“There now, I hope that proves I've got no problem coming to you.” She actually giggled at her own joke, which was certainly a choice.
Not one that he would have made in his present mood.
“Vic?” she asked, propping up on an elbow to run her eyes all over his face.
He offered up a smile.
“Wait, seriously, is this a thing? Do we need to get all couples counseling about it?”
“Is that your way of admitting that we're an actual couple?”
“What are you talking about? Of course we're a couple. Or didn't you notice that we just did some super fun sex things?”
“Not like that's a precious commodity to be gotten from you.”
“Excuse me, are you actually shaming me right now?”
“God no, of course not. You know your sex life is your own business.”
“Okay, yes, I do know that, but you're the one who just brought it up like our intimacy means nothing.”
“That's not what I meant. Of course, it means something. To me, it means everything. But ….”
“But what?”
He couldn’t keep looking at her uncomprehending face. Either she didn’t get him at all, or she was great at pretending. “But you never want to hear what it means to me. You don't want to think in terms of you and me. You don't want to rearrange your life in a significant way, just because of me.”
“I don’t? What am I doing here then?”
Her students must quake in fear of being the reason for that sharp voice. But her power over him wasn’t that of a teacher over a student, and he didn’t need to flinch from her scorn. “Showing up with one single change of clothes so you have an excuse get out of here as soon as possible, as far as I can tell.”
“That's fantasy on your part. I’m doing no such thing.”
“No? What's your plan for now, then? Want to hang out, watch a movie with me? Chat about what we'll do the rest of the weekend? Or next week? Next month?”
She snarked right back at him. “I mean, I've got a summer term lecture to record. Paper conferences to give. A letter of recommendation to write. It's my job. I can't really ignore all that.”
“Was I asking you to ignore it?”
“No. I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Nothing. I'm not asking anything. I never ask anything. I take what I get. Whatever attention you have for me, whatever time you have for me. That's all I need. Definitely no indication that you care about me beyond this.” He sank into the bedding, hoping she didn't notice the chills crawling up and down his limbs.
“Okay, let me get this straight. What all of your mumbling asides and nonspecific jabs add up to is, you want to find out about commitment. That's what you want to talk about.”
He flinched away from the darts in her voice. And in some ways from her words themselves. “Is that what you think?” Of course that was what she thought. She was the great Gillian Bellamy, master thinker. So if she thought it, it must be true.
His jaw clenched as he wrestled with the fact that of course she was right. His griping aside, his heart kind of lurched when she'd said ‘commitment.’ Not from any uncertainty about his feelings. He wanted her. He wanted her to want him, even though she'd never said a thing about any lasting affection between them. Even though she always talked about that day, the next day, the next week, but never anything further. Even though he'd been in her world more than long enough to understand that she did not do long term relationships.
It was still what he wanted.
And seriously, fuck his life because no way could he figure out how to ask anything of this sort from her. Not because he feared her not wanting the same thing. He had reason to hope she might get there, eventually. But because all along she'd been right: losing her would change his relationship to Anton. If he screwed up—like he’d screwed up other friendships and relationships, like he screwed up being a son whose family cared to stick around—his one true anchor could go sinking away from him. And if he was going to lose Gillian, his need for Anton would be nine thousand times stronger.
Vic tried turning the subject aside. “It’s fine. I’m just raw right now; we don’t have to get into it. Maybe we should order some dinner? How about that mac and cheese place?”
But she hadn't made tenure track because she was easy to distract, or afraid to tackle tough subjects. He wanted to talk about it, they’d talk about it. “First off, if it’s bothering you we shouldn’t put it off,” she started. His shoulders punching into the pillows reminded her that Vic wasn't a wayward student she had to bring to task.
“I guess me being raw doesn’t matter, then. Look, you’re going to say you told me so, but I’m tense about losing Anton. On top of everything else. So maybe I should sort that out before we talk more.”
Maybe she was raw, too, because her words rushed out at him. “Anton? But—I thought we'd sorted that. No matter what happens with you and me, nothing will change with you and Anton. I'm not gonna break his heart by demanding that he never see his best friend again.”
“So you're just gonna break mine.”
“I mean, obviously, that's not my goal. I like what we're doing. I'm having fun with you.”
“Fun.”
Never had a word sounded so flat and uninviting. She could write a paper on intonation and intent that would blow even Fred out of the water.
“Well, that comforts me.”
“No, come on, Vic. I'm just saying. You're acting like we have to re-litigate this whole thing over my brother. And what I'm saying is, we don't. We're fine. He's fine. You saw him with Cisco; you know he doesn't need us to baby him.”
“Oh, I noticed that, did I? I'm the one who's finally learned that him having a crush on me when we were teenagers is nothing compared to decades of solid friendship?”
“Well, look at you arguing the irrelevance of teenage crushes.”
“Fucksake, Gillian. Yeah, I got off on thinking about you when I was a kid. Yeah, we had a hot night together ten years ago. Those things don't signify—to use one of your favorite words—compared to our actual adult relationship here. Don’t you think we'd be interested in being together if we hadn't known each other for so long?”
She caught air in her esophagus, startled to contemplate the idea. “I don't know.”
“What do you mean you don't know? You don't think I'd want to fall in love with someone who's brilliant and beautiful and witty and laser-focused on her life? Like it's important, like it's vital. You don't think I'd want someone who might turn one-sixteenth of that intensity on me? Someone who cares about me as deeply as she cares about everything else? Someone who might someday act like keeping me around is as important to her as it is to me?”
His questions threw her into a tailspin. After all that he said, only one thing was glaring at her. Like, flashlight straight to the eyeballs in the middle of the night glare. “In love?”
“Yes, Gillian, I’m in love with you. That can't be news. Unless you're nine hundred times more oblivious than I think you are.”
“But we never … I never.”
“Never, never, never. I got it. It's fine. No one's forcing you to do anything, Gill. No one's taking away your ability to get on with your life or go wherever way you need to go. To your friends. To your conference. To your classes. To your house with your brother. I never asked you to stop doing anything. I never once got in the way of you enjoying your life or accomplishing your job.”
“Are you saying I'm fucking up your job?”
“No, I'm not saying that. Every decision I make is mine. Like I said, I'm a grown-ass man. I can fall in love with who I want. I can do my job without supervision. I can build my business up on my own merits, all without stopping you from doing what you need. So keep that tragic face to yourself.”
She could see red blotches crawling down her arms and across her chest. “You're calling me selfish and unfair.”
“No I’m not.”
“Just say it already.”
“I’m not calling you anything. When have I ever criticized you? When have I ever asked anything of you? When have I ever even inferred or demanded?”
“Well I guess that makes you perfect, huh?” He wasn’t going to see her cry, not when she had a façade to maintain.
“Jesus. I didn't say that. Obviously I would never say that. I'm flighty, and I can’t focus like you and Ton. God knows I have dreams way bigger than I can ever hope to achieve.”
“You said your business is doing well.”
“I’m not talking about my business. I'm talking about my personal life. Our personal lives. That’s where I dream too big.”
She couldn’t take this. Forget everything about her lauded ability to get to the heart of things. Some things had hearts that shouldn't be delved, and hers was one of them. “I’m obviously getting things wrong here. You've made that totally clear. I'll just ….” She stood, because being naked in front of him was not nearly as nerve-wracking, at that moment, as sitting in the sheets beside him. Being too damn close while distress, longing, and anger shadowed his features.
“You're leaving.”
She tugged on the clean shirt from her bag, yanked on yoga pants without even worrying about underwear. “I’m—yeah, I'm leaving.”
“Right. Of course.” He curled away under that grey mottled duvet, so she couldn't even get a glimpse of his expression. Not that she was trying. She just happened to glance his way as she snatched up her things.
“Listen, can we just … not talk about it for a couple of days?” And something about his voice, how it was hollow like a log that had been eaten away for years by weather and rot and insects and armadillos, rooted her in place.
Finally she nodded, not that he could see her, and made her way to the living room. She called for a Lyft and sat awkwardly on the edge of his sofa while she waited, staring at his walls. They were covered with personal photos. Trips with friends. His parents, waving as they set sail without him. Him and Anton through the years: camping, playing games, hiking, being goofs.
None of him with his family. None of him on a date. And not a single one of her.