Page 260 of Untouchable

Gil sits back in his chair, his jaw set.

“Look, Harp, I just want you to be careful, okay? I get that you like him a lot, and it seems like he makes you happy, which is... good. But you haven’t known him that long, so just...”

He trails off, making a vague hand gesture.

"Yeah, I got it. I'm trying to be smart about things. We're taking it slow," he lies, knowing full well he's put every hope and dream he has into Parker and he has no idea what to do about it anymore.

Gil looks at him doubtfully.

“Are you, though?”

"Don't tell me you're trying to lecture me right now," Harp says, raising an eyebrow. "You stopped being cute when you were precocious a long time ago, kid."

Gil sighs, and there’s no trace of humor left in his expression.

“I’m not trying to lecture you,” he says. “You talk about him like he’s the greatest thing since free porn on the internet. And he’s nice, but... I don’t see the rest, okay?”

"Does it matter if you don't see it? Isn't it enough, how happy he makes me?"

Gil runs his hand through his hair.

“It does matter, Harp,” he says. “I don’t... I don’t want to see you get hurt, you know? I mean, how much do you even know about this guy?”

"So the worst case scenario is that I get hurt. You know—at least for once, it'll be someone else doing it to me instead of me fucking myself over," Harp offers. "And I know plenty about Parker. I've never gotten to know someone so fast in my life—which is, coincidentally, what happens when you can get past condescending small talk and give someone a chance."

“God, Harp, can you just drop that? It’s not about me, it’s about you. I of all people know how addictive the honeymoon period of a new relationship is, but if you saw me practically designing wedding invitations for someone I’d known for a few weeks—for someone who was my personal trainer or my barber or something, wouldn’t you think it was a little... odd?”

"Not really," Harp says, shrugging. "If you could tell me what you like about him and I met him and he seemed okay, I'm sure the only thing that would matter to me is that you're happy and healthy."

Gil takes a sip of his drink and pauses, seeming to deliberate his next tack for the conversation. He leans forward, putting his elbows on the table.

“Okay, so explain it to me. He makes you happy. That’s good. But what about him makes you happy? Are you sure it’s him? And not just the attention?”

"He's kind to me—and everyone else. He's patient. He's hilarious. He has lots to say and lots to give. He's attentive and he listens... What more do you want? He gives more than he takes, and he likes me. Is that really the end of the world? Does there have to be something else?"

Gil’s lips are pressed into a thin line, and he looks remarkably like their mother in that moment, radiating an air of overprotective hawkishness.

“What if there is something else?” Gil says. “You’re up here, isolated, you haven’t dated in a decade and you’re lonely. I know you’re Mr. Self-Reliance and all that, but you can’t deny that’s a really vulnerable position to be in. It wouldn’t be hard for someone to come in and take advantage of you.”

"Take advantage of me by spending vast amounts of time and energy on me?" Harp says, stroking his beard and pretending to consider it.

“Fine,” Gil says, sitting back sharply, almost violently. “You know what? Nevermind. If you want to play it fast and loose with your feelings, then fine. But I’m reserving the right to say I told you so when it turns out the person you think you’re in love with doesn’t really exist.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Gil has suddenly gone infuriatingly calm and patient, as though he’s breaking the news to a small child that they won’t be going to the toy store as promised.

“It means that when something seems too good to be true, it’s usually because it is,” he says. “And, honestly? I think you’re lonely and you’re projecting what you want to see onto the first person who’s paid you any attention since you came out.”

"Fuck you." The words are out of Harp's mouth before he's even thought them through. He's furious but more than anything else hurt that Gil could possibly think this way.

“I’m not trying to be mean, Harp,” Gil says, and given Gil’s expression, Harp thinks Gil might actually believe that. “And, honestly, you’re right, Parker’s probably not pulling some crazy manipulation thing on purpose. I’m pretty sure he’s not smart enough to even conceive of that.”

Harp opens his mouth to say something but Gil cuts in before he can.

“Look, I know I’m pissing you off. But I’ve spent the past 36 hours with you guys, and I think you’re dating a person that... doesn’t really exist. Because, no offense, but Parker has the emotional depth of a golden retriever on Adderall.”

"That's not fair," Harp says, knowing the protest sounds weak and thin, even as he says it. "You haven't given him a chance. You intimidate him, and he knows you hate him—of course he won't let you see anything but the surface level."

---