by Megan Walker
He knows me too well. “Okay, the method may have been less effective. But that doesn’t mean what you said was actually wrong.”
He frowns and toys with his fork, those deep green eyes of his staring at his plate but not, I can tell, really seeing it.
“What was it like between you and Sean, before Audra and Sarah?” I ask. “Like I know you’ve both said things were better, that you were close, but . . .” I leave it hanging there. Because it occurs to me that this seems like a big thing to have never really talked about with my boyfriend in the three years we’ve been together.
I know he doesn’t like talking about his family, and about Sean in particular, and they haven’t exactly been a part of our lives, pretty much at all. For all that I avoid my parents and Dana, and my relationship with Felix has only gotten close again in the last year, it feels like my family is practically The Brady Bunch in comparison.
But maybe I should have made him talk about it, in more than just generalities. Maybe he always needed to.
Will sets his fork down, but his finger taps the end of it. “It was . . . I don’t know. Sean and I were always opposites in everything, you know that. I was always the sensitive, non-athletic kid who was happier to stay indoors, and Sean was always out climbing trees and building stuff and coming home with bruises and cuts from trying to be some extreme mountain biker. In Dayton, Ohio.”
I smile, mostly because Will does. “I bet he was happy when your family moved out to where there were actual mountains.”
“By then he’d moved on to his ill-fated parkour stage.” Will shrugs. “Anyway, I was still mostly just reading books and obsessively diagramming the plot structure of my favorite sitcoms. So we were very different, and it’s not like we did a lot together. But even still, I felt like we were close. We would stay up late talking, and he never looked down on me for my weirdness and I didn’t look down on him for his. Not that we never teased each other, but it was always joking stuff, and we knew it. And god forbid anyone else say anything bad about Sean to me, or me to Sean—Sean had no problem wielding his fists, and I could deliver a pretty scathing put-down.” His tone is dryly amused, and I chuckle.
“Sounds fearsome.”
“Oh yeah, the terrifying Bowen Brothers.” Will traces his finger back and forth slowly along the edge of the table. It’s a little tic of his; I’ve seen him do it along the edge of his laptop when he’s lost in thought. “Whether or not we were effective about it, we had each other’s backs. Especially when it came to our parents. Kind of like you and Felix, actually.”
I nod. Will’s parents were their own brand of messed up—not obsessed with success or money like mine, but definitely obsessed with themselves and their own marital problems. They were (and still are) cold and distant, the type of parents who were around when they felt like it, and not when they didn’t. Will remembers coming home one day from school when he was thirteen to a note saying that his parents had left for a retreat for the week, and that he and Sean should “take care of the house and each other.” No warning for this vacation, and Will said stuff like that happened a lot. They prided themselves on their boys’ independence, and, well, stuff like that did make them independent.
I can see how it would also make them feel like they only had each other to rely on.
“So was it really just the whole Audra and Sarah thing that got between you guys?” I ask. That’s the only reason I’d ever heard, but it’s hard to imagine me not talking to Felix for years just because I didn’t like who he was dating.
When he avoids me because he’s on heroin, on the other hand . . .
“We’d already started growing apart when we got older and moved out,” Will says. “Getting jobs and paying bills and basic life stuff. Neither of us are super great at thinking to call, and so when we weren’t in the same house anymore, we didn’t stay as close. But yeah, the Audra thing was . . . not great.”
I notice he doesn’t mention the Sarah part of this, but decide not to bring it up. He’s talking about Sean, and that’s usually a topic he shuts down pretty quickly. Which didn’t seem as much of an issue when we never saw him. But if Sean’s going to be crashing our place with surprise barbecue meats and family drama on the regular, then Will letting himself talk about his brother is probably a good thing.
I poke at the salad, but instead take another bite of the steak, which is incredible. The perfect amount of pink and juicy, and with just enough seasoning . . .
I can’t tell if I’m lusting after this steak because I’m pregnant, or because it’s just an incredibly good steak and I’m Gabby. Either way, I try to focus back on Will, and on not making an orgasm noise at the taste of his brother’s steak.
“Because you thought she was using him for his money, right?” I manage around the delicious bite.
“Yeah. I mean, he was into her for a while, but she barely paid him any attention until his construction business started taking off. And then suddenly she was around all the time, and Sean kept buying her stuff and taking her on these crazy-expensive vacations, even if it meant taking on more projects than he should have.”
“But he didn’t see it that way.”
“God, no. They were in love, and he just likes to spoil her, that’s the way he saw it.” Will shakes his head. “But maybe it goes back to us always having each other’s back, you know? It was so obvious to me that Audra was using him, and I hated it. So I told him, and we got in this huge fight. And then a few months later, I met Sarah.”
Ah, yes. The comedy-of-errors wedding in Mexico that led to the best man, Will, and the maid of honor, Sarah, bonding over freeing the newlyweds from foreign prison and then falling in love over cocktails on the beach.
It sounds like the kind of movie I’d watch with Anna-Marie and probably love, if it wasn’t about my boyfriend and his supermodel-gorgeous, bitchy ex-fiancée.
“And Sean hated Sarah,” I say. Which goes to show that Sean has some good judgment, at least.
“Oh yeah. Like, instantly. I really thought he was just trying to get back at me for the stuff I’d said about Audra—you know, telling me Sarah was making me her doormat, that I wasn’t the same person around her. A lot of the same kind of stuff I’d said to him, minus the money aspect, since there’s no way Sarah was using me for my money.” There’s a tinge of bitterness there, and I wonder if it’s because of the comparison to Sean’s success that was just waved in his face. “But the guy was right about Sarah, I’ve got to give him that.”
“I suppose so.” As much as I want to commend Sean for hating Sarah so quickly, I’m still pissed at him about the way he treated Will today. “But that doesn’t mean—” I start, and take another bite of steak without thinking. The tender flavor is even better on this bite because it was a surprise, and I finally let out a groan. “Oh my god, this is so good. I’m sorry. Sean might be a jerk, but the dude can grill.”
Will laughs, and I’m happy it doesn’t seem forced. “Yeah, he’s always been able to do that. I think it comes with the toxic masculinity. Apparently you’ve got to be able to ‘man up’ to grill a steak like that.”
“What? No way.”
Will lifts his hands up, in a “don’t shoot the messenger” kind of way. “It’s true. That’s what you’re tasting. Sean’s manly drippings.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ewwww . . . But who am I kidding. This is delicious. If we’re cutting them out entirely, we should at least get the recipe first.”
“It won’t help. I’ve tried. My steaks will come out dry because I’m not a douche. You can’t have it both ways.”
I reach my hand over to hold his. “Yeah, well, great as this steak is, I think I’ll keep you instead. I can always order Fong’s, but I can’t order out for a super-hot, non-douche boyfriend.”
Will smiles, and that dimple appears in his cheek. “Well, technically there are services—”
&nb
sp; “On my salary? No way.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m keeping the one I have, dry steaks and all.” Though I wonder what Sean did with the grill when he left. It still would have been pretty hot from cooking, so either it’s probably now burning the upholstery of his trunk, or we are now the proud owners of Will’s brother’s mini grill.
Maybe it has enough manly drippings left over for another couple of steaks.
Will blinks and looks down at his plate again. “What do you think about his offer?”
“The job offer? You working with Sean?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. They can barely be in the same room together for a barbecue, and he’s actually considering working with him?
“I need to be bringing in some money, Gabby. He wasn’t wrong about that. Especially now, with . . .” He looks vaguely down at my stomach.
I’m suddenly not hungry anymore, even for the world’s best steak. I set my fork down.
I hate the thought of costing him his dream, hate the thought of him going back to some soul-crushing job just because I stupidly forgot the very basic rule about using backup protection while on antibiotics.
But he’s right about our financial situation. We need more than I can bring in myself.
“Maybe if you just got something part-time,” I say. “Just enough to cover a few bills, but still give you time to write? That should be enough, don’t you think?”
Will’s brow furrows. “Maybe. But do you think you’ll want to drop down to part-time when we have the baby? Will you want to keep working full-time? Because we can’t afford full-time child care unless I’m working full-time too. And I’d be happy to stay home with the baby, but—”
He cuts off, and I’m pretty sure the look on my face is why.
A baby. I know we’ve talked about this already, but every time it becomes more real. And now, thinking about cutting back on work, when I’m just finally going to have finished school, staying home and taking care of a baby . . .
Our baby. Who I’ll love. I will. Right? Maybe I’ll even want to stay home with it.
But what if I don’t?
“Gabby?” Will leans closer, and now he’s the one giving my hand a comforting squeeze.
I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know. The idea of being a mom freaks me out; it’s hard to even think about it.”
“I know. I know.” He scoots the chair over, and now he’s close enough to press his head to mine. His thumb strokes along my knuckles. “And we don’t need to make any decisions about your work right now, but I think we need to figure out mine. Because we need to be bringing in more money, and you’re already working way more than you should be to make that happen.”
The panic about the impending baby settles a little, but only because other anxieties are now shoving their way into the spotlight like desperate understudies at the first sign of the star’s public meltdown.
Anxieties about our relationship, about our sex life, about us. Things have already been . . . not quite right. How much worse will they get if I’m working all the time, and he’s working all the time, and he’s not getting to write anymore, and he has to abandon his dream? I know he wouldn’t blame me or our baby. But he’s been trapped in a miserable situation before—work-wise and romantic-life-wise—and I don’t want to be the cause of that misery for him, not ever.
I grip his hand tightly. “I want you to be able to finish your book before we have the baby. And if you get a full-time job, that probably won’t be possible, right?”
Will slumps a bit. “Yeah, but—”
“And I know there’s been some setbacks with the first book, but maybe this one will sell right away.”
“Maybe.” He sounds doubtful, like selling a novel is about as likely as him being able to cook delicious toxic-douche steaks. “But we can’t wait that long, not without me making some money in the meantime.” He rubs at the bridge of his nose. “Those friends from Passion Medical that have gone on to other writing jobs for TV—I’m still going to contact them, see if they know of any openings.”
I frown. He’d be writing, sure, but not the stuff he wants to write. And Passion Medical itself should prove that it’s not just the writing that fulfills him. “I don’t think it’s worth it. If you have to get a job, maybe it should be something not writing-related. So you can save all that creative genius for the stuff that really matters. Your stuff.”
There’s something in those forest-green eyes of his I can’t read. Sadness, maybe? For the book that hasn’t sold? For the huge life change coming that neither of us is ready for?
For a relationship that isn’t what he hoped it would be?
I try to push that last one away. Try to remember all the love we felt and shared as we rolled around and made big ass-prints on a canvas.
“Okay,” Will says. “So a part-time job, then. Something not writing, but that will bring in a little extra cash. And I’ll keep working on my novel.”
It’s not perfect—I hate that we’re in this position at all—but it should work. And let him keep doing what he loves for a while longer yet.
“Sounds like a plan,” I say.
He smiles, and I smile, but even as we have settled on a plan and then proceed to eat the world’s best steak—damn you, Sean, and your toxic man-juices—I don’t think either of us are actually happy.
Seventeen
Will
The next morning, I’m sitting in my regular spot on the cushioned couch with my laptop open, trying to write. I’ve set my motivation app to delete my words if I don’t keep my fingers moving.
The page is blank, because I’ve started typing a dozen times and each time let the app delete my uninspired sentences.
And the whole time, my mind just keeps spinning over Sean’s words.
Time to man up.
I’m not making any progress on my writing, or on talking to Gabby about the problems I’m having, or on not being a complete asshole to everyone we know. I can’t quite bring myself to call Sean and tell him that yes, I’d like to take that job, partly because I’m not sure working for my brother at this moment in our lives is going to end well, and partly because I’m not quite ready to swallow my pride and admit that the problems between us at this point are ninety percent my fault. Yeah, Sean could have handled that better, but he was definitely trying, and I most certainly was not.
I close my laptop. I’m failing Sean, and I’m failing Gabby, and all I want is to do something that proves that I can fix something. Anything.
So I grab my phone and return to the kitchen sink, the constant drip of which is driving me slowly insane—it’s become the Telltale Heart of appliances. It occurs to me now that I could have asked Sean and he would gladly have fixed it for us. Technically it’s the apartment manager’s job to make sure it gets fixed, but I’ve made a dozen calls and the manager keeps saying he’s going to get someone out to fix it and has now stopped answering my calls altogether.
I set about Googling again, and this time resolve that I’m going to go to the hardware store and buy a couple of the parts listed and see if I can dismantle the sink and put it back together again in a working order.
Man up. I may royally suck at it, but at least now I’m trying.
I walk into Home Depot with the confidence of someone who knows absolutely nothing about home repair and should definitely be calling his much more capable brother and both begging him for a job and asking him to fix his damn sink. I manage to find the plumbing aisle because I can, in fact, read aisle signs, and walk past rows of small metal and plastic parts that have names, some of which I vaguely remember from the internet. I check the article I’m using for the exact parts I need and find corresponding parts in plastic packaging, though they don’t look much like the ones in the picture, and come in five different widths. I didn’t measure the sink at home. I stare at the parts for another ten minute
s, as if time alone will grant me competence, and then flag down a worker in one of those bright orange aprons.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m trying to fix my sink. Is one of these some kind of universal standard?”
The employee looks like he’s about twenty-one. “I don’t know,” he says. “Does one of them say that on the package?”
I struggle not to roll my eyes. “Is there someone here who would know?”
“Maybe.” The kid makes no further effort to direct me to this potential person.
“Don’t you need to know about hardware to work here? This being the hardware store?” I’m aware I’m coming dangerously close now to being an asshole to some random dude at Home Depot, but I can’t help it.
“Oh, no,” the guy says, with no hint that he’s taken offense. “You’d think that, but they mostly just care if you can pass a drug test.”
I sigh. “What’s your return policy?”
“Within thirty days as long as you have a receipt,” the kid says. “Even if you open it.”
Excellent. “All right. Thanks.” I grab one of each of the various widths. If I can return all the ones that don’t work, this won’t have a serious impact on our financial state. Probably.
I’m standing in line to check out when I see it. A bright orange sign the color of one of their aprons, posted next to the exit door.
Now hiring! All experience levels. Ask an employee for details.
I stare at the sign, and all I can hear is Sean’s voice in my head. Man up.
I can pass a drug test; that much is sure. I still need to reach out to my contacts and try to find something more lucrative, maybe back in TV, maybe in retail management, maybe back on an idiotic soap opera. But as I look at that sign and remember the employee who didn’t know any more about fixing my sink than I did—
I can do this. I need to do this. Here is where I draw the line in the sand. I’m going to man up and get a damn job. I can get a better one later, but this will take the conversation from theoretical to concrete. It will make it real, for me and for Gabby.
