Page 39 of Regret Me Not
“Whatever. Here—selfie with the tree!”
“That’s not gonna—”
“Ugh.”
They both stared at the picture, with Pierce’s eyes half open and a Lego Christmas tree sprouting from Hal’s mouth like a deformed tooth.
“Okay—just us.” Hal set the tree down and looped his arm over Pierce’s shoulder, and both of them smiled at the phone with such optimism and hope, Pierce almost didn’t believe it was him in that picture. Hal snapped it, then grabbed the phone.
“Here,” he said, and his voice dropped like he’d realized, hey, this might be the only evidence that both of them ever existed in the same space and made multiple trips to Target and dominated the pool in the morning and sometimes took halting, pointless, beautiful walks along the beach. “Let me send it to my phone.”
“So I have your contacts,” Pierce said, which sounded obvious, but they hadn’t done that yet. Exchanging numbers would mean they were thinking about beyond this moment.
Hal looked up at him sideways. “So I can look at your smile,” he said.
Pierce nodded, his throat tight. “I can text you the next time I go to Target.”
Hal’s laughter sounded false to his ears, but Pierce didn’t have the heart to look him in the eyes. “Here,” he said quietly. “Set it on the end table—I’ll text Sasha. She can show the kids.”
The neighbor made a Christmas tree—we’re both very proud.
He sent one of the ones with Hal and one with the wrapped presents, both looking festive and out of place in the bright bold and white of the condo, and then sent the same thing to Derrick.
Neither responded, but as Pierce looked up, he realized something.
“Hey,” he said, musing. “Don’t you have a bestie? A buddy? A girl you wish you could marry? Something?”
Hal shrugged, ambling away from the Christmas corner, looking embarrassed. “I, uh, lost my peer group in the divorce,” he said, trying to look like it was no big deal. “And… well, I took a lot of different classes. No time to hang out with the other biology majors or history majors because… you know….”
“You were taking six other things,” Pierce said, getting it—but only a little. The answer hit him then, and his stomach knotted. “Tough being a judge’s son?”
Hal screwed his eyes shut and flopped on the small couch. “You have no idea.”
“All the kids in high school were—”
“Affluent, white, and shitty to other people,” Hal muttered. “Yeah. I mean, the gay thing, fine. The massage-therapist thing?”
“Not so fine,” Pierce said, getting it. “I went to a commuter school. If you weren’t in the same major, you just didn’t meet that many people.”
Hal cocked his head. “Why a commuter school?”
Pierce shrugged. “Not much money, I guess.” He thought about it, suddenly feeling like a crappy human being. “I had to help Sasha through school, but I guess I wouldn’t have gotten through without my parents.”
Hal looked like he wanted to say something—desperately. But he bit his lip and grabbed the remote instead.
“Wabbit season,” he said softly.
“Duck season.” Suddenly all Pierce wanted to do was kill time until they could be bodies moving in the dark.
THAT NIGHT,as they stood up to go to bed, he moved quickly enough to wrap his arms around Hal’s waist and whisper in his ear.
“Go in, get undressed, lie naked on the bed.” At Hal’s indrawn breath, he added, “Turn off the light and close your eyes.”
He heard Hal’s swallow and let him go ahead while Pierce got the lights and locked up. On his way, he grabbed the lubricant off the table, where it had sat, chaste, in its little bag with the condoms.
He left the condoms on the table—his body was sore from the extra workout that morning, and cramping up in the middle of sex was not attractive.
Besides. He wanted to take care of Hal tonight.
