Page 175 of Gym Bros
“Not even close enough to run this by them and see what they have to say?”
“I’ve thought about it,” I admit. It’d be easy to drop all this in their laps and make them come up with a way to deal with it. They’re both logical people, sort of boring. They also have the added benefit of not having shared a lover with our dad. “It feels like my responsibility.”
“That doesn’t make it your burden.”
I shrug and put my hand on my dog, rubbing her between the shoulders. She leans her head on my leg and looks up at me with her big, brown eyes.
“What happens if you tell?” she asks.
“Best case scenario, she already knows and gets embarrassed that I do, too. Worst case, she’s blindsided, and I ruin her life.”
“It wasn’tyouthough, Sam.”
“I know, but…I feel involved.”
“Because of Calyx?”
“I don’t know. Because I figured it out. Because—yeah—him, too, I guess. I mean can you imagine if she did know, and I showed up for Thanksgiving with him? Like how’s she supposed to deal with that?”
“Look, Calyx is many things, and before you came along, he was many other things, too.”
“Like what?” I ask before I can think better of it.
“Like he didn’t give a shit. About anything. Yoga, maybe, okay sure, but himself? If you asked him what he was like he’d be all—I’m a model.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just that he didn’t have much of a life. Pri and I met him in a yoga class, and we talked him into going out with us because wethought he was adorable. We had no idea what he did for a living, and when he told us we were both in awe, obviously. Like what a catch in terms of a friend, right? But the thing was, he was like twenty-four going on fifty. He was over all of it. Partying, dating,youth.” She lets out a depressing laugh.
“What are you getting at?” I ask.
“He grew up in a world that placed more value on his looks than who he was as a person or what he wanted. He defined himself in terms of a good hair day.”
“Rachel, listen—I didn’t ask you over here to talk about him…”
“No, I know, I got off on a tangent, but while I’m here, let me just say he doesn’t think too highly of men in general.”
“And?”
“They treated him like a luxury item or something. Like a delicacy. Like he was worthy of worship but not love.”
I wince, inserting my father’s image into this picture she’s painting.
“Or—wait—here’s what I’m trying to say—like he was a break from their real life but not allowed to be a part of it.”
“Why would hewantthat?” I ask, sucked in to the topic, and also frustrated beyond description.
“Because he was used to being dressed up, used, shown off and then forgotten? I don’t know. I also don’t know what it’s like to look like him. I think there’s probably such a thing as being too beautiful.”
Finally, I shake my head. “I really can’t talk about him anymore, Rachel.”
“Why not?” she asks, feigning innocence.
I glare at her.
“Do you miss him or something?”
“It doesn’t matter. It can’t work.”
