Autoboyography
Page 58
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Wincing, I admit, “No.” I hope the grin I give him takes the edge off my words: “But neither are you, most likely.”
He deflates a little. “Who even knows.” His hand comes up to my chest, sliding flat-palmed from my shoulder to my stomach. Everything tenses. “When do you move?”
“August, I think.”
“How’s your book coming?”
My stomach spasms, and I gently guide his hand away from my navel. “It’s fine. Come on. Let’s get something to drink.”
He sends a text to his parents, telling them he’ll be home late. It goes unanswered.
I think I’ll remember this night for the rest of my life, and I don’t say that to be flippant or hyperbolic. I mean, my parents are charged up on something—together, they are being hilarious. Hailey is actually crying she’s laughing so hard. Sebastian nearly loses a sip of water when my dad tells his favorite terrible joke about a duck walking into a bar and ordering raisins. When we finish eating, I take Sebastian’s hand on the table and my parents stare at us for a few beats with a mixture of adoration and concern. Then they offer us dessert.
It’s what I want for us. And whenever I look over at him and he meets my eyes, I try to say, See? It could be like this. It could be like this every day.
But then I see his own words pushed back to me, high and tight in his thoughts: It could. But I’d lose everything I know and everyone I have.
I can’t honestly blame him if it’s not enough yet.
• • •
Mom and Dad head up to bed only about twenty minutes into Spectre. They lift a snoring Hailey off the chair and help her up the stairs too. Dad looks back over his shoulder at me, giving me a single half encouraging, half reminding-me-not-to-have-sex-on-the-couch look, and then disappears.
Then we’re alone, in the living room, with the strange blue glow of the television and a giant mostly untouched bowl of popcorn in front of us. At first we don’t move. We’re already holding hands under a throw blanket. I keep having these flashes of realization—I wonder if it happens to him, too—where I can’t actually believe he’s here, we’re back together, my parents are just hanging out with me and my boyfriend like it’s something we can do, no problem.
But that voice that’s been in my thoughts all day clears its throat, and I know I can’t put it off anymore.
“I need to tell you something,” I say.
He looks over at me. The left side of his face is glowy from the television, and combined with his sharp jaw, cheekbones, and mildly concerned expression, he looks a little like the Terminator. “Okay.”
“I messed up.” I take a deep breath. “After you broke up with me, I was a mess. I don’t actually remember a lot of the day. I know I drove around for a few hours, and then I went to Autumn’s. I was crying, and not thinking very clearly.”
I can tell he knows the minute I say this because he does this sharp inhale through his nose, like he’s saying, “Oh.”
Nodding, I let out a slow, remorseful, “Yeah.”
He nods, turning back to the TV.
“She’s okay. I’m okay. We talked about it, and obviously it’s weird, but she and I will get through it. I just . . . didn’t want to keep it from you.”
“Just to make sure I understand: You had sex with her?”
I pause, guilt and shame pressing down on my shoulders like a weight. “Yeah.”
His jaw tics. “But you don’t want to be with her?”
“Sebastian, if I wanted to be with Auddy, I’d be with Auddy. She’s my best friend, and I went to her because I was heartbroken. I realize this sounds completely insane, but we got into a weird comfort spiral that turned into sex.”
I think this makes him laugh in spite of himself. But he looks back at me. “This doesn’t feel great.”
“I know.”
He reaches up, absently rubbing his sternum with his fist. I lift his hand to kiss his knuckles.
“I know I messed up,” he says quietly. “I guess I can’t have the kind of reaction that I want to have.”
“You can. I get it. I would be losing my mind right now if the situation were reversed.”
“But you wouldn’t be able to tell me what to do after you break up with me.” Apparently, his calm demeanor wins out. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved, or wish he would show a small flash of jealous rage.
“I guess not.”
“But if we’re together, you’re with me, right?” he asks. “Even if I go away?”
Pulling back, I study him for a second. “I thought you couldn’t be in a relationship when you leave.”
He ducks his head. “I’m going to have to figure out what rules I follow and what rules I don’t.”
“While keeping everything about you a secret?”
Sebastian turns to me, pressing his face into my neck, and lets out a cute growl. “I don’t know yet.” His words come out muffled: “I love so many things about the church. Speaking to God feels like instinct, like it’s wired into me. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I left. It’s like standing in an open field and trying to point to the four walls. There’s just no framework to my life without the church.”
I wonder if he has to leave, if his choice is binary like that. “Maybe things are more relaxed in wards in other cities,” I say. “Like LA, for example.”
He laughs, and bares his teeth against my collarbone.
Things go wordless for a while.
I keep one ear open for the sound of footsteps on the stairs and the other open for the sounds Sebastian makes next to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A word to the wise: Don’t try to be the little spoon while sleeping on a couch. You’ll fall off, for one, and wake up with a cramp in your neck, for two. And most likely, when you wake up alone on the floor with your father staring down at your shirtless body sprinkled with the detritus from an overturned bowl of popcorn, you’ll be grounded.
“Sebastian slept over?”
“Um . . .” I sit up when Dad asks this, looking around. Without even looking in a mirror, I can tell my hair is standing straight up. I pull a sharp kernel of popcorn away from where it is dangerously close to my nipple. “I don’t actually know. I think he’s gone.”
“Kind of like your shirt?”
“Dad—”
“Tanner.”
It’s hard to take his gruff tone seriously when he’s wearing the Cookie Monster pajama pants Hailey got him for Chrismukkah two years ago.
“You’re running late,” he says, and turns. I catch a glimpse of a grin. “Get dressed and eat something.”
I grab a bowl of cereal and sprint straight to my bedroom. I have a lot to write down.
• • •
Sebastian doesn’t answer the chicken/popcorn/beach landscape emoji text I send him just before school starts, and he isn’t in the Seminar this afternoon. I send his private e-mail a short note when I get home.
Hey, it’s me. Just checking in. Everything okay? I’m around tonight if you want to stop by. —Tann
He doesn’t answer.
I try to ignore the familiar sinking ache that takes residence in my stomach, but at dinner, I’m not hungry. Mom and Dad exchange worried looks when they ask if I’ve talked to Sebastian today and I answer in a grunt. Hailey even offers to do the dishes.
He deflates a little. “Who even knows.” His hand comes up to my chest, sliding flat-palmed from my shoulder to my stomach. Everything tenses. “When do you move?”
“August, I think.”
“How’s your book coming?”
My stomach spasms, and I gently guide his hand away from my navel. “It’s fine. Come on. Let’s get something to drink.”
He sends a text to his parents, telling them he’ll be home late. It goes unanswered.
I think I’ll remember this night for the rest of my life, and I don’t say that to be flippant or hyperbolic. I mean, my parents are charged up on something—together, they are being hilarious. Hailey is actually crying she’s laughing so hard. Sebastian nearly loses a sip of water when my dad tells his favorite terrible joke about a duck walking into a bar and ordering raisins. When we finish eating, I take Sebastian’s hand on the table and my parents stare at us for a few beats with a mixture of adoration and concern. Then they offer us dessert.
It’s what I want for us. And whenever I look over at him and he meets my eyes, I try to say, See? It could be like this. It could be like this every day.
But then I see his own words pushed back to me, high and tight in his thoughts: It could. But I’d lose everything I know and everyone I have.
I can’t honestly blame him if it’s not enough yet.
• • •
Mom and Dad head up to bed only about twenty minutes into Spectre. They lift a snoring Hailey off the chair and help her up the stairs too. Dad looks back over his shoulder at me, giving me a single half encouraging, half reminding-me-not-to-have-sex-on-the-couch look, and then disappears.
Then we’re alone, in the living room, with the strange blue glow of the television and a giant mostly untouched bowl of popcorn in front of us. At first we don’t move. We’re already holding hands under a throw blanket. I keep having these flashes of realization—I wonder if it happens to him, too—where I can’t actually believe he’s here, we’re back together, my parents are just hanging out with me and my boyfriend like it’s something we can do, no problem.
But that voice that’s been in my thoughts all day clears its throat, and I know I can’t put it off anymore.
“I need to tell you something,” I say.
He looks over at me. The left side of his face is glowy from the television, and combined with his sharp jaw, cheekbones, and mildly concerned expression, he looks a little like the Terminator. “Okay.”
“I messed up.” I take a deep breath. “After you broke up with me, I was a mess. I don’t actually remember a lot of the day. I know I drove around for a few hours, and then I went to Autumn’s. I was crying, and not thinking very clearly.”
I can tell he knows the minute I say this because he does this sharp inhale through his nose, like he’s saying, “Oh.”
Nodding, I let out a slow, remorseful, “Yeah.”
He nods, turning back to the TV.
“She’s okay. I’m okay. We talked about it, and obviously it’s weird, but she and I will get through it. I just . . . didn’t want to keep it from you.”
“Just to make sure I understand: You had sex with her?”
I pause, guilt and shame pressing down on my shoulders like a weight. “Yeah.”
His jaw tics. “But you don’t want to be with her?”
“Sebastian, if I wanted to be with Auddy, I’d be with Auddy. She’s my best friend, and I went to her because I was heartbroken. I realize this sounds completely insane, but we got into a weird comfort spiral that turned into sex.”
I think this makes him laugh in spite of himself. But he looks back at me. “This doesn’t feel great.”
“I know.”
He reaches up, absently rubbing his sternum with his fist. I lift his hand to kiss his knuckles.
“I know I messed up,” he says quietly. “I guess I can’t have the kind of reaction that I want to have.”
“You can. I get it. I would be losing my mind right now if the situation were reversed.”
“But you wouldn’t be able to tell me what to do after you break up with me.” Apparently, his calm demeanor wins out. I’m not sure whether I’m relieved, or wish he would show a small flash of jealous rage.
“I guess not.”
“But if we’re together, you’re with me, right?” he asks. “Even if I go away?”
Pulling back, I study him for a second. “I thought you couldn’t be in a relationship when you leave.”
He ducks his head. “I’m going to have to figure out what rules I follow and what rules I don’t.”
“While keeping everything about you a secret?”
Sebastian turns to me, pressing his face into my neck, and lets out a cute growl. “I don’t know yet.” His words come out muffled: “I love so many things about the church. Speaking to God feels like instinct, like it’s wired into me. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I left. It’s like standing in an open field and trying to point to the four walls. There’s just no framework to my life without the church.”
I wonder if he has to leave, if his choice is binary like that. “Maybe things are more relaxed in wards in other cities,” I say. “Like LA, for example.”
He laughs, and bares his teeth against my collarbone.
Things go wordless for a while.
I keep one ear open for the sound of footsteps on the stairs and the other open for the sounds Sebastian makes next to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A word to the wise: Don’t try to be the little spoon while sleeping on a couch. You’ll fall off, for one, and wake up with a cramp in your neck, for two. And most likely, when you wake up alone on the floor with your father staring down at your shirtless body sprinkled with the detritus from an overturned bowl of popcorn, you’ll be grounded.
“Sebastian slept over?”
“Um . . .” I sit up when Dad asks this, looking around. Without even looking in a mirror, I can tell my hair is standing straight up. I pull a sharp kernel of popcorn away from where it is dangerously close to my nipple. “I don’t actually know. I think he’s gone.”
“Kind of like your shirt?”
“Dad—”
“Tanner.”
It’s hard to take his gruff tone seriously when he’s wearing the Cookie Monster pajama pants Hailey got him for Chrismukkah two years ago.
“You’re running late,” he says, and turns. I catch a glimpse of a grin. “Get dressed and eat something.”
I grab a bowl of cereal and sprint straight to my bedroom. I have a lot to write down.
• • •
Sebastian doesn’t answer the chicken/popcorn/beach landscape emoji text I send him just before school starts, and he isn’t in the Seminar this afternoon. I send his private e-mail a short note when I get home.
Hey, it’s me. Just checking in. Everything okay? I’m around tonight if you want to stop by. —Tann
He doesn’t answer.
I try to ignore the familiar sinking ache that takes residence in my stomach, but at dinner, I’m not hungry. Mom and Dad exchange worried looks when they ask if I’ve talked to Sebastian today and I answer in a grunt. Hailey even offers to do the dishes.
