Page 274 of Untouchable

"I don't see how that makes a difference to you either way," Harp says, fumbling now because he's caught, because he doesn't like to lie—and he shouldn't have to lie to Gil—butChrist, he knows the way this must look from the outside.

“So that’s a yes, right?” Gil says, raising his eyebrow, his expression infuriatingly disdainful.

"Does it matter either way? Is it somehow relevant to you?" Harp says, digging his heels in.

Gil sits back and crosses his arms.

“Uh, yeah, it is, because I fucking care about you, and, I’m sorry, Harp, but this situation is too fucking weird.”

"There's nothing weird about this situation other than the fact that you showed up with zero notice—even after I asked you not to—and have been on the offensive against Parker since the moment you walked in the door," Harp says, frustrated.

He shouldn't have to be defending himself right now—he and Parker haven't done anything wrong and Gil isn't Harp's mother. Still the kernel of doubt is there, hard and dense and nagging. Is the situation strange? Has Harp gotten himself into something he's not ready for?

Gil runs his hands through his hair and leans forward, and the gesture is strangely vulnerable, as if Gil is curling up to protect himself from pain. When he sits back up, he massages his temples and takes a long, deep inhale.

“You’re absolutely right,” he says, squaring his shoulders and looking Harp right in the eye. “I did show up, even when you told me not to. And, yeah, I haven’t been fair to Parker, because I was jealous that you were making time for him instead of me. I’m sorry. I fucked up. But—Harp, god, please—just look at the facts. You’re dating someone almost half your age, who was your massage therapist and who can barely hold up a conversation. You guys have nothing in common. And now you’re paying, what, ten thousand dollars of car repairs for him? Nothing about the two of you as a couple makes sense.”

He takes another shaky inhale and sets his jaw, as though he’s preparing to dive into a lake far below.

“I know that sounds mean, and I’m not trying to be cruel about it. But remember when you helped me move from Florida? I was scared and needed a kick in the ass to get myself out of there. I needed someone to give me a little bit of tough love and say, hey, look, if you stay here, you’re going to end up completely miserable and alone. So… that’s what I’m trying to say here. I just think you’re putting a lot of expectations on someone you hardly know.”

He sits back, looking suddenly weary and drops his gaze.

For the first time all night, Harp feels like the bad guy. It's like his feet have gotten tangled up as he ran and suddenly he finds himself face-down on the track. He'd been so ready to defend himself, to defend Parker.

But he hadn't been ready for real concern. And try as he might, no matter which way Harp turns Gil's statements and expressions in his mind, he can't see a way where Gil isn't being authentic.

He really is worried about Harp—and maybe Harp has been too caught up with Parker to understand that. This whole time, Harp has been telling himself that Gil doesn't like Parker, but maybe the truth is closer to the fact that Gil is worried about Harp.

Harp wants to tell himself that Gil is acting like Parker's mom, trying to manipulate him. But truly, that isn't the Gil he knows. Whatever he's feeling in the moment is genuine even if it's misled.

But is it misled?

The kernel is suddenly different, not so solid, not so defined inside of Harp. Doubt blossoms around it.

What lies have I sold myself this time?

* * *

As soon asthe door locks behind him, he sighs with relief. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment. He looks young and doe-eyed and weak, the kind of person who gets bullied by his family, by his boyfriends, who’s a doormat to everyone he comes across, from his own mother to the cashier at the grocery store who forgot to give him the sale price for avocados.

“C’mon, Parker,” he whispers to himself. “You’ve got this.”

He wants Gil to like him, but he’s coming to terms with the fact that this might not be possible. And he’s still more than rattled by Harp’s comment. He makes a decision in the moment to give Harp the benefit of the doubt, at least for now. He can bring it up later—no, he thinks, nodding at his reflection, he will bring it up later—and tell Harp how much it hurt him.

But for now, they’re out at a nice restaurant with nice drinks, and he’s determined to have a pleasant evening.

He splashes water on his face, and while it does nothing to sober him, the cold water makes him feel a little more grounded.

I don’t need Gil’s approval, he tells himself. Harp and I are fine. We are strong. His shitty little brother won’t change any of that.

But still, the doubt is there, festering, an ugly little sore on his heart that’s raw and inflamed.

When he catches sight of his reflection, he is startled. The person Parker sees in the mirror looks nothing like him, he thinks. This person looks small and anxious and weak. Someone who cowers, someone who lays down and lets people walk all over them. Someone who spends their life feeling as though they’ve done something wrong.

But this isn’t the way Parker wants to live.

He squares his shoulders and cards his hand through his hair. He flashes a smile, and though at first it looks like a forced grimace, after a moment, it helps. This is the Parker he recognizes, the Parker he wants to be. Kind, happy, confident.

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