Page 79 of Don't Let Me Go
“College is good,” he answers, still glancing at me sheepishly as if he half expects me to bolt at any second. “Verydifferent from high school. Everyone’s a lot more chill. You don’t have to worry about people always being in your business.”
Translation: It’s easier for him to hook up with guys on the down-low.
Despite wanting to bury the hatchet with Alex, I’m finding it difficult to let go of my resentment. And my cynicism. Mainly because I’m still waiting for my apology.
Alex must pick up on my impatience. He blushes nervously and, in a timid whisper, adds, “I’ve come out to a few people.”
“Oh.”
Over the years, when I’ve wanted to indulge in a bout of self-pity, I’ve occasionally allowed myself to stalk Alex on social media. Nothing in his carefully curated profiles or in any of his posts has ever indicatedthat he is anything other than 100 percent straight (aside from the notable absence of a girlfriend). So the news that he’s started to come out is a genuine surprise.
“I told my roommate last year,” he continues. “And a couple of friends. I even told one of my professors.”
“That’s great,” I say, somewhat taken aback to discover I mean it.
Alex nods, smiling bashfully. But a second later, his face clouds over. “I still haven’t told my parents. Or my brothers. Nobody here in Orlando knows.”
“That’s okay,” I assure him, my right hand instinctively reaching out to clasp his shoulder. Regardless of our complicated history, I can’t help being proud of him. He’s taken a huge first step. A step I’ve always hoped he’d take but never imagined he would. Which means whatever our beef in the past, in this moment, I want to support him.
“You’ll tell your family when you’re ready,” I add. “You don’t have to come out on anyone’s schedule but your own.”
Alex doesn’t say anything. He just looks at my hand, then at me. When we were together, he had an absolute no-touching-in-public rule, so I half expect him to pull away in a panic. Instead, he smiles, his eyes filled with gratitude.
“Thanks. I appreciate you saying that. Especially after how I treated you.”
“Yeah,” I say, pulling back my hand. “Not exactly great memories.”
Alex hangs his head. “I really am sorry. I was such an asshole in high school. And I want you to know that if I could go back in time, I would do everything differently. But I can’t. All I can do is tell you how fucking sorry I am. Foreverything. I’m sorry I forced you to keep our relationship secret. I’m sorry I didn’t stick up for you when the guys on the football team harassed you. I’m sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital after I made you anorexic.”
“Okay, hang on there, you didn’tmakeme anorexic,” I correct him. “I did that to myself. And there were a lot of factors.”
“Yeah, and one of those factors wasme,” he insists. “I was a horrible boyfriend. I used you and threw you away. And I hate that I did that, because I really liked you, Riley. I liked youso much. But I was so messed up and so scared that I honestly would’ve rather died than let anyone find out about me.
“That’s not an excuse,” he hastens to add. “I just need you to know that I’m really trying not to be that person anymore. I never want to hurt anyone the way I hurt you. Going forward, I want to be a better person. Even if you never forgive me. Even if I never forgive myself. I want to try.”
In all the fantasies that I used to have about Alex and me getting back together, I always dreamed he’d make a speech like this. Now here he is, in the flesh, saying everything I’ve ever wanted him to say, and it’s somehow better than the fantasy.
Maybe that’s because in the fantasy, Alex’s apology was almost irrelevant. It was just a task on a checklist, a penance I needed him to perform so that I could take him back without looking like a total doormat. It had nothing to do with his own personal growth and everything to do with me getting what I wanted—that is, an openly out boyfriend.
The Alex standing in front of me right now, though, isn’t apologizing so I can finally claim the prize that I’ve decided I deserve. He’s apologizing because he’s trying to become a better person.Because he doesn’t want to make the same mistakes or hurt anyone else, including himself.
“Wow,” I say. “You really have changed.”
“I’m trying to.”
“Well, keep it up,” I joke, hoping to lighten the tension after Alex’srather intense confession. “This new-and-improved version of you? He seems like a good guy.”
“For real?” he asks.
“Yeah. And for the record, I do forgive you.”
Alex’s hazel eyes go wide. “You do?”
“Yeah,” I say, a little surprised myself at how easily I’m able to say the words. “We’re good.”
The relief on Alex’s face is so palpable, it brings a lump to my throat. Or maybe that’s just my own relief as my body is finally able to let go of three years of anger, resentment, and recrimination.
“I want you to be happy,” I tell him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
