Page 104 of My Own Kind of Person

He turns to me with an exhale that might be a sigh.

I can’t think of what to say, so I simply ask what I’m wondering, which is, “How have you been?”

He nods, considering. “Stressed. Seeing you like that in English was scary. When I got home, I watched my phone for you to let me know you were okay. And when you never did…” He shrugs.

“What’s in that shrug?”

His voice is quiet. “You weren’t there for me.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t.”

Another exhale. “You had your show?”

“I did.”

His face remains still, like his mother’s.

“I hope it went well,” he says, and gets in the car.

“This is because of one bad conversation and one bad day?”

“Yes.” He looks at me with fire in his eyes. “And I know that’s over the top, and I know you were having a tough time. But I told you it’s hard for me to trust someone, and—” He shakes his head.

“You know I care about you. I care about you so much and I—”

He looks up, his lips tight. “That is meaningless to me if it doesn’t translate into something I can see.”

“I’m right here.”

“I didn’t ask you to be here, and I’m not interested in big romantic gestures when I know there can be equally big moments of…of just not even being present at all. I would rather have someone I can rely on.”

“I want to be someone you can rely on.”

His eyes get wide. “But what if you can’t be?”

I keep my feet planted. “I can. And if you give me another chance I’ll show you.”

He holds my gaze for a long time. “I don’t want to risk getting hurt again. I’m sorry.”

He closes his door and drives away, and I don’t hesitate to cry.

Chapter 39

Morning sunlight streams into Tony’s garage. Andi bends over a long plank of wood on the ground, carefully tracing with bright green paint the words they’ve already penciled in: THE GREENROOM. Christy sits on the low stage hunched over her phone, setting up social media accounts. Tony moves index cards on a corkboard on the wall to determine the best monthly order of events for comedy, storytelling, poetry, and his new podcast.

“How’s this?” I step away from the pile of particleboard I’m attempting to turn into a podium. I read from my phone, “Thank you for talking last night. I wanted to reiterate that I’d like to be someone you can rely on. Someone you can trust. Even if only as a friend. Would you be open to talking more sometime?”

Christy gives a nod. “Good.”

Andi shakes their head. “He hasn’t written back to my texts, so don’t ask me.”

Tony types furiously. “I’m asking my online sources.”

“Please stop,” I say. “I’m interested in your opinion.”

He looks at me as though the universe has grown a fifth dimension. “It’s a little formal, but that may be correct given the circumstances, however, in putting everything out there in a single text, and ending with a call to action, you’re setting the bar high for engagement, and if Elijah doesn’t reply, then the conversation is dead, so it’s worth considering a lower stakes message, like casually mentioning a shared interest, for example a dance performance you happened to have heard about, that may be more likely to get him to bite, although my instinct is he would find that route disingenuous, a vocab word I recently learned that I believe I’m using correctly.”

He gasps as if he’s coming up for air.