I DON’T wake up to breakfast in bed. Not even the smells of coffee and bacon.
I wake up alone. And there’s a chill in the air. It sends a shiver through me and gives me a strange sense of unease.
The sun is just starting to bleed through the trees when I crawl out of the tent. I take the opportunity to change out of my jismed shirt into a clean long-sleeve that used to belong to Chris. I actually love wearing his old clothes, mainly because they remind me of something we did together while he wore them. I take a leak in the bushes, then poke at the coals of our fire with a stick. I consider restarting it, even though it’s Chris’s domain, when he finally shows up with a beach towel thrown over his shoulder, clean clothes, and wet hair. He usually never showers on our beach trips, says the ocean is all he needs.
I haven’t rehearsed what I’ll say to him. I’m trusting him to know what to do, since he initiated things last night. I study him as he comes closer, searching for some indication of where we stand. He looks a little nervous, embarrassed even, and keeps glancing away. I clear my throat while my guts do a Riverdance. His smile seems way too forced, like I could peel it right off his face. I’m balanced on the balls of my feet in anticipation when Chris finally opens his mouth and says, “I’m thinking donuts.”
I run a hand through my hair and stare at my bare feet, which have been getting a lot of attention lately. He’s thinking donuts. How am I supposed to answer that?
“Yeah, okay.”
That settles it, I guess. We pack up the tent, and I notice the shirt he was wearing last night has disappeared. It seems along with it went any memory of what happened. Is it possible he was so tired he forgot? I couldn’t forget it if I tried. And I don’t want to. It was pretty awesome, I thought. Getting each other off like that? Way better than flying solo. Who knew a hand job could feel so good? And the fact that I care for him—right up there with my mother and sister—makes it all the more meaningful. But maybe he’s ashamed of it, or of us.
We finish loading our camping equipment into the back of his car. I’m trying to think of a smooth way to bring it up when Chris turns to me and says, “Last night was crazy, right?”
He says it like we’d both gotten wasted and hit on each other’s moms or something. Neither of us was drunk, and it didn’t seem that crazy to me, more like, I don’t know, amazing? But maybe he’s worried it will screw up our friendship, which would suck royally. Or it was just a one-off for him. He’s clearly uncomfortable about it, so there’s nothing I can do but go along.
“Yeah, crazy,” I echo.
“I was just messing around. You know that, right?”
Messing around is guy speak for it meant nothing. I’ve seen countless guys tell girls that same thing when they come calling Monday morning after a party over the weekend.
He must regret it, which makes me regret it as well.
“Yeah, sure,” I mumble, then make my way blindly to the front seat, wishing I could sit in the back instead, because all I want is to curl up into a ball and teleport to literally anywhere else.
At Monster Hole we surf on opposite sides of the swells. Chris keeps his distance on the beach too. Maybe he’s scared my dick might jump out of my pants and into his hand. He also makes sure to double his quota of flirting with the babes, proving to me or maybe himself his überheterosexuality.
Nothing says screw you like having a bunch of hot chicks draped all over you like Mardi Gras beads.
By the end of the day, I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and forget this weekend ever happened. Ryanne tells me about a skateboard competition coming up that I might be interested in going to, either as a spectator or a competitor. I ask her if she wants to check it out together since it was her idea. She says yes, so we exchange numbers.
On the car ride home, I pretend to be asleep so I won’t sulk the whole way or make it more awkward than it already is. About halfway home, Chris clears his throat. Super loud. Like everything else he does, it commands my attention.
“Theo,” he says.
I keep my eyes closed. I’ve already committed to it.
“Theo,” he says again, louder, and then, “Come on, Theo, I know you’re not sleeping.”
I sigh and stretch and slowly open my eyes so he might wonder if I was sleeping or not. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.
“I don’t want it to be weird between us,” he says.
He’s already tried blowing me off, so what else is there to talk about? If he wants to pretend like it didn’t happen, I will too.
“Why would it be weird?” I say like a shit. Maybe I am a bad friend.
He shoots me a look like Don’t be an ass. Chastened, I sit up a little straighter and stare at my hands.
“Last night was just a weird mood,” he says with purpose. Like he’s trying to convince himself of it.
“I think we covered this already,” I say sourly.
“No, I covered it. You haven’t said a word.”
I suck in my bottom lip and stare at the dashboard with my arms crossed. Ugh, the feelings. So many goddamned feelings, all swirling inside me like an undertow. None of the things I want to say to him feel safe. Chris has an agenda—he always does—so why is he trying to make me go first?
“What do you want me to say, Chris?” I finally ask.
“I want you to say it doesn’t change anything.”
I glance out the window, at the purple dusk blanketing the water and tucking it in for bed. I’ve relied on Chris for so much over the years. This summer when he was gone, I felt the loss of him deeply. It kind of scared me how much a part of my identity he’s become. How often I look to him for approval, acceptance, and a shoulder to lean on. I love him as a friend and more, but I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship.
“It doesn’t change anything,” I repeat.
“You believe that?”
No, but it seems he wants everything to stay the same, so what choice do I have?
“I guess so,” I mutter.
He sighs, frustrated with me. For what, I have no idea. My lines aren’t convincing enough. Once more, with passion….
“Look, Theo, I’m sorry,” he says.
Now he’s apologizing? He must think it was a huge fucking mistake.
“Whatever, Chris. We were horny. I’m sure other dudes have done it before without the world ending.”
“I’m really—”
“Don’t apologize,” I cut him off.
He stares at the road. I’ve been too harsh. He’s trying to make things right between us. Even if it’s having the opposite effect, he’s doing his best.
“It’s cool,” I say. “It was a stupid mistake. So let’s forget it ever happened.”
“You think it was a mistake?” He glances over at me. The fear and uncertainty in his eyes look strange on him. My best friend, who would take on ten bullies, tackle a twenty-foot wave without a second thought, punch a shark in the gill, is scared. Whatever his feelings, I’m not about to ruin five years of friendship just to prove a point.
“Yeah, it was a mistake.”
He nods slowly, then settles back into driving, visibly relieved.
He’s off the hook.