guess,” I finally said, “I’ve got some shit to work on.”