Page 100 of The Photograph

“Yeah, exactly,” I say.

“What did George say?”

I scowl at him.

“What did I say?” George says, leaning in between us. Steve hands him my phone, and he flicks through the photos.

“Who is this chick?” he says, clicking on Amalia’s profile, and it makes me smile as he does the identical search that I did.

He raises his eyebrows. “Wow. She’s like eighteen.”

“Yeah. And female, obviously,” I add.

My whole body descends into a pit of uncertainty. This is no different from the way other boyfriends, including George, standing here right next to me, have treated me. Some accidental picture on Facebook when they’re out for the night. Caught kissing.Caught touching someone’s hair.I’m an idiot. Why did I think Alex was any different? He told me the first time I met him he was bisexual and this relationship is a copycat reel of what’s happened with guys who’ve said that to me before.

Is it too much to ask to find someone who wants what I do? Something steady. Something permanent. My whole body feels like I’m being boiled in oil.

I was so sure Alex was that guy.

40

ALEX

Once I’m past the doorman and up in the elevator, I stick my key in Nana’s apartment door and, after a bit of wiggling it around like I always do, it turns.

“Hey, Nana!” I shout as the familiar click of the dogs’ claws racing across the floor reaches my ears and Betsy appears, skidding to a halt a couple of feet away and she crouches down, growling.

“Come on, you,” I say, laughing, as Ivor waddles around the corner, fat body rolling from side to side.

“Alex!” Nana’s wobbly voice and slip-slap of slippers approach down the corridor as I go down on my haunches and give Betsy a full body rub.

“What are you doing here so late?” she says, appearing around the corner and looking at the gold strap on her wrist.

Might as well launch straight into it. “I was wondering if I might stay for a few days.”

“Of course you can. But why, what’s happened? I thought you were staying with that lovely man of yours, or so my spies tell me.”

Betsy jumps up and puts her paws on my leg, tail going hell for leather. Clearly her spies, whoever they are and I suspect Rachel, haven’t told her everything that’s gone on in the last couple of days.

A lump in my throat threatens to make me mute. Des still hasn’t responded to any of my calls or texts from earlier this evening. The last time I saw him we had sex on his couch but he was mad at me. I don’t know what to make of the fact he’s not answering. How do I even approach him or balance all the things I need to do? Home is this simmering dark cloud. I bend down to Betsy again so I don’t have to meet Nana’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been over.”

“Ach, I know you were annoyed with me,” she says, waving her hand. “And I owe you an apology and an explanation. You’re such a good boy.”

Straightening, I lean in and kiss her soft cheek, inhaling her scent of powder and violets. I’m not sure anyone thinks I’m a good boy these days: not Des, certainly not my parents.

When I pull back, her eyes are twinkling at me. “Why do you need to stay?” she says.

Ah. “Actually, I’ve been back at home for a few days.”

There’s silence for a beat and then she says, “You’re not with Des? When did that happen?”

“I went home for Sunday lunch, and everybody was there: Aunt Jessica, Uncle Benny, Mom’s sister. A couple of elders from the synagogue. Rabbi Yosef.”

“Rabbi Yosef?What washedoing there?” Her tone is flat and annoyed, and I can count the times I’ve heard Nana sound mad on one hand.

“You know Dad, he wants to bend everyone to his agenda. I think he was trying to stage an intervention.”

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