Page 57 of Lovely War
“My mom had me young,” he finally says. “My dad was in and out of our lives for a long time. Sometimes for years. I’ve had to look after Natalie for as long as I can remember, and I’m glad to do it, don’t get me wrong.”
I don’t say anything, just look up at him and listen.
“Lately I’ve been wondering if leaving Ardwyn even if Natalie goes to school here wouldn’t be the worst thing. For me, and for her. But now, after this? She’s not ready to be on her own. How can I leave?”
“Callahan.” I squeeze his arm. “She’ll figure it out. You’ve stayed in a job that doesn’t make you happy for a long time, just for her, when you could be doing what you want instead. It’s so sweet it makes me want to puke. But it’s time.”
He nudges me with his elbow. “You’re saying that because I’m the competition.”
“I’m saying it because you taught Lufton to be proficient in Excel without banging your head against the wall, and he’s an English major. There are kids out there who need a good coach, and they deserve someone like you.”As long as they don’t go to Arizona Tech.
His cheeks turn pink. “Work has been okay lately, though.”
Yes, it has. “The team is really fucking good. That always helps.”
He laughs.
This is not a one-off. It’s a personality trait. He’s doing the same thing with Maynard, putting him on a pedestal, brushing aside his own concerns because of some sense ofancient obligation. Does he even want to live in Arizona? He’s so loyal he chains himself to people. He’d keep himself chained to them even if they were sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
We’re coming up on my building. Here on the side street the night is empty, stripped bare now that the snow has melted. Everything is flat: the dormant grass, the sidewalks clear and dry, the street dead of traffic. The knobs and points of tree branches provide the only punctuation in the cloudless sky. The moon is nearly full, so the whole wide unbroken scene is silver-lit as if from within.
“Do you want to know what your problem is?” I ask.
“Go ahead, tell me.”
He stops walking. I whirl around and we’re face to face.
This is not a position I’m used to being in with Ben. Usually there are walls and hallways between us, or phone screens, or at least a desk. Sometimes we’re next to each other, sitting on the bus or the plane or watchingThe Beach Houseor walking. But now he’s standing in front of me. His body, my body.
His arms are crossed and his eyes sparkle, like he’s humoring me. I smile, like I’m only needling him, even though I mean what I’m about to say.
“You spend so much time worrying about what you’re supposed to do for other people. About what you owe them. Don’t you ever do anything for yourself? Just because you want to? Turn off that brain of yours and tell me, without thinking. What would you do right now if you could do anything you wanted?”
He looks at me. I expect him to throw his hands up or shrug or make a joke about going to Wawa. Anything butanswer the question. Instead something dangerous flickers in his eyes, an intention manifesting that makes me want to run. Toward him or away from him, I’m not sure.
When he moves, I’m disoriented at first. Because all he does is lift his hands to my collar and pinch the drawstrings of my coat between his thumbs and forefingers.
I fall completely still.How close can I get?This is not what I meant to incite with my rant. Or maybe it was. Understanding my own objectives is not my strong suit. Either way, it’s the perfect distance, the last acceptable distance. Nothing has happened, but almost. Almost.
“Radford.” His voice is low and unsteady as his fingers move down the drawstrings. When they reach the end, he’ll be able to grab the little knots and tug me closer, too close, and then something will actually happen. It’s like watching the wick of a cartoon bomb burn down to an explosion, except the bomb is a sex bomb.
He’s watching his hands and I am too, and I’m not making any sort of decision, only listening to his breathing and smelling his soap and the cold and feeling the closeness of him. My heart is thwacking away at my breastbone. He has nice thumbnails, I notice, and just before he reaches the knots I turn my head slightly, out toward the road. Just my chin, just a couple inches. A car glides by lazily, kicking up some slush.
“I should get inside,” I say to the car.
He backs off immediately.Don’t go,I want to say. He rubs a hand over his remorseful mouth.
“Sorry.”
“For what?” I try.
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Nothing happened.”
“It won’t happen again. I thought—I misinterpreted things. But that’s on me. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” I say, supremely uncomfortable, but not the way he thinks. “Okay, well, good night!” I don’t look at his face or wait for him to reply. I turn on my heel and flee into the building, flying up the stairs until I’m sure he can’t see me anymore through the glass. The whole way up I skim one palm along the handrail. I squeeze the knots on the drawstrings tight in the other fist.
