by Kris Ripper
“Hey, lover.” Jamie kissed my cheek and took the wine. “Are you trying to seduce us, Jus?”
“Please, you two are easy.”
“And you aren’t?”
I adopted a coy pose. “In fact, I am not. You should be sweet to me.” Wait, sweet? Why had I said that? I didn’t mean it. Not sweet. Nice, maybe, but sweet was something else.
“We’d love that, babe. We’d be sweet to you all day and all night if you’d let us.”
“Cram it, Cork.” I brushed past her, avoiding the look she was giving me. Dammit, I wasn’t going to fucking worry about things, not tonight. We’d done it. It was fine. Paddles, but no sex. Paddles, but no feelings. Aftercare, but no…no…
No sweetness.
I elbowed Alex slightly harder than necessary. “How’re you fucking up dinner?”
“You tell me.” He held out a spoon with tomato sauce on it. “Can you taste the garlic?”
I tasted. “What’d you do, use a whole bulb?”
“Only like five cloves. You think that’s too much?”
“I think I’ll be less tempted to kiss you if you have this coming out your pores, so it’s probably a good thing.”
He made as if to dump the pot in the sink. “Well, fuck that, then.”
I rescued it. “The sauce is fine. Not for the faint of heart, but we like garlic. Anything I can do?”
Jamie appeared on his other side. “Open the wine? I’m in charge of garlic bread, and it’s about ready to come out.”
A well-oiled machine, the three of us making dinner. Assembling everything, filling the table with food and drink, talking about our days as we passed around plates and served one another. The sauce, poured over rigatoni and smothered in fresh parmesan, was delicious. The garlic bread (comparatively less garlicky than the sauce) was crisp and buttery. The roasted zucchini was a little overdone, but not obtrusively.
The wine went with all of it as if my brain had anticipated the meal and paired it accordingly.
“I feel fat and fucking happy,” Jamie announced, leaning back in her chair, hand resting on her stomach.
I inhaled slowly through my nose. Still part bravado, whenever she said fat like it was a thing she owned in her skin. She wanted to, but I knew how fucking hard it was. Or at least, I knew better than most.
If I hadn’t made the no sex rule I could go to my knees in front of her, push up her shirt, show her with my lips and tongue how hot I thought she was. Not that it mattered—because we’re all supposed to be in love with ourselves and everyone else can fuck off—except sometimes it mattered a little, knowing the people you cared about thought you were beautiful, or brilliant, or sexy as hell.
“Looking a little flushed there, Jus. Everything okay?”
I waved a hand. I couldn’t do anything, but I didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t thinking about it. “Torturing myself with things I can’t have. Like your body.”
She licked her lips. “Who said you can’t?”
“Me, Cork. As you fucking well know. Anyway, weren’t we going to do—other things?”
“If we want to.” She glanced at Alex in a way that filled me with suspicion. “Question first.”
“What?”
“Just Alex? Or do I get to play with you too?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What the fuck kind of stupid question is that?” And after the other night? Hadn’t we…bonded, or whatever?
“Jus,” Alex said. “Don’t.”
“It’s a stupid question! Obviously you, too. Obviously both of you, like we did before. Jesus.” Plus, she’d flogged me at the Saints house. This was ground we’d already covered, dammit. Heat rose under my collar, sweat gathering in my armpits. “Obviously it’s not just Alex.”
“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“Fine. Whatever. Yes, you too.”
She smiled, but it wasn’t exactly right. It pulled strangely at her lips, harkening back to some ancestral grimace. “I know you’ve always drooled over that tipped flogger I bought at the Folsom Street Fair.”
I had. It was one of those truly artisan pieces, all fine, supple leather and mean little metal tips, the kind that made me think they shouldn’t actually be used on people. Form over function. Jamie, of course, had no such qualms, and assured me the function was just as good—maybe better—than the form.
My mouth was dry. “Now?”
“We should let our food settle. Never scene on a full stomach.”
I couldn’t return the smile. I lifted my wine glass, wondering when I’d finished it off. Wondering if they’d say something if I poured myself more.
“And Alex kind of wants to learn how to use a strap, so there’s that.”
“Ugh. Why?”
He set my water glass closer to me. “We saw this scene, last time we went to Pleasure Principle. The only thing this guy used was a strap, and he sort of made the person he was playing with cry. Not in a bad way. I don’t know. I guess it was a compelling thing to watch.”
Well, that was a sharp left turn. “You want to make me cry.” My voice was dead flat.
“No. Or maybe. Sometimes.”
I glared at the water glass.
“Sometimes I just want to make you feel. Last time it seemed like you did. That was…I liked that.”
“I feel all the fucking time. You have no idea. The one time I was weak enough to—” I cut myself off. That was going nowhere good. It’s one thing to collapse in your friend’s arms because you can’t bear the crushing abandonment of not being held, but it’s another thing to tell him that.
“It wasn’t weakness.” Alex still sounded reasonable, which was maddening.
“Fuck you. I think I’d know.”
“All right, come on, lads, let’s not ruin the night by bickering like children.”
Accusing me of immaturity basically guarantees I’ll double down. It’s like I can’t help myself, though of course I could. If I ever bothered to try. Probably. “Speaking of children, when are you two getting married? Everyone wants to know.”
And good, good, I wasn’t the only one off-footed. Jamie’s eyebrows drew in and her mouth tightened, a little bit hurt, a little confused. “What?”
“Ma called me. Ma, who never calls me, called me to ask when you’re getting married.” I leaned my chin in my hands. “To think I had no idea! I want all the details.”
“Don’t do this,” Alex said.
“Jus, you know we’re not getting married. Why would Ma even—”
“It was excruciating, the way she said it. First, like it was so fucking obvious that any idiot could see. Then, like I was the only idiot too stupid to catch on.” And it still hurt my chest: you must have known Alex would fall in love.
“We’re not getting married. We don’t want to get married. You know that.”
“That makes me only one, because according to Ma, the whole family’s waiting for the announcement.”
Alex grabbed my arm. “Stop it. I know what you’re doing, so stop it.”
“Oh, and what’s that? I’m dropping fucking knowledge over here.”
“You’re trying to hurt us so you can tell yourself you’re alone at the end of the world, like usual. Fuck you, Justin. We aren’t going anywhere.”
I jerked my arm loose. “Oh really? Did Jamie tell you about her sexy dreams about me? Because apparently that’s a thing. I only wish I had sex dreams, but all my dreams are about death.”
Fuck. I didn’t mean to say any of that.
“Jus—”
“Stop saying my name!” We stood at the same time, Alex and I, facing off. He reached for me again and I stepped back. “Don’t.”
“I’m not fucking watching you throw a temper tantrum because things got too real for you.”
“You’d rather I cried instead?”
“Yes! Cry, actually feel something, instead of acting out like you did when we were kids!”
“Screw you!”
“I knew you w
ere going to do this.” His fists were clenched at his sides and it was rare, so rare, to see Alex angry. “I knew it was going to be too much for you and you’d push us away. Why can’t you grow up already? It’s okay you didn’t stalk off on your own after that scene. You don’t always have to be that guy.”
“I am that guy!”
“You aren’t. Come on. You never were.” He reached out again and I stumbled backward, almost falling.
“Don’t fucking touch me!”
Jamie’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. “Okay, okay, quit it. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, between the two of you. Alex, sit down. Jus, for fuck’s sake, stop trying to pretend you’re so fucking tough.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Even as I kept speaking a voice in my head chanted don’t do this, don’t do this. “What the hell happened to you that night, in my attic? You’re the one who said there were no rules, you’re the one who said anything goes, but you stopped me. Why? Because you couldn’t do it without Alex? Because you didn’t want to kiss me?”
“Because I wanted it too much, you eejit! Because it’s actually not that easy to maintain all the faith in something being good when the other person keeps shitting all over it.”
“I wasn’t!” I could still feel the skin of her back beneath my fingers, the brush of her lips over my knuckles. “I wasn’t…”
She shook her head, tears standing in her eyes. “You don’t know what you want. Sometimes you want us to push you into things because then at least you won’t have to choose, and sometimes you want to push us away just to prove you can. And you never even stop to think how that feels. But you don’t have to do any of it. You don’t have to fucking cuddle if it threatens your stupid pride too much.”
“It’s not my pride, it’s everything. I’m not part of this! I never was, I never could be.” I gestured back and forth between them, jerky movements of my hand, control slipping. “It’s not our house, it’s yours. Yours together. Everyone can see how perfect you are for each other. Everyone can see you’re going to spend your lives together. That’s great. And I’ll just be off to the side, pathetic as always.”
“Don’t put this on us,” Alex snapped. “You’re off to the side because you want it that way, not us. We could make all the space for you in the world and you’ll never take a chance.”
“You don’t fucking get it! You don’t get it.” I was crumbling. I could feel it in my body, hear it in my voice. I wanted so much for them to understand, to finally understand. “There is no happy ending for people like me. Good people get to fall in love and be happy. People like me get to fall in love—twice—and it only makes them bleed. It doesn’t fucking matter. None of it matters. But don’t act like I’m the asshole here. For once in my fucking life I’m trying to do the right thing.” This time I turned and got as far as the door before Alex caught up with me.
“So what, you’re just gonna leave, like always, ice us out until we come crawling back, scared to breathe wrong or you’ll run away again? Dammit, Jus, don’t do this—” His hand closed in on my arm.
I spun and knocked him back. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
He fell. I didn’t mean to make him fall. I just wanted his hand off my skin before I lost my nerve and stayed.
I couldn’t stay. Not after that.
I fumbled the door and slid out, into the hallway, down the stairs, out to the street. I was shaking badly before I got to the car and huddled in my seat for a few minutes, telling myself that I needed to stop shaking in order to drive.
Most certainly not hoping they came after me. That would be foolish and self defeating.
In the long history of our friendship, I’d sworn off Alex and Jamie more times than I could count. Because they deserved better, or because I wasn’t good enough, or because it simply hurt too much to be around them. But this time it was for good. This time I really meant it.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE THING I may have forgotten was how fucking miserable I was without them. I didn’t last two months this time. I didn’t last two weeks. Eight days after leaving their apartment mostly because I’d said embarrassing things, Alex messaged our threeway thread that it was a work weekend.
And I messaged back that I’d bring coffee and donuts.
And that was that. Or, as Jamie would say, Sin sin. I couldn’t think the words without hearing her voice saying them.
Fuck. I missed them brutally.
Not as much laughter at the house as usual, though all of us were trying, all of us attempting to put lipstick on the sour pig that was this fragile thing between us, all fault lines and fractures. No teasing, no flirting. No touching, so I guess I’d finally gotten my wish. No temptation.
I understood why they weren’t touching me, but they were maintaining this terrible, sterile distance between each other as well. And that hurt. More than anything having to do with me. It wasn’t right. It was the extreme opposite of what should have happened. In the wake of my departure, they should have drawn together, pulled in tighter. It was obvious. I’d always been on the outside, and now I should have been even more on the outside, alienated not just by circumstance, but by intention.
Count on them to fuck even this up.
We got through the day. Painted all the downstairs rooms we barely used: Alex doing ceilings, Jamie and I walls. It was good work for three people who didn’t particularly want to be social. We took different rooms, different rollers, different paint trays. Reconvened later for pizza. I drank more than usual, now that there was no reason not to.
We closed our doors at night. Like anyone would. No invitations issued. Not even a sly hint.
They painted the living room in the morning while I worked on the kitchen. We’d decided paint was cheap and it might take months to actually renovate, so we may as well brighten things up while we waited. That conversation—had before I screwed things up—echoed in my head as I worked.
“You’d look good in neon pink, Jus,” Jamie had said.
“But the kitchen wouldn’t.”
She’d grinned. “I’m just saying, while we’re painting some paint may accidentally get on you. I want to make sure it looks nice.”
We had, of course, imagined we’d all be painting together. I told myself that regardless of the reasons, this was far more efficient. And it was. But it was also depressing as hell.
When we were done, we had a quick lunch and went home. No kisses on the cheek. No innuendo. Half raised hands, lukewarm smiles.
The weekend left me emptied out and a little sick. All those years of friendship. And love, even if it wasn’t exactly the most convenient flavor of love, even if it didn’t come in a clearly labeled package. Even if it was never quite equal between us.
And here we were, awkwardness and unspoken words. Withheld caresses.
We’d been fooling ourselves all along to think we could do anything other than remain separate: them on one side, and me on the other. But even the quality of our silences had changed, until they were no longer full of potential words, warm and comforting. Now our silences were echoing voids where it seemed no new words could be formed, and more than that, it seemed like none ever had.
I’d broken even the places where we once laughed with each other. It was miserable and ugly and to whatever degree I could feel relief, I was relieved to get home at the end of it.
* * *
Naturally, the time I felt most inclined toward finally following through with a lifelong ambition toward being a hermit, my calendar was brimming with things. All of which involved humans.
I had to visit The Museum with Colin, and block out how we’d use the space. There was the bachelor party for Paul and Ally (both of them, not just Paul), and then of course the wedding. And two weeks after that, the Hazeltine show.
Fucking shoot me.
On the other hand, it was all something to do. Something that wasn’t brooding. Something that wasn’t berating myself for screwing up.
And
as it turned out, Colin had kind of a surprise for me.
“My dad told me how much time you’ve spent on this project.” He pulled open the gleaming metal door of The Museum: A Gallery. “I thought you might want to meet Mr Hazeltine’s friend and agent.”
The white-haired woman who greeted us bore little resemblance to the thirty-something in the pictures I’d seen, but I knew who she was even before Colin said, “Ms Macintosh, this is Justin Simos. Chad’s assistant.”
She shook my hand warmly, strong grip and bright green eyes. They’d been lovers, of course, for a time. He’d had sex with nearly everyone he felt close to. I wondered if the spark I saw in her eyes was the same thing he’d seen and found attractive.
“So good to meet you.” Her voice was rich and deep. “Colin tells me you’ve been instrumental in bringing some of Rick’s work back into the cultural consciousness.”
Rick. In all my fantasies, I’d never imagined being on nickname-basis with the man. “I think Colin’s giving me too much credit. But I’ve been an admirer of Mr Hazeltine for years.”
“You can’t be much older than twenty, kiddo.”
“I’m thirty-two,” I protested, in that sort of childish tone that people only use to protest that they aren’t, in fact, children.
“Still. You’re young. It’s hard for me to believe all the things we made back then feel relevant to people like you.”
I pulled myself up, attempting to look dignified. “I’m queer. His essays were the first things I ever read that made me feel like I wasn’t the only freak in the universe. It’s not like Will and Grace really broke open the mold, you know.”
She grinned. “I do know. It is so good to meet you. And Rick would have been absolutely charmed.” She put her arm through mine. “Come see what we’re thinking about.”
I’d been a little concerned about filling the space. Or not filling it—no one would dare fill The Museum—but arranging enough work so that the show satisfied customers. Viewers. Whatever you called people who went to art galleries. Chad had two sculptures planned, and he’d been messing with other things as well. I knew Colin had his eye on a few of the early sketches. I’d been pretty awed by a watercolor spread, though when I mentioned it, Chad had sneered, “You got no fucking eye. Jesus.”
