“Wow! Damn.” Will wipes a blur of sweat off his forehead and rests his back against the thick mahogany headboard behind us. He’s beaming. “That was incredible.”
Was it? I already don’t remember. I’m sure things went smoothly enough once we traded roles, but my mind was on several different planets. The magic eraser effect of his hands on my skin could only last so long. “It was, yeah.”
Apparently I’m not convincing.
He scrunches his nose. “You all right?”
I reply with a forced smile and hope he doesn’t look in my eyes. I don’t trust them not to give me away.
He wraps an arm around me. “You don’t think we moved too fast, do you?” he asks. His armpit is warm against my neck. “I’ve never actually done this kind of thing.”
“Are you trying to tell me I just took your virginity?” I deadpan.
“God, no. I’m just saying this is the first time I’ve ever done… that… with someone I’m not in lov — uh, in a serious relationship with.”
“Oh.” I wince at the way he cuts himself off when saying love. Almost like he’s ashamed of how casual this hookup was. I pull the covers up all the way to my chest. “Right. Me, too.”
It’s scary how easily this lie rolls off my tongue. Sex is something I’ve pretty much only ever done with people I’m not in love with. The road to Luke was paved with nothing but dead-end hookups — starting with that old-ass finance bro with the scented candle and Under Armour gym shorts.
My mind flashes back to what Mom said to me the next day at the beach. You deserve a guy who will love you. Ha. It’s something, isn’t it? Will is exactly the type of guy she was talking about. But instead of letting him fall in love with me, I’ve rushed him into what is apparently his first-ever meaningless sexual encounter.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Just so you know.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I like you a lot.”
“Really?” I ask. “So you’d actually want to know me in real life?”
“Of course — I told you that already.” He squirms a little. “And isn’t this real life? Right now?”
The earnestness of his response brings me back to that same awareness I had when I was on top of him before. It must be so nice inside his head. Money? Not an issue. Sexual history? Healthy and normal. Parents? Two of them. Criminal record? As if! His real life is perfectly charmed. My presence in it would be nothing more than a nasty stain.
“Maybe it is for you.” My voice cracks. Shit. My tear ducts are gearing up. I can feel a wave forming behind my eyelids. “But not for me.”
“Come on.” Will’s face falls. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing!” Aside from the fact that I’m having a spontaneous meltdown. “I’m sorry.”
“Is there something I can do?” He rubs my back as I try (and fail) to construct a dam behind my eyes. “You’re kinda freaking me out here.”
I just realized something. I’ve never cried in front of a guy before. The whole ten months I was with Luke? Nary a tear. I screamed at him on several occasions, sure. But crying? That would have been too vulnerable. I’ve always held back that level of emotional expression for where it’s safe — on the couch with Mom.
“Fuck.” I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my knuckles into them until they’re sore. “I’m so sorry.”
“You wanna talk about it?” he asks.
“I don’t even know what it is.” Obviously it could be any number of the fucked-up things that have been swirling around my head this whole time — but how could I mention any of them to Will? I’ve already said too much just by crying. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing is.”
He takes a breath, like he’s about to continue, but stops — probably realizing he doesn’t know enough about me to back up the statement he just made. So instead he continues to massage my shoulder blades in silence. His hand gently makes its way down my spine, then all the way up to the back of my head. I relax my neck into the feeling of his fingertips bristling against the tight cut Mom gave me yesterday.
It’s such a simple gesture, but I can feel it calming me. Luke would have never done this, just sit here and comfort me. Which strikes me as funny. I always thought I loved Luke because of the comfort he gave me. But really I just self-generated that comfort based on the idea of him. You know? The fact that he was my boyfriend gave me a sense of approval I’d craved so desperately for so long, just to prove I could be worth it. But it was a lie. Boyfriend was just a word to Luke. A label on an empty box.
Will’s hand on my back is something else entirely.
It feels like acceptance. I don’t have to self-generate anything. It’s a level of intimacy so enlightening that it actually starts to pull me out of the emotional black hole I’ve slipped into.
Maybe I wouldn’t be a stain in his real life. He already said he likes me. Maybe he could grow to love me. Maybe if Mom and I somehow make it out of this arrest warrant situation with our lives intact, Will and I can be a thing. For real. The label and the box.
“Sorry.” I wipe my eyes one last time and blink before forcing a self-deprecating laugh to clear the air. “You must think I’m such a nutcase.”
“We all have our moments.” Will exhales in relief and smiles. “Hey! I have a brilliant idea to switch up the mood. How about you finally share some of your comedy with me?”
I shake my head. “You won’t give up on that, will you?”
“Nope.” He straightens his posture and bends his mouth into a goofy grin. “Come on!”
“I’m not asking you to give me an American History lecture,” I say. “It’s not fair.”
“I’ll totally give you an American History lecture.” He reaches for his big book on the nightstand. “What do you wanna learn about?”
“On second thought, I’m good.” I playfully hit his arm. “But you’re crazy if you think I’m about to stand up in front of you and tell jokes.”
“Oh, come on. Isn’t that what stand-up comedy is all about?”
“Well, yeah.” I have to admit he has a point. “But —”
“Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “You may remain seated as you tell me a joke.”
You know what? Fine. I can trust him. I’ve already let myself strip and cry in front of him. What’s the big deal if I add bombing to the list? Let’s just get this over with.
I scan the room and quickly decide to riff on all the bear-themed accents in here.
“Have you ever wondered how bears have managed to become, like, the official mascots of rustic décor?” I ask him in my best imitating-all-my-comedy-heroes-at-once voice. “Everyone is so willing to ignore the fact that these are wild animals who will maul and/or murder you if given the chance.” I grab one of the accent pillows from the corner of the bed. “Why not just embroider a picture of the ghostface killer from Scream on your sherpa throw pillows?”
Oh, my God. I hate me.
“Was that supposed to be funny?” Will asks.
“No — I was just —”
“I’m kidding!” Will interjects and offers me a chuckle.
I have to cringe. What the hell was I thinking, ad-libbing some dumbass bear observation on the spot? Obviously bears are included in rustic décor because they’re… creatures of the woods. And they can be cute in theory. Teddy bears! Everybody loves those. Winnie-the-fucking-Pooh is a bear.
Will looks at me — then at the pillow I’m still clutching in my hands, then back at me — and starts laughing harder.
“Oh, my God.” I bury my face in my hands. It doesn’t help that I’m also naked underneath these covers. “Stop. That joke was lame. It wasn’t even a joke.”
“I know.” He wipes his eyes and steadies his voice. “I mean. I thought it was funny. But I was more so laughing because you called it a ‘sherpa throw pillow’ before.”
“What?” I hold it back out in front of me. “That’s exactly what it is.”
“Right,” he says. “It’s just a very detailed description.” He leans in closer and smirks. “Most people would probably just call it a ‘pillow.’”
“Oh.” I don’t know how to respond to that. “Right. Listen, I swear I’m not a total fraud.” My Notes app is filled with material way better than the half-baked disaster I just lobbed at him. “I have many actual jokes. Where’s my —”
And then it hits me. Throwing my phone in the lake this morning meant throwing all my jokes into the lake as well. I can’t even remember the last time I backed them up to the cloud. It’s been at least a couple months. A couple months’ worth of material. Gone.
“— phone,” I finish in a somber whisper.
This is so not the reality check I needed right now.
“So…” Will starts. I can tell he’s trying to steer the conversation away from another emotional breakdown. “I just realized! You never told me what college you’re going to.”
“Oh.” Great. Another reality check. “I don’t know.”
“You haven’t decided yet? It’s almost May.” His voice curves up in confusion. “What schools did you get into?”
“I mean, I was gonna go to Rutgers.” I tug at the sheet on top of me. Where are my clothes? I have a very strong urge to put them back on right now. “But that was only because my ex goes there. So I guess now I’m kinda rethinking the whole college thing altogether. I didn’t apply anywhere else.”
His jaw drops down to the bottom of the mattress.
“You didn’t apply anywhere else?” he asks. “For real?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s one of the biggest life decisions you’ll ever make,” he says. “And you made it based on someone else?”
This doesn’t bode well for my plan to follow him to New Haven and work on my act while he studies history for four years before we take off for LA, does it?
“I didn’t.” I squirm. “I never wanted to go anyway. It’s not like there are any schools that offer a ‘stand-up’ major. You know what I mean?”
“Aren’t there comedy classes, though? Or like, improv schools?”
“You’ve clearly never met my Nonna,” I say. “There’s no way in hell she would take out loans for me to go to an improv school.”
“Loans?” A confused look flashes across Will’s face like an error message on a computer screen. Then he remembers what a loan is. “Oh. Right. To pay for it.”
“Yeah. So I might as well just not go.”
He clears his throat. “I guess I just never realized that not going to college was an option for some people. My dad would kill me if I said I didn’t —”
“Well, I don’t have a dad to kill me, so.” I have no idea why I blurted this out. I don’t even care about any of this! I need to put my clothes on and change the subject. “Anyway. Are you excited about Yale?”
This is so awkward.
He ignores my question. “So you would just live at home until you started making money as a comedian?”
“Sure. That.” I dig my hand under the sheets in search of my boxer briefs. I slide them up my legs while my mouth continues to mindlessly spit out words. “Or maybe I’ll just, like, move to New Haven and get a job around there or something.”
What the fuck did I just do? That was not supposed to be an out-loud statement! I force an inept laugh. It’s too late to take it back, so I try to play it off. Will obviously likes me. Maybe he won’t be repulsed. “Then we’d be in the same city and all,” I finish.
Will looks at me and then away from me and then back at me.
“You’re kidding, right?” he asks in a wary tone laced with shock and revulsion. Inside he’s asking what he just got himself into by sleeping with someone as crazy and desperate as me. I’m sure of it.
“Obviously.” I shoot out of the bed and pick my jeans up from the floor. “I gotta pee.”
The reality of my current situation storms back into my head like a tornado as I walk through the hallway to the bathroom. Will can’t save me. Everything I needed to know was answered with that one simple statement. You’re kidding, right? Yes. Of course I was. It was insane of me to think that Will — or anyone — would be anything but disgusted by the prospect of me latching onto his life like some kind of six-foot-tall locust.
Will doesn’t need me. He doesn’t even want me. We had sex. He put his hand on my back after I randomly broke down in tears. Big deal. He was just being nice. That’s what nice guys do. It doesn’t mean they wanna get married tomorrow.
I slam the bathroom door behind me and turn the faucet on. My back presses itself against the door and slides down until my body is folded in half on the cold tile floor.
I remain in this broken state for just about a minute.
Then I peel myself up, rub my eyes with cold water, and prepare to go back into the bedroom and tell Will I have to leave. I’ll say I have to get back to Marco’s, and then I’ll just take a really long walk through the woods alone. That seems like a reasonable next step. I’ll be off in my own world of tree roots and dirt when the cops show up at the house. Hopefully Mom will find an equally effective hiding place by then as well.
“Thanks again for letting me hang,” I say as I reenter the bear bedroom. The air is stale and sad. “I’m gonna take off.”
Will’s pajama bottoms are back on but he’s still shirtless. He sighs, probably annoyed. I’m sure he was hoping I’d come out and be chill again, as if that whole loaded moment never happened.
“Listen, Joey…”
“Nah.” I shake my head. “It’s cool.”
“You sure? I didn’t mean to —” His voice is interrupted by a creaky, crunchy, snapping noise shrieking out from the other room. “Shit! What was that?”
Creeeak. Crunch. Snap.
“Sounds like —”
“Fuck!”
He springs out into the hallway. I chase after him. We come to a screeching halt at the edge of the living room. Will looks up, trembling.
The wagon is down to its last chain. Instead of dangling ominously from above, it’s now almost vertical, filling the center of the living room, digging into several pieces of nearby furniture. The one remaining chain is already half-ripped from its wooden beam on the ceiling. Crunch. Another wood chip flies off and hits the wall across from us. This four-hundred-pound monstrosity is absolutely going to crash down within seconds. I knew it was inevitable — but I really didn’t think I’d be around to see it.
Will puts his arm in front of my chest and we step backward in slow motion.
And then it finally happens.
A loud chorus of cracks and bangs rattles my eardrums as the wagon’s parts all crush into separate targets. A ceramic lamp shatters, an ottoman folds into itself, a coffee table buckles under the pressure of the wagon’s angular oak ass. Scraps of wood burst into the air like confetti.
And then — all at once — it’s quiet again. A thick cloud of dust sparkles in the rays of sunlight that slice through the big lake window. The chocolate-brown sofa is pierced in twenty different places from stray wheel spokes.
Will is frozen in shock, but I’m barely even fazed.
Because of course it would end this way.
Like it always does with me.
In destruction.