Page 25 of The Way I Am Now
Then we’re crashing through the door, and I reach out to grab the handle so it doesn’t smash into the wall and wake up my mom, but somehow I trip and we all fall forward on top of each other.
I’m laughing even though I’m trying to be quiet. Dominic isshhshh-ing me.
Next they’re spilling me onto the couch.
Then Dominic and Luke are standing across the living room with their backs to me, time skipping forward again, my mom and dad here now in their bathrobes and slippers. They’re all talking too quietly for me to hear.
Now they’re standing over me, and Mom has her hand over her mouth, shaking her head. Dad is looking at me like there’s something seriously wrong with me, as if I’m horribly disfigured or something. I bring my hand to my face with difficulty, feeling around for my eyes and nose and mouth, all of which seem to be in the right place.
I let my eyes drift shut again.
EDEN
He wakes up as I’m reaching over him to pick up my phone, still turned off. “What are you doing?” he asks me, voice all rough and groggy as he squints against the daylight. “Aww, no. Why’d you take my shirt off?”
“I need to get home,” I whisper.
“It’s Saturday,” he groans, reaching for me. “Why are you dressed already?”
“I have to go,” I tell him again softly.
“No, please don’t go. Stay awhile. Come on, when are we gonna be able to do this again?”
I sit down on the bed next to him and let him pull me close because I don’t know when we’ll do this again.Ifwe’ll do this again. My head is resting on his shoulder; his arm is around me. I close my eyes, and I feel the rise and fall of his chest. It would be easy to stay like this. I almost let myself float back to sleep, but then he inhales deeply and says, “Edy?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Can we talk about last night?”
I’m not entirely sure which part of last night he wants to talk about—Josh, our fight, or our latest sad and humiliating attempt at intimacy—but I feel like the conclusion is going to be the same no matter what.
“Do we have to?” I ask him.
“Well, kind of,” he says, sitting up, making me sit up along with him. He maneuvers around so that we’re facing each other, and he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Right?”
“Probably,” I admit.
He takes my hand and kisses it. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“What for?”
“Everything.”
“Steve, stop, you don’t have to—”
“No, I knew I was pressuring you to come out last night. I just wanted you there. But that was selfish. And I know I was really out of line when I said that stupid shit about you and . . .him.” I guess he can’t bring himself to say Josh’s name. Sometimes I can’t, either, but I’m guessing it’s for a very different reason in Steve’s case.
“Thanks.”
“And then here, in bed,” he begins but pauses, touching his mouth, suppressing the urge to bite a fingernail. “I feel like I really messed up.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I gave you a panic attack, Edy.”
“It really wasn’t your fault,” I try to tell him, but that’s not entirely true.
“Please just tell me what I did so I don’t do it again.”
