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“You’re lying, Alan.”
He turned around and leaned against the counter, staring at me. I was impressed. Alan didn’t like being caught in lies or little fibs, as he called them, and usually, he wouldn’t look at me when he did. But Alan had a tell, a giveaway, if you will. He tended to wring his hands together, twist them around, and intertwine fingers while he struggled with his conscience. I loved him, but I noticed everything about him, unfortunately.
“I’m getting tired of this constant accusation about me and Tad,” he hissed. “Jesus! The way you go on and on about us, maybe he and I should actually just do it.”
“You already have,” I remarked. “I can see it in your eyes, Alan.”
Alan was silent. The lack of an instant response, another lie, was all I needed to know that tonight was indeed the night. “He’s different,” he stated. “And you’re… well… you’re…”
“Boring? Is that what you were about to say?” I asked. “Or how about committed? Or, maybe, respectful of our relationship. Happy to be with you? Any of those come to mind?” I asked.
“You changed, Cole. There, I fucking said it. You changed. Not me. You!”
Reality is a bitch. It’s a funny thing how you imagine discovering a truth you’re afraid to know and that the uncovering of said truth in your imagination seemed survivable. That was not the emotion coursing through me at that moment. The reasons were now being listed as to why he was leaving me for his boss. This fear was no longer a fear. It was about to be a fact.
“How have I changed?” I demanded. “By standing by you as you struggled to jumpstart your career?” I laughed at my next words before I spoke them. “I didn’t expect you to start with jumping into someone else’s bed, Alan.”
“Well, I did.”
Knife to the heart. How else to describe the definitive news of infidelity? My knees felt like they could fold like a flamingo’s and drop me in a heap of agony. Goddamn, this hurt.
“Yeah, I figured,” I mumbled, running my hand along the trim of the bathroom door. It needed a coat of paint. Our entire relationship needed a coat of paint.
“You act old, Cole. I’m not sure when it happened, but you’re un-fun.”
I listened as he prepared the laundry list of reasons he was leaving after seven years. “Un-fun?” I whispered. “Is that a word? Un-fun?”
“You’re happy to hole up in this apartment every single fucking day. Month after month, year after year. I’m bored, Cole. Bored as fuck!” he yelled.
“Some folks call it sharing a life. Building a future. Loving each other,” I argued. “You know, like what we promised to do.”
“I don’t wanna anymore,” he admitted.
“Wanna?” I asked, looking at him like he’d sprouted a horn. “How old are you?”
He turned his back to me, but we could still see the other’s face in the mirror. “I’m done.”
“Just like that? You’re done?” I asked. He nodded. “Why don’t you just fuck around with him if you need some excitement?” I asked. “Have a side piece if you need, but why commit to another guy, Alan? I can accept you needing outside sex if that’s the problem. God knows we don’t fuck anymore.”
“Did you ever consider that I don’t want to fuck you anymore?”
I hadn’t, actually. I guess after four months of not even a hand job, I should have considered that fact. The further along I walked on the plank he had me on, the worse the gut punch felt. How would I survive this? Where would I find love again? I was in my late twenties when I met Alan. I was worried back then that I’d waited too long. What now? I was thirty-fucking-five.
“How about therapy?” I asked, standing behind him as he watched me from the mirror. Two faces, he has two faces, was what I thought as I stood there. The man I loved had two faces. The one in the mirror, his back to me in defense, was the one delivering the bad news. The one he’d hidden for seven years as he professed his love for me. Lurking beneath. The one that could do this to us.
“No,” he replied. “I don’t need therapy. I’ve made up my mind.”
“Okay,” I answered, slowly turning and walking out of the bathroom. The bathroom with two sinks. The bathroom where one sink would go unused from then on.
My knees held up as I wandered down the hall. The imagined knife was still twisting in my heart, but I still managed to breathe. How was that possible?
“You were tired of waiting for the truth. You brought it up,” I whispered.
I could have waited longer. Hell, I’d still wait if he’d change his mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Chad
“You’re killin’ me, bro,” Rat said, pushing wet strands of hair out of his eyes. “Your vibe is so fuckin’ harsh lately.”
