Ache For You

42

Like someone about to die.

“You could’ve just written me a letter.”

“You would’ve torn it up.”

He has me there. I definitely would have torn it up. Then lit it on fire. Then stomped on the ashes and sent them back to him in a box marked Fragile: Broken Heart Inside.

“You have sixty seconds to tell me what you need to say. Then we’re never going to speak again. Go.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He squints up at the sun, closes his eyes, and releases a pent-up breath.

Then he looks me dead in the eye and whispers, “I’m gay.”

It doesn’t hit me right away. I stand there waiting for him to say something, until I realize he did say something . . . and what it was that he said.

Slowly, I repeat, “You’re gay.”

He nods.

“Gay.”

When he nods again, I’m this close to killing him with my bare hands. But I don’t want to go to jail, so I’ll kill him with sarcasm instead.

“So gay you slept with half the female population of San Francisco behind my back, huh? Was that just you making sure you didn’t enjoy v****a? Just putting the lid on it?”

“Listen—”

“So gay you constantly made fun of Jenner and his boyfriends? That gay?”

“Kimber—”

I take a step toward him, my entire body shaking with fury. “So gay you had to, what, make up all those stories you told me about the amazing s*x you had before you met me? All those crazy threesomes in your college days, all those kinky things you wanted me to try, all the ways you made me feel like I wasn’t measuring up to your expectations in bed?”

The last part is shouted into his face. I’m so angry I can feel my pulse in every cell in my body.

In a defeated whisper, Brad says, “Yes.”

I blink. “What do you mean, yes?”

“I mean . . .” He presses his lips together for a moment, his eyes fierce with unshed tears.

I’m shocked to realize he’s going to cry.

“I mean yes. I did all that. I slept around with women because I was desperate no one would know. I said those things about Jenner and his boyfriends and made up those stories about all the s*x I had in college and did pretty much anything else I could think of—everything I could think of—so I wouldn’t have to admit it to myself.”

He chokes out a sob right as the first fat tear rolls down his cheek. In a strangled voice, he says, “But mostly so I wouldn’t have to admit it to my father.”

Then he drops his face into his hands and starts to bawl. Shoulders shaking, body trembling, boo-hooing and carrying on in that totally over-the-top, out-of-control way you just can’t fake.

I’m so overwhelmed I plop right down on the gravel driveway in my vintage Christian Dior couture dress and sit there with my legs stuck out in front of me, staring at my shoes.

“But nobody stays in the closet anymore,” I say, bewildered, to my feet. “I’m no expert, but, I mean . . . do they? He’s a grown man . . . a grown man who lives in San Francisco, the l***q capital of the universe. Why on earth would he pretend to be straight?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Brad wails between his fingers. “I never meant to hurt you!”

“Oh, well, good job with that, Wingate.” I’m too stunned to be furious at the moment, so it comes out as sarcasm, as dry as a crust of old bread.

Brad drops down beside me and folds his legs. He then proceeds to wail and cry in a cross-legged position, and now I’m getting a migraine.

“If anyone should be bawling here, it should be me, asshole. Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? How what you did absolutely devastated me? How I will never, ever get over that s**t for the rest of my life?”

He wails louder. At this rate the authorities will show up soon to find out who’s being murdered.

“Okay.” I sigh, exhausted. “Hey, calm down, it’s gonna be okay.”

He grabs me and buries his face in my neck, clinging to me like a lost little boy, hiccupping between sobs.

I look up at the clear blue sky. I want to remember this moment. I want to let it sink in before I go numb. I want to be able to take it out later and look at it, examine it, try to understand what it means and how I ended up within it. Because maybe if I can understand, I’ll be able to find some deeper meaning in it.

Something that doesn’t make me feel so worthless and small.

“I buried my father today.” I watch a fluffy white cloud float by overhead. In the branches of the trees, birds are singing.

“God, I’m so sorry.” Brad’s sobs have turned to sniffles. He’s drying his face with his hands, wiping his fingers on his jeans. “I know how much he meant to you.”

I look at him, this man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Really look at him. How could I have been so blind? “I spent three years of my life with you. Three years. You’re telling me it was all a lie?”

“No, no, it wasn’t.” He’s desperate, grabbing my hand and imploring me with his eyes. “I loved you! I did! I do. You’re my best friend. You’re the only person I ever felt safe with.”