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“Give him some time,” Beverly said. “He’s angry, and he’s hurt. When he’s like that, he needs some space to process what he’s feeling. Then, you fix it.”
I dropped my hands and looked at her.
“You love him,” she said. It wasn’t a question because she knew the answer.
“Yes.”
She nodded before looking down. “Good. That’s good. He deserves that. I didn’t give you a fair chance at first, but I see it now. You’re good for him.”
“He’s good for me.”
“You’re good for each other,” Beverly replied.
“Yeah, we are.” I didn’t know why he’d chosen me, but I would spend every day of my life making sure it was the right decision. “It wasn’t that I thought he couldn’t handle it, and I wouldn’t be embarrassed if he struggled. I just…”
“Didn’t want him to get hurt.”
“Yes.” But instead, I’d done that myself. I’d been the one to hurt him.
“We can’t protect him from the world. Milo can do that for himself. I forget that sometimes—maybe more than sometimes—but he won’t have it, nor should he have to deal with it.” Beverly stood. “The two of you will work it out.” She reached into her purse.
“No, I got it,” I said. There were three basically untouched meals on the table.
“My treat next time.” Beverly smiled, reached over, squeezed my hand, and walked out.
I hoped like hell she was right.
* * *
I went back to the shop but didn’t let myself look inside the bookstore on the way there. Beverly said I needed to give him time. He’d walked away for space, and he deserved for me to respect him enough to give it to him. Approaching him at work would be a dick move. I couldn’t stop myself from sending him a text, though, just to touch base. I’m sorry. I fucked up. Can we talk later?
I’m really upset. I’ll let you know when I calm down. I might stay at the hotel tonight. I have to sort through my feelings.
You can stay at the apartment. I’ll stay with Orlando. You won’t be able to sleep if you don’t have your bed. It was silly that the thought made me smile. I remembered picking him up that first morning and how grumpy he was… Jesus, even back then I was crazy about him. From the first moment I met him, I had been.
I can handle it, Gideon. I’m going back to work now.
Okay, I replied and put my phone away. I wasn’t going to push. I’d respect what Milo asked of me.
I had a few pieces that day and ended up working until about six. When I finished, I didn’t have a message from Orlando or Milo. I’d managed to piss them both off.
I didn’t go straight home. I got into my truck and drove around until I ended up at my parents’ place. I didn’t know what I was doing there. Part of me wanted to back right out of the driveway and leave, but I didn’t. Instead, I got out, knocked, and went inside. Mom was cooking dinner. “Gideon, what a surprise,” she said, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”
I sat on a stool at the island, across from her. “I screwed up with Milo. We had a fight because I didn’t tell him about Orlando’s party. And Orlando’s mad at me because I didn’t go. I managed to fuck it up with both of them.” I couldn’t believe I was sharing this with her. It wasn’t my typical MO, but I was so fucking tired. And sad and angry with myself.
“Well, I’d imagine neither of them is really mad at you, but they’re hurt.”
“I know.” And I really did. I could also understand why they were. “Do you wish I were different?” I found myself asking.
She turned off the stove. “What? No, absolutely not. Why would I wish that?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I think Dad does, that he wishes I were straight, or that I went to law school like him and Orlando, or hell, that I went to college at all. He doesn’t talk to me like he does with Orlando. He—”
“Do I really make you feel that way?” Dad asked from behind me. I hadn’t realized he was there.
I turned to see him standing in the doorway. He was in slacks, a button-up shirt, and a tie, likely having gone to his office on the mainland even though it was Saturday.
“I never meant for you to think that. I guess sometimes…sometimes maybe I don’t feel like I know how to talk to you the way I do with Orlando. We don’t have as much in common, and maybe I thought in some ways you wished I were different. You’re so independent and fearless. You are who you are, and you’ve never shied away from that. While I’ve always followed the rules, you’ve made your own. And sometimes, maybe I envy your ability to march to the beat of your own drum in a way I never had the courage to do. But no, I don’t wish you were anyone other than who you are. Clearly, I don’t always do a good job of showing you that.”
