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He would lie and say he was fine, thank you very much, and then he’d ask the question he dreaded more than anything in the world, not because of the question itself, but because of the answer.
“Any updates?” he’d say on Mondays at three.
This was his life.
So yes, he had to ask why. Why would Phillip want to see him? Why would Phillip want to have any part of his life the way it was now? Why would Phillip even want to be in the same room as David, especially given the things David had said to him at the end of the fourth year, no longer soaked in alcohol but still unable to deal. Those words hurtled at him, each one landing like a bullet to the stomach, saying things like you don’t care as much about her as I do and if you did, you would be doing more and Why do you keep referring to her in the past tense? Why do you always do that? Do you want her to be dead? Is that what you want, you fucking asshole? Is that what this is? Do you want them to find her body just so you can fucking feel better about yourself? It’s like you don’t even care about her. Why aren’t you out there looking, Phillip? Why aren’t you out there trying to find her like I am? Why don’t you love her like I do?
He’d never believed it. He never believed any of what he’d said.
But he’d said it just the same.
And the horror on Phillip’s face at those words was something David would never forget as long as he lived. The anguish, like David had broken him, was enough that David wanted to apologize right then and there and promise to never say anything like that again.
He hadn’t, though.
He’d been cornered then, too, by things like this isn’t healthy, David. This isn’t what she would have wanted for you. You need help. You’re not drinking like you did, and that’s good, but David, you need more than what I can offer. And I want that for you. I want that for you so bad. Please, David. Please let me get some help for you.
It’d all fallen apart then.
And it was David’s fault. He knew that. He knew that better than anyone.
If their roles had been reversed, if it’d been Phillip saying those terrible things, David couldn’t be sure that he would ever want to see him again.
So, yes. He had to ask why. “After everything I’ve done,” he said. “After… just. After.”
“Jesus Christ,” Phillip said, scrubbing his hand over his face. “David, I can’t even—”
“Gentlemen,” Melissa said, and David felt like screaming. “I’ll take this whenever you’re ready. No rush.” She placed a black folder on the table.
Johnny Mathis sang that it was the most wonderful time of the year.
Phillip said, “You can take it now,” with a strained smile on his face as he leaned forward, pulling his wallet out. David didn’t even try and argue over the bill. Phillip pulled a card out and shoved it at Melissa.
“I’ll be right back with this, then,” she said before she swirled away.
“I need you to listen to me,” Phillip said before David could do anything. “Are you listening?”
“Yes,” David said helplessly.
“This… this whole thing, everything, it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t Alice’s fault.”
No. No. “You don’t get it,” David said, shaking his head. “You just don’t get it. I should have—”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Phillip said fiercely. “Yeah, I wish you hadn’t said the shit you said, buddy, and I wish I hadn’t come after you like I had, but I can’t blame you. Even if I thought I could for the longest time, I can’t blame you for that. She wouldn’t either. She wouldn’t want this for you. For either of us.”
“Don’t,” David said, hands in fists on the tabletop. “Don’t do this. Not now. Not here.”
“When should I do it, then, David?” Phillip asked, eyes narrowing. “When would be the perfect time for you, because I am tired.” His voice cracked, and David thought his heart was splitting right down the middle. He could never deal with it very well when Phillip was upset, wanting to hunt down and destroy whatever had hurt him. It’d been worse when it’d been David himself, and he was still filled with such self-loathing at what he’d done. The things he’d said. “I’m tired of—of this. Of all of this. You as you are. Me as I am. Existing separately like that’s the way things should be. It’s shit. It’s fucking shit and you know it. I don’t deserve this. And neither do you.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” David snapped at him, trying to keep himself under control. It’d been a long time since he’d felt anything other than a dull, bittersweet ache in the center of his chest, and he didn’t want any of it. “What exactly do you think I should do?”
“I want you to accept what happened,” Phillip said. “I want you to open your eyes. David. David. She’s—she’s gone, okay? And she’s not—she’s not going to come back—”
David slammed his hand on the table.
Phillip flinched, eyes bright and wet.
Melissa came, opened her mouth, but David glared at her. She looked at Phillip, then back at David, and set the black folder gently on the table, the credit card sticking out the top. She began to back away slowly
