Page 95 of We Could Be So Good
“Too hungry,” he says through a mouthful of pizza crust.
Nick rolls his eyes and hands the kid a fork and knife as a concession to standards.
“Hey, Uncle Nick,” Sal says a minute later. “You never bring girls home.” His full attention is on his plate. He’s cutting that pork chop as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the room, maybe even the world. His cheeks are dark red.
Nick could still walk back what he said earlier. He could tell the lie he’s told dozens of times before. He doesn’t have time for a steady girlfriend; he’s keeping his options open.
Lying would be the safest thing to do. But he thinks he can trust Sal. Even if Sal told his parents, Michael already knows.Nick swallows hard and admits to himself what he’s known all along—Michael has to know. There’s no way Michael ever bought Nick’s excuse about trying to pick that poor guy’s pocket.
Still, lying would also be the easiest option, and not only for Nick. If Nick tells Sal the truth, won’t that only make things awkward for Sal?
But if he can’t tell one of the only people in his family he actually cares about, then what is a family even good for? He doesn’t have an answer now, any more than he did when he was fourteen.
Besides, this is Sal asking for confirmation. From the blotchy red of his face, he knows exactly what Nick was getting at earlier and now he wants to hear it.
“I’ll never bring a girl home,” Nick says. “I don’t like girls that way. Never have.”
For a second, poor Sal looks like he wishes he hadn’t asked. He shoves more food into his mouth, probably to buy himself time.
“It’s okay,” Nick says, taking pity on the kid. “You don’t have to say anything.” There really isn’t anything to say, is there? Nick can’t imagine that there is. This is the first time he’s told anyone so directly, so he wouldn’t know.
When Sal swallows, he looks more composed. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks, Sal, but I know I can trust you.” Then something occurs to Nick. “Do you still want to stay?”
Sal stares at him. “Uh. Yes?” He shoves some more food into his face. “What are you making for dinner?” he asks, his mouth still full.
Nick snorts and takes inventory of what he has in the refrigerator.
***
Nick needs to talk to Andy, to apologize for this all happening so abruptly and to thank him for taking care of Sal and making the apartment look... safe. He hates how they left things that morning and he hates that they haven’t had a chance to talk it through, but he doesn’t really care about any of that now. He needs to see Andy, even if it’s only for two minutes.
When Sal falls asleep, Nick knocks on Linda’s door. “Can I talk to Andy for a minute?”
Linda frowns. “He’s not here. He left hours ago.”
“I thought he said he was staying with you.” Nick distinctly remembers Andy gesturing at the wall they share with Linda when Nick asked where he was going.
“He told me he was staying with his father.”
Nick pinches the bridge of his nose. The wall he shares with Linda is in the vague direction of uptown—at least if you’re Andy and don’t know where anything is. He feels suddenly bereft: the idea of Andy next door is so much easier to take than the idea of him sixty-odd blocks uptown.
It’s past ten, too late to call Andy’s father’s apartment. He’ll need to wait until tomorrow. But when he goes back to his own apartment, Andy’s absence hangs in the air. It feels so implausible that Andy was ever there, that Nick got to have the past few weeks. He never thought he would, so Andy’s absence makes sense in a grim sort of way. Now Nick feels foolish, like he tricked himself, believing a fairy tale that was never his to begin with.
Andy’s reaction to theJournal-Americanoffer was, Nick knows, a bit on the irrational side. The fact that Andy took Nick possibly leaving theChronicleso personally is another reason Nick doesn’t love working for his boyfriend. But when Andy said that he didn’t want to be left, he felt every inch of that. And after the kind of life Andy has led, being passed like a hot potato between parents andschools and God knows who else, it’s no wonder. But Nick hadn’t been prepared for it this morning. If he had a little time, he might have been able to come up with something reassuring to say, but Andy left before that.
And then Andy went home to find himself effectively kicked out.
Yeah, there’s no way he’s particularly happy with Nick right now. But it would be a lot better if he could be mad at Nick in person rather than sixty fucking blocks away. Nick hates the idea of Andy that far away.
Nick goes to bed, but he can’t sleep.
At two in the morning, Nick takes Andy’s folded-up pajamas from the foot of the bed and moves them up so they’re on the empty pillow next to his own. At two fifteen, he decides he’s being a sap and gets up to put the pajamas in the closet, where he won’t be tempted to make a scene with them. When he opens the closet door, the faint streetlight shows far too much hanging from the rail. Reaching out, he touches the linen of one of Andy’s stupid summer suits. Andy’s clothes are all still there. Nick’s heart does something awful and he holds the pajamas to his chest like a child clutching his teddy bear.
It means Andy’s coming back.
Or it just means Andy has approximately three dozen shirts and can’t fit them all into a suitcase.
