London
Hayes
“Brady, I have to confess something.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. We’re meandering back to the hotel at the end of our last day of content gathering in London. I’m feeling grateful and relieved by how well it went. I want to let him know.
“A confession?” Brady’s voice cracks. I didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable, in fact the opposite. “I think I’m going to need ice cream for this.” He points toward the entrance of a compact park with stone paths, a quaint fountain glowing in the afternoon sun, and a blue-and-white striped snack stand that looks like an image from a Victorian postcard.
I get a vanilla cone that comes with a piece of chocolate in it called a Cadbury Flake. Brady orders something called a Twister. Green and white spirals surround a red shaft. The whole thing looks obscene. His tongue curls around the tip and I have to look away, focusing instead on my cone.
“So,” Brady prompts, lips already stained bright green. “This confession?”
I take a breath. It’s been a while since I’ve shared feelings with him. They don’t come out easily for me. Growing up I was taught that men don’t share how they feel. I was too busy working part-time and taking care of my sisters to have them anyway. By the time I got to college I had spent so long extinguishing my feelings that it took a firecracker like Brady with his infectious laugh and outrageous behavior to help ignite them again. This week our communication has been focused on work – Tube stations, camera angles, map directions, charging cables. But I want him to know that I still remember how to share what I’m feeling and thinking. “I’ve had a good time this week. It’s been more fun than I thought it would be.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “That’s nice.” He licks his ice cream and tries to act nonchalant but I can tell he’s glad.
“I’m serious.” I shoulder-check him gently, the way I used to. “I mean being able to hang out again. After we broke up, I thought…” The words stick in my throat. “I thought we’d never even speak again or be in the same room.”
Brady stops abruptly and his ice cream drips down his hand. His eyes search my face. “You really thought that? After everything we shared? That we’d never…” He swallows hard and his eyes fall to the ground. “Hayes, I was hurt too. By how things ended. But I never thought never.”
“I felt manipulated,” I say, trying to offer an honest explanation of the facts, but the words awkwardly hang between us.
“And I felt misunderstood.” Brady’s face twists in a way that is impossible to decipher. We’ve never talked about what happened, and maybe we never will. What would be the point? Maybe talking around it is as close as we will ever come.
I take a breath and try to find the right words. “I know. That’s part of the reason why I didn’t think we could ever get back to this place. Where we are today. I like how we’ve worked together this week. I’m glad about it. That’s all. I wanted you to know.” Should I have said less? More? I have no idea. It’s hard to say what I mean when I’m not sure how I feel. I do know this week was fun. I hope saying it shows him I’m not the same closed-off guy I was in college, always keeping my feelings to myself.
We walk in silence and after a block he says, “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’m glad too.”
I take a lick of my ice cream and it enjoy it more knowing Brady has heard me. We’re standing in front of the elegant brick facade of the hotel and the manicured gardens when Brady says, “In some ways it all worked out,” forcing casualness into his tone. “You’ll be at your dream medical school in Boston next year. Now you can make the next deposit. Everything you wanted.” Brady walks into the lobby.
“Not everything,” I murmur, just out of earshot. I can’t explain that I miss the way he used to make cartoon characters out of molecular structures to help me study or force me to learn the latest dance trend when I was stressed about exams. I can’t tell him that sometimes I wonder how I’ll get through medical school without him. Instead, I walk into the hotel behind him.
But as soon as I am through the doorway, I see it.
It takes me a few seconds to understand what I’m looking at. The bright colors and sheer scale of the eight-foot-tall poster overwhelm me. But I know that campsite. I know that mountain range in the background. I know the two larger-than-life figures embracing each other, lost in a world of their own making.
It’s us.
An image from the night we went camping. Brady had just splashed me with water from the creek and I was laughing that full body laugh that only he could unlock. We look so happy, so deeply connected. But what is that memory from the past doing here in London in the present?
I scan the image, trying to make it make sense. The gold and emerald letters screaming across the image only make me more confused:
Brady and Hayes: The For Us Couple of the Summer!
Below, in smaller text:
Follow our adventure. #CoupleGoals #SummerVibes @ForUsResorts.
A QR code with the phrase:
Join Us.
The ice cream turns sour in my mouth.
“What the fuck, Brady?”
Brady’s face drains of color so fast I think he might pass out. “Hayes, I can explain…”
There are at least three people already taking photos of the poster and I feel a feel a flush of embarrassment joining my confusion. “How can you explain this? Couple of the summer?”
