Page 19 of The Idiot

“Wait! Do you want some company?”

“No! I don’t want your company.” The words blast out of me with no chance of holding them back.

“Murph…”

His pitiful call cracks something in my aching heart. I want it to mean that he gives a damn. Maybe part of him still does, but I’m in no headspace to subject myself to any more of his potential friendship erasures—white polos, disgusting beverages in clandestine coffee shops, Taylor Swift songs in his stripper mobile. I don’t think I’ll ever be in the headspace to deal with that after this.

I need a fucking vacation. Somewhere far away from every piece of scenery that holds thousands of memories of Jesse tied to them.

Sighing, I stop and turn around. “Just… go to The Dew Drop or… whatever you want to do. I need some time to myself.”

Hesitating, he stammers, “Do you… want to hang out tomorrow?”

I can only imagine what cockamamie plan he’d come up with for another outing. Probably something like a Pride flag making class. In Siberia. Another day date. Listen to me. I sound like a rejected lover.

“Jesse… I think we should just… spend some time apart.”

There. I gave him the out that he doesn’t have the courage to admit he wants.

Staring at me with his lips parted, he actually looks shocked, like the idea of us not seeing each other regularly never crossed his mind. I want it to mean that I’m wrong. I want it to mean that he’s just still adjusting to the thought of me being gay, albeit poorly and sloppily.

Except his lips move. “O-okay.”

I’m an idiot, such a fucking idiot. Are grown men allowed to cry over losing a friend?

‘Okay.’ Just like that. Twenty-some years and he takes the out.

“Have a good night,” I choke out and spin around.

“Wait! Do you need a ride home?”

Pity. Now, here comes the pity.

“I’ll get anUber!” I yell without looking back.

“Uber? Do we even have Uber here? Murph!”

Head throbbing, my stomach churning the bile in my empty gut, my footfalls and pounding heartbeat finally drown out hisnonsense, his pitiful attempts to assuage his guilt. I don’t need a pity ride to be dumped off and gotten rid of. I can do that on my own.

As I move down the street, I can feel the distance growing between us in my soul. Why on earth did life even throw us together all those years ago if this was the inevitable outcome? The universe has a cruel sense of humor.

By the time I make it back home later, it’s proper dark outside—the time of night when two buddies should be heading out for an evening. I can hear the familiar voices of actors from Breathless playing on the TV in the living room as I toss my keys on the side table by the door. The sounds produce a mere flicker of intrigue that dies a death as quickly as it was born. Fantastic. He even managed to kill my enjoyment of my favorite soap opera.

“Murphy? You’re back early,” Mom calls, telling me I didn’t stare long enough at my dinner at the grille I stopped in after I left that new-age coffee hell.

I tried to kill as much time as I could. Tried to stay away long enough to expel my demons from the night’s events. Mom doesn’t need to see me like this.

“Hey,” I reply, infusing as much warmth as I can into the word as I saunter into the living room.

The glow from the television casts shadows over the darkened room. Auggie hops up off the floor from his resting place next to Mom’s recliner. I’m grateful for the distraction, bending down to scratch his ears so Mom can’t see how pathetic my face probably looks right now. Tail wagging slowly, he gazes up at me with empathy in his big brown eyes, like he knows I feel like my heart has been stomped on.

“How was dinner?” Mom asks.

“Good,” I lie, barely recalling the taste of the bites I had to force myself to chew.

Hitting thepausebutton on the TV, she glances over at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you. I had to know if Rodrigo returned from the medical mission in the Amazon. It was killing me. I can restart it.”

As much as I’ve wanted to know if Barrett and Rodrigo get their well-deserved reunion, and as much as I love that Mom is as invested in one of the show’s same-sex couples as I am, I can’t muster any enthusiasm for watching television right now. How freaking long am I going to feel sorry for myself?

---