Page 108 of Fade into You
“Hey,” he croaks. He’s been smoking a lot, his voice harsh and thick from it. Or maybe he was crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry, but here he is and his face looks just about as crappy as mine.
“Sorry about Kayla.” I rub the palms of my hands on my jeans, they’re cold and sweaty. I’m actually nervous.
“No ‘I told you so’?” He looks rumpled and pathetic. No need.
“It was never about that, Dade. It was about what she wasdoing to you. But I’m sorry for my part in making things hard.”
He pushes his fists against his eyes, maybe forcing tears back in, maybe trying to get that blinding whiteness that comes from the pressure, seeing spots instead of missing her. I’m familiar with it.
“I tried to reach out to you as soon as I found out.”
“The zines were effective.”
He knows. But he still called me over, asking to “talk.”
“Yeah, not sure if that was my best move.” But I am sure it wasn’t. Because Bird is gone. It was my worst move yet in a string of terrible moves.
“I’d rather know than not,” he says, and sits up, hunching over like this has aged him. “I really thought she and I had something there.”
I think of all the things not giving me solace right now. Other fish in the sea. You’re young and will meet other people. It wasn’t meant to be….
None of these statements will work. I need something good. He needs more than those platitudes. The way music lets you know you’re not alone.
What would Bird do?
I stand up, go to the couch, sit beside him, and give him a hug. It’s still new to me—hugging—but Bird has proven it to be pretty effective. The kind of tight, comforting, sweet hugs she would give me. The kind that let you know you’re not alone and that it’s okay to cry and it’s okay to feel and right now sucks but it won’t always suck and so many other words and meanings all bundled into the simple gesture.
Dade and I have never had a physical relationship. We don’t hug. We don’t touch. But today, both of us counting our losses, we cling to each other in a desperate way that’s new. Nothing is said until the cigarette in his hand burns into the filter, stinking chemicals from whatever garbage they put in them. He puts it out, cursing, and then looks at me with a weird expression. Like hope and excitement.
“Why have we never considered getting together?” He says this shit like he’s asking why we’ve never considered joining chess club. I can’t talk. I’ve got nothing.
He continues, “I mean, we like the same things, we get along, why don’t we just…”
“Dade…”
“Hear me out. I mean, we share a bed when you sleep over, we spend hours on end together….”
“Dade…”
“It just makes sense, right?”
He leans in, a kiss already on his lips, looking for mine. It would be easier, safer. It would be diametrically fucking opposed to who I am. It would be wrong. I turn and his mouth swipes my cheek. Playing back Natalie’s rebuff in Touchstone, I place my hand firmly but kindly on his shoulder.
“Dade, I’m queer.”
“So? Isn’t everyone a little bit?”
“I’m not just a little bit queer.”
“You could still get with girls, I wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t like guys, you know that.”
“But—”
“I don’t like dick!” I finally say.
“You’ve never tried before, you might.” The hope on his face turns my stomach. I want to yell or get upset, but I’m starting to realize that since Dade and I stopped hanging out, a lot of the self-conscious and angry feelings have also been absent. I’ve been kinder. I’ve had others being kindertome. Maybe Dade and I are actually absolutely wrong for each other even on a platonic level.
