Page 40 of Perfect on Paper

“Peoplehave died here!”

“Shout that a little louder, I think some of the small children up there didn’t hear you.”

“Is it too late to get off?”

“’Fraid so. But you get used to the rocking, I promise.”

He looked doubtful. Slowly, but surely, though, I was proven correct. By our third fight with gravity, Brougham was down to a single scream of fear per fall. Calm enough to bring back up something he’d apparently really wanted to discuss. “Hey, so. You know how this morning you said using silence as a weapon is emotionally abusive?” he asked. “It’s complicated, I think.”

I smiled and pushed a waving strand of hair out of my eyes. “Maybe not so complicated.”

He looked over the park below while he spoke. “It kind of is, though. I never knew who was in the wrong with Winona and me. But sometimes—actually, often, I guess, I would feel her withdrawing. And I’d tryso hardnot to freak out, because Iknewshe thought I was clingy and the last thing I wanted to do was make her withdraw even more, but literally no matter what I did she would just go quieter and quieter until she’d totally ignore me for days. One time it was two weeks. Like I wasn’t there, you know? Then I’d get in this fuckingspiralwhere I’d try to stop myself from reaching out, but I’d convince myself she was about to dump me and come up with a good reason to text or call casually, and she’d ignorethat, and I’d blame myselffor reaching out and getting in her space. I just never knew what to do. And everyone around me would be like, chillout, she doesn’t owe you her attention every second of the day, you don’t own her. And I’d be like, I’m not trying to own anyone, I swear, but I just… isn’t it normal to want to hear from your girlfriend literallyoncein a two-week periOOOODDDDD?”

Our gondola plunged again and Brougham’s hands went right back to the metal mesh so he could steady himself. I tried to hold in my laugh of delight at the thrill of the drop. On the one hand, this was a serious conversation. On the other, it wasn’t exactly my fault Brougham brought up such a serious topic halfway through an amusement park ride.

When Brougham’s breathing returned to normal, and the rocking evened out, he continued on gallantly. “Then she’d come back every time, and she’d act like it didn’t happen, and she’d say she was just busy. And on the one hand, I’d hate myself for being so demanding when she was just trying to live her life. But then I’d wonder how much she actually cared about me if she couldn’t find thirty seconds to reply to a text in two weeks while she was on vacation.”

The last bit he directed at me. He sucked his lips in and shrugged. It wasn’t a question, but it definitely seemed like an invitation for advice.

“It doesn’t sound like she was doing it to be cruel,” I started. “Like, it wasn’t following a fight or to make you give in to a demand or anything, right?”

Something funny flashed over Brougham’s expression. “No, totally,” he said. “She wasn’t doing anything wrong. I never meant to say she was. IknowI was the one being demanding, it’sobviouslyokay to take time to yourself. She didn’t owe—”

“Well,” I interrupted. “Not really. Because it’s actually not unreasonable to ask for communication from your girlfriend.”

From the look he gave me, you’d think I’d just told him the ocean was made out of hot chocolate and the grass was peppermint sticks.

“Maybe she has the right to be busy, but when you’re in a relationship with someone you sign up to respect them. She could’ve communicated with you that things were hectic. She could’ve told you when things should be back to normal. In Western society, you know, we value independenceso much. But you’re not the bad guy if you want closeness. You weren’t being clingy, or hurting anyone. You just weren’t having your needs met.”

He was gripping the edge of his seat with white knuckles. I wondered if he noticed. “She’s not a bad person.”

“I know. But neither are you.”

Suddenly, his eyes were glassy, and his teeth clenched. It seemed like something I’d said there had struck a chord. I wondered whether Alexander Brougham heard that very often.You’re not a bad person.

Brougham was confusing. It seemed bizarre that the same guy who walked around with a grating level of swagger, proclaiming he was a catch, and intimidating, and knew all there was to know about flirting, could now be so vulnerable and uncertain.

He tipped his head back and took a deep breath, like he was trying to suck the emotions back into hiding. “So, where do I go from here, Coach?”

There was only one option for either of us. “Well, there’s not that much you can do except feel it.”

One eyebrow went up. “Feel it?”

“Just let it out.” I threw my hands up. “Say fuck this, itsucks.”

Because it fucking did. It sucked, it sucked, it sucked.

Brougham stared at me. “You want me to shout, ‘Fuck this, it sucks,’ in the middle of Disneyland? The Happiest Place on Earth?”

Well he didn’t have to say it likethat.

Right next to us, the Incredicoaster shot out, and the people riding it let out bloodcurdling screams as they hurtled to their doom in the middle of said Happiest Place on Earth. We were up high enough that the whipping wind ran off with our words as soon as they left our mouths, making us shout to be heard. As weird as it sounded, this was about as private as it could get around here. “There’s too many people screaming for anyone to hear you. Stop stalling. Come on!”

Brougham glanced around us—into midair, I might add—then shifted in his seat. “It sucks,” he mumbled.

“Itsucks!” I spat it out, all the poison I was feeling about being dragged away from Brooke today, and about Ray swooping in, and about my utter inability to fix my own love life.

“It sucks,” Brougham echoed, a little more loudly this time.

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