Page 60 of Wham Line
“Whatareyou doing?”
She shook her head.She folded her hands on the table.She was looking through me, past me.And finally she said, “Being a fool.I think I’m being a fool.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not particularly.”She gathered herself, and her eyes focused on me, as though seeing me again.“I’ve made a mistake.And I’ve put you in a bad position; I’m sorry about that, Dash.Why don’t you call the sheriff and let her know where I am?”
It was classic Indira: responsible, thoughtful, and somehow…closed.Whatever moment of vulnerability I’d felt, it had passed, and the wall was back.And while most of the time I respected that wall, respected her right to privacy, right then it was something of an inconvenience—primarily because it meant she was going to take the fall for a murder she didn’t commit, and in doing so, let the real killer walk away.And worse, no amount of cajoling, pleading, begging, or even reasoning would change her mind about this.Once Indira had decided something, it stayed decided.One time, she’d decided one of Keme’s ratty old hoodies was going to be recycled.Keme, of course, had refused in his silent, feral-wolf-boy way.And Indira had said,I’m not having this conversation again; give me the hoodie.
And he’d given it to her.
Right then.
When he’d been wearing it.
On the other hand—and I was slightly ashamed of this knowledge—Indira was also a soft touch when it came to things like, well, taking care of people.And right then, I needed more than the classic, closed-off Indira response.I needed the truth.Which meant I needed to get her talking.
I tried not to overdo it when I said, “I don’t think anybody could put me in a worse position right now, actually.Bobby’s furious with me.We’re not talking right now, as a matter of fact, which is funny since the argument startedbecausehe wanted to talk to me.Not ha-ha funny, but, you know, tragically painful.That kind of funny.So, you know what?I think I’ll just stay here with you.If the sheriff finds us, great.Maybe that’s what will bring me and Bobby back together.I think he’d find it very soothing to slap a pair of cuffs on me.”
Indira forgot some of the lady-in-black melodrama and asked, “What happened?”
So, I told her.I meant to keep it, well—isentertainingthe right word when you’re using the catastrophe of your romantic life as emotional leverage?If nothing else, I meant to keep it engaging.But instead, of course, it all came pouring out of me.The days of silence from Bobby.His complete and total withdrawal.His family, and the toxic silence that they all seemed determined to dwell in.And then that phone call with West and everything building up to that horrible argument in Hemlock House.
“I ran away,” I said.My face was hot.My eyes stung.I stared at the triptych of shirtless Cary Grant; it didn’t help that he looked miserable too.“Again.I ran awayagain,Indira, and I’m so—somadat myself.Because here I was.I thought I’d made all this progress.I was trying so hard to be a good boyfriend.And you know what?It turns out I’mnota good boyfriend.If I were a good boyfriend, Bobby would have talked to me, not to West.And I haven’t made any progress.I still don’t know anything about relationships.I’m still no good at them.Here I am, almost two years after I left Hugo, and I’m still doing the same stuff, messing everything up, and running away when it gets hard.”
Indira was silent for a long time.The wind picked up, and the rafters groaned, and the wind chased its tail down the chimney and made the fire gutter and spit.
Then she held out her hand.
After a few seconds of pure teenage petulance, I took it.And then, as my throat closed up, I mumbled, “I amnotgoing to cry in front of these weird Cary Grant boudoir photos.I have enough psychosexual dreams aboutCharadeas it is, thank you very much.”
Indira, because she’s Indira, said, “Mm-hmm.”
And then Ididstart to cry.
I got myself under control pretty quickly.And, weirdly enough, I did feel better—part of that, I’m sure, was because I’d finally been able to put some of it into words, and part of it was because crying actually does help sometimes.
“Dash, he’s not angry at you,” Indira said.
I shook my head.I’d finally managed to look away from Cary, and now I watched the fire.
“Grief—” Indira stopped herself.Then she began again.“Grief is terrible, Dash.It’s so dark, and it’s so deep, and when you’re in it, it’s like there’s nothing else.You don’t know where you are.You don’t know up from down.You are terribly, terribly alone, and no one can help you, no one can come to you, no one can make it any better.”
The flames danced.
“Yeah,” I said thickly.“I know.”
Indira squeezed my hand.“Bobby loves you.”
I nodded.But I said, “A lot of people break up after deaths.They get divorced.”I wanted not to sound like my nose was full of snot when I said, “He called West.”I tried to sit up and clear my throat.“I know I should be glad he talked to someone.IwantBobby to talk to someone.I mean, he’s such an amazing person.He cares so much about—about everything.And he sets this impossibly high standard for himself that he can fix anything, that he can make it all better.Watching him these last few days, knowing that he was in pain and couldn’t tell anyone about it, seeing him with his dad and his brother and wanting to—to scream, Indira.”A laugh broke out of me.“I wanted to start banging on pots and pans or hire a marching band oranythingso that the house wouldn’t be so quiet.So someone would have to saysomething.So, yes, if I were a better person, if I weren’t so selfish, I’d be saying, ‘God, I’m so happy Bobby finally was able to talk to someone,’ because I love him, and I want what’s best for him.But I’m not.I keep hearing him in my head.How he sounded.And I’m somad.And I know I’m mad because I’m hurt, but I can’t help it; all I do is get angrier and angrier.”
“Why does it hurt so much?”
“Uh, never mind.Let’s strike all that from the record and go back to the part where I was the bigger person and said I was happy Bobby had someone to talk to.”
She didn’t say anything.But she did watch me in that way moms sometimes do, like her eyes could burn a hole in my head if it came to that.
“I don’t know,” I said.I did some squirming.“It’s embarrassing, Indira.”I did somemoresquirming.But she didn’t look away, and slowly, the force of that gaze pulled the words out of me.“There’s this part of me that feels…betrayed, I guess.I know that’s ridiculous.I wouldn’t feel this way if Bobby went to a therapist.Heck, or even if it was another friend, not someone he dated.Or maybe I would; I don’t know.And what I said earlier—I’ve tried so hard to be a good boyfriend over the last few days.I’ve checked in, but not too much.I’ve given him space, but I’ve let him know I’m available to talk whenever he wants.I’ve tried communicating through Bobby talk, which means touching and being together and not forcing him to put things into words.I’ve tried to take on every task I possibly can because I know he’s overwhelmed and doesn’t have the headspace for stuff like that.And I just want—” I stopped because I felt the next words coming and they were a surprise, something I hadn’t managed to say even to myself yet.“I just want him to tell me I’m a good boyfriend.”
