Page 86 of I Did Something Bad
“But if you have any follow-up questions, you can always email me,” he adds like we’re wrapping up a meeting. “You were promised a full two months, so anything else you wanna know, just shoot me a message.”
My heart buckles with a near-debilitating blow as I realize that this is what we’ve come to. Follow-up questions and shooting messages. “Okay,” I croak out.
“Anyway, I—” He coughs into a fist that doesn’t fully uncurl even once it returns to his side. “I wanted us to clear the air.” He’s taking his time considering each word before he speaks, and the realization thatthisis also what we’ve come to is a new, penetrating hurt. “I needed the time and space over the last few weeks to cool down, and now that I have, I want to apologize for… overreacting. Apart from, obviously, the note about Jess and the abortion story, the rest was you doing your job. I can’t be mad at you for treating this article and our time together like a project when, well, that’s what it was, right?” he asks with a chuckle. I think I smile back, but I can’t be sure.
“But—” he continues, although I don’t want him to. I want him to stop talking right now, to stop unraveling this messy, confusing, but also incredible thing we’d built together over the last month. “I know things got… intense for a while there. I was grateful for what you did for Jess, and you were grateful to me for keeping your secret, and after we were thrown into such a high-stakes situation, we mistook that for… you know… feelings. We were emotionally overwhelmed and crossed a professional line, and I’m also sorry for my part in that. I’m sorry I lost my objectivity and blew up at you. You didn’t deserve that.”
His words feel like one Alka-Seltzer tab after another, fizzing and dispersing in my head until I’m just trying to stay afloat in this sea of bubbles. “That… makes sense,” I say, because at this point, it feels easier to let the wave of humiliation carry me forward and crash me into shore than to fight it. After all, what do you say when the man you love tells you he’ssorryhe developed feelings for you? What’s the point of explaining that I’ve decided I’m not going to write this articleat all,because if it comes down to him or any assignment, evenVogue,there’s no competition? He’ll just assume I’m doing it out of guilt. It’s not going to bring him back. Nothing is going to bring him back to me.
“I’m sorry, too,” I mumble.
A shadow drops across his face before instantly disappearing. He swallows, and says, voice so hoarse my first instinct is to ask if he needs a drink, “I’m glad we cleared that up.”
A memory sparks in my head, an unexpected burst of flash.And you’re in love with her,May had said in his trailer, when neither of them had known I was in the bathroom. He hadn’t denied it.
But he hadn’t confirmed it either.
“I’ll miss you,” I say before I lose the courage to say it.
The uncontrollable corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. I hold my breath, hoping he’ll say it back. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Perhaps our paths will cross again one day.”
Our paths will cross again one day.It’s so civil I want to hurl. “Maybe—” I get out. Then, “When are you announcing it?” He blinks. “Your retirement.”
His brows lift almost imperceptibly. “Also probably once the movie comes out,” he says, swallows, then adds, “but you can have the exclusive if you want. I can clear it with my publicist. I’m telling May on Saturday, on our flight home.”
And then I understand. I want to clarify that that wasn’t why I asked, that I’m genuinely curious—but why would he believe me? Nonetheless, I attempt, “No, Tyler, that wasn’t—”
But he stops me with an open palm. “It’s okay,” he says, nodding resolutely like this is something he’s had a lot of time to come to terms with. “I get it. Again, you’re just doing your job. And hey, how could you turn downVogue?”
I should leave. I should say something like,Well, we should get back to the party,orI should return you before May starts getting worried,but I don’t. In fact, my jaw is aching because I’m gritting my teeth, because I have to physically clamp my mouth shut, because otherwise I’m going to cry, and it’s not going to be a pretty, demure cry the way May cries on camera. No, it’s going to be a full-on sobbing breakdown, and I don’t want to do that. Not here. Not in front of him. It’s already embarrassing enough to have him admit to my face that he regrets developing feelings for me; I don’t want him to now awkwardly try tomake me feel better as well when the only reason he pulled me aside for this conversation was to “clear the air” before he moved back and on with his life.
Tyler doesn’t leave either. It feels like we’re two cowboys in a standoff, except neither of us has any weapons, and there’s not even something or someone that we’re fighting over.
“Enjoy LA.” Even before I’ve finished the sentence, my hand makes a beeline for my face, but it’s not fast enough. The tear rolls down.
He presses his lips tight, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Enjoy Singapore,” he replies, granting me the grace of ignoring what just happened.
He does a half-turn to open the door, but before he can push the bar, I say, because he deserves it, “Iamsorry. You don’t have to believe me, but I was never going to use Jess’s story. I wouldn’t.”
Glancing sideways, he nods. “Thank you” is all he says.
We go our separate ways once we rejoin the party. I don’t eat anything, opting to nurse one watered-down Coke all night, because it’s all I can stomach. At one point, Yasmin calls out, “Tyler! May! Speech!” and the room whoops.
I swear I try my damndest to stay, to look professional, lookhappy. But as I clock him sliding out of one of the velvet booths, bashful smile aimed at the floor as May fixes the collar of his shirt, something in me snaps, breaks clean in half. Maybe it’s my heart, or maybe it’s my dignity, or my tolerance. But suddenly, my throat starts closing up, and I move backward until I’m seeing the backs of everyone’s heads and I can stride toward the door.
The coolness of the copper knob feels good against my skin, every inch of which feels like it’s catching fire. I quietly turn it, step through, and, right before shutting it close, take one final look. And find Tyler watching me. Yasmin is talking, and May is laughing, and his mouth is smiling but his eyes are vacant, expressionless.
His brows furrow, discreetly asking,What are you doing?
I want to return a smile, but I can’t. It’s getting near impossible to breathe and to blink away the encroaching blurriness. So I do what I can, which is mouthGoodbye. And then, because it’s my last chance,I’m sorry.
Twenty-one
My phone’s incessant vibrations on the bedside console wake me up from my third (or is it fourth?) nap of the day. Then again, does it really count as a nap if I’ve only gotten out of bed to pee? Isn’t it more of a prolonged sleep cycle?
I hesitate but ultimately pick up.
“Oh god, we thought you were dead. Didn’t you get our texts?” comes Thidar’s voice.
