Page 18 of The Idiot

A puff of breath ghosts past his lips as he jabs his straw in and out of his smoothie. Is Jesse Carver blushing?

“Well, that was—it’d be weird. Right?”

He didn’t even look at me. The split second his gaze satellites to mine before darting back to his smoothie further compounds the anger erupting inside me. It seeps through mycore and down each appendage, inflating my entire being like a heavy, flammable gas.

I told him I’m still me, that I go there to spend time with him. How else should I have flayed myself to convince him of that? Ugly interpretations of his vague narrative flood my brain, making me bite back the instinctive reaction to further explain myself.

It’d be weird forhimbecause he knows now that I’m gay. It’d beweirdto have a gay friend with him in a crowded public place that we frequent. Is he worried the locals will sniff out my truth and he’ll be guilty of some crime by association? No matter which way I cut it, it’s ugly and has me sick to my stomach.

“You know what? You’re right,” I concede, tossing the fleck of meat back into the bag and closing it up.

His relieved smile is the nail on the head, making something die inside of me. I’ve been banished to bean bag island where we don’t know a fucking soul. He couldn’t say it any plainer.

Hefting myself out of the ass-eating pit, I manage to stand with only one pop from my knee. “I think I’m going to head out. Thanks for… the grass.”

“Wait. You’re leaving?”

I’m too spun up to answer. Making my way around the table in silence, I imagine the sensations inside me are my insides rotting and sloughing off into a putrid pile of decay. Maybe Jesse was right—our entire friendshiphasbeen a lie.

“We just got here. I thought we were going to hang out. Murph!”

Glancing back at his alarmed cry when I reach the door, I watch as he flails, rolling out of his bean bag onto thefloor before scrambling to his feet. Leaning over the table, he snatches up my pastry bag and holds it out.

“You said you were hungry. Don’t you want your quiche?”

A humorless laugh chuffs past my lips. He’s offering me a parting gift of good riddance now—in the way of a freaking non-edible snack to boot. It’s not even a good parting gift. For the first time in my life, I feel like we’re strangers. How is that possible?

Shaking my head in frustration, I push through the door to escape the acrid scent of this painful over-caffeinated life lesson. Why did I ever tell him?

Out on the sidewalk, the breeze washes away some of the heat from my skin. I breathe in the fresh air, letting it flood my burning lungs. The bell to the café door jangles behind me, though, sending my spine rigid.

“Murphy! Come on! Wait up!”

Pinching my eyes shut against the onsetting darkness, I let out a breath. It’s already bad enough. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to hear platitudes said to assuage his guilt, but twenty-plus years of friendship have me turning around to face the impending closure that’s apparently sealing our fates.

“What did I do? Are you pissed off at me or something?”

Great. So, this is how he wants to play it? It’s going to be allmyfault. I worried he’d be awkward if he ever found out about my preferences, but I never imagined he’d be cruel or shady.

“I never should have told you,” I say more to myself.

Standing in front of the shops, I’m suddenly reminded of Sunday with Pete and Cam, the way Jesse hid behind a shelving unit like a voyeur to an absurd scene. I should have known then.

“What?” he asks, looking dumbfounded. Is it even genuine?

“Is this all just a joke to you? The way it was with Pete and Cam on Sunday, getting a kick out of seeing your brother with a guy? Do you treat him like this now too—taking him out for wheatgrass and goat cheese at the fuckingRomper Room?”

Blinking at me with his mouth agape, his brow furrows. I don’t know why, but it just pisses me off more.

Finally, he speaks, sounding confused. “Pete doesn’t like cheese.”

How did I ever think his cluelessness was cute? He insinuated I was the one living the lie, but he’s the one with the convenient smoke screen.

I can’t do this. I’d rather just forget it ever happened than have my last memory of him be tainted by dishonest pleasantries and feigned confusion.

“Forget it. Thanks for the invite, but I’m starving. I’m going to go find a steak.”

Spinning around, I start down the street. I didn’t know it was possible for your soul to feel crushed. It’s like someone died and I didn’t get to say goodbye.

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