Page 37 of You Are Not Me

After I showeredagain and shaved, I curled up in my bed wearing cut-off sweatpants and a T-shirt, holding a picture of Adam. My hair was wet, and I wore my old glasses. I was grateful to be clean, but I felt raw and empty, like I’d run for days and used every scrap of energy in my body.

After several minutes of gazing at Adam’s crinkled, smiling eyes, I flipped the picture over on the pillow next to me.

My Leica sat on the bedside table. I grabbed it, thinking of taking some self-portraits, something along the lines ofSullied Boy—Morning After the Debauchery, but I couldn’t bring myself to document my fall.

Sighing, I compulsively fired off a few random shots of my room—a snapshot of the bookcase, the pile of clothes next to the closet, the postcard from Adam on the nightstand—and took comfort in the snick of the shutter.

But even the familiar weight of the Leica in my hands couldn’t ward off the bad feelings.

The night before loomed in my mind like an erotic nightmare. I rubbed my eyes beneath my glasses, trying to banish the memories. Cuddling the camera to my chest, I glanced toward the picture of Adam turned over on my pillow. I wanted to talk with him, hear his familiar voice. But how the fuck was I going to explain what I’d done?

It was close to forty hours before I could safely call Adam anyway. The time difference fucked everything up, and I needed to wait until it was afterhiseight a.m. in Rome on Monday morning to make sure his dad had already gone to work. Otherwise, there was no way we’d be able to have any kind of discussion that wasn’t a complete farce. Surely that was time enough to figure out how to explain myself.

Despite the tiny voice telling me not to say a word to Adam about what I’d done, that he didn’t need to know, I knew I had to be honest. I also knew it had to be over the phone. Writing it in a letter that might be found by his parents was too risky. Besides, he deserved better than that. He deserved to be told to his face that I’d messed around on him, but since that was impossible, the phone was going to have to do.

I tried to wrangle some words, so that when I called Adam at a ridiculous six dollars per minute, I’d know what to say. I knew he’d be hurt by what I’d done, and I didn’t want that. Even if his relationship with Leslie hurtme, nothing about last night had been about revenge. Had it? The thought made my stomach churn again.

Harry must have sensed a disturbance in the Force, because he climbed the stairs on his rickety old legs, nosed open the door to my room, and shoved inside. I stroked his wiry fur and brought him up onto the bed with me. Snuggled up against his sweet body, I took comfort in his calm brown eyes.

We napped together until I heard footsteps on the stairs and then a knock.

“Peter, phone,” Mom called from the other side of the door.

I sat up wearily. “Who is it?” The last person I wanted to talk to right now was Leslie or anyone from the Kingsley group.

“Someone named Daniel?”

My head, fuzzy from sleep, cleared with a sudden burst of adrenaline. I left Harry lolling on my bed and darted past my mom to hustle down the stairs.

“Your father and I are headed to McKay’s in a few minutes,” she called after me. “Do you want us to wait for you now that you’re up?”

Normally, I loved browsing the photography section of the used bookstore while they took their time in romance and religion, respectively, but I didn’t want them hanging around listening to my conversation with Daniel, either.

“Nah. I’m tired,” I called back, passing Dad in the hallway to the kitchen.

“All right, we’re going to the grocery after, so we’ll be a while.”

As I entered the kitchen, I heard the front door open and close, leaving me alone. The phone dangled from the wall, resting on the floor. The cord was stretched out by my habit over the last year of talking to Adam while making dinner at the stove across the room. My heart raced, and my hands shook as I bent to pick it up.

“Hello?” I said tentatively.

“Hey, Peter.” Daniel’s smooth voice was tired but also calm.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the vibration of it. “Daniel?”

“Yeah, hi. I hope it’s okay that I called. I got your number from Barry.”

“No, of course, yeah. It’s cool.” My stomach flipped. He’d gotten my number. What did thatmean?

Silence reigned for a couple of awkward seconds and then we both started talking at once, which led to nervous laughter on my end. “You go first,” I said.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Tired. Stupid. Embarrassed.”

Daniel’s voice was soft and kind. “But you’re okay? Physically?”

“Yeah. A little hungover, but I’m fine.” Heat crept up my neck. I was grateful he couldn’t see me. “Thanks, by the way, for, you know, everything. Taking care of me, watching out for me. Especially for not being mean to me about how stupid I was.”

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