and gave a wave. All of which his mood translated as dismissal.
He went upstairs, stomping past the picture gallery of Daisy dancing in the arms of other men. With each tread, the steps morphed into the stairs of David’s old apartment, and he’d get to the top and see them in bed.
This is old pain, he told himself.
But it felt fresh.
Why is this showing up now?
“Because you didn’t deal with it then,” he mumbled.
As he shucked off his jeans and sweater, he felt like throwing something.
I dealt with this. In therapy. I went through the day. I threw things. I likened it to a firing squad. I did this. I dealt with this.
“You didn’t deal with it in front of Dais,” he said, pulling on sweats and a thermal T-shirt.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror over the dresser. Held out his hands in an exaggerated shrug. “Dude. I got nothing. Go run it out.”
He found earphones and his music. Thumped back down the stairs, shouldering past the pictures like he didn’t give a shit. He sat on the bench in the little front hall while his head filled with the images of David rolling over, Daisy appearing from under. David over. Daisy under.
I did this. I’m done with this. Don’t do this.
As he picked free the knot in his laces, he noticed his hands were shaking.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” he said, stamping a foot down into a sneaker.
“Glad I’m not the only one who talks to themselves,” Daisy said, appearing out of nowhere on her little silent feet. Bastet trailed behind with a smug expression, as if she had tattled.
He gave a token chuckle as he tied his laces. “Private conversation.”
She leaned her shoulder against the closet door. “It’s going to get dark soon so please don’t go too far.”
“I won’t.”
“Are you in the mood for anything in particular for dinner?”
“No.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
Silence as he threaded the cord of his earphones down a sleeve and zipped his fleece jacket. He opened the door. Shut it. Without turning around he said, “I think I’m mad at you.”
The silence swelled like a water balloon behind him.
“About David?”
“Yeah.”
“Please turn around.”
Hand still on the doorknob, he turned. “It’s not the letter,” he said, addressing her ear because he couldn’t meet her eyes. “I think this is twelve-year-old anger showing up. I think. I don’t know. I’m not sure what to do with this. So I’m going to go for a run and take the edge off and put some distance between me and…the letter. Which is obviously bothering me.”
He met her gaze then. Her arms were crossed over her middle, holding onto opposite sides of her cardigan. Her face was composed but her eyes blinked rapidly. Her chin rose and fell a few times. “We never had this fight,” she said. “We never dealt with it in the moment.”
“And that’s on me,” he said. “I don’t want a fight now. This is residual shit and a weird moment. So I’m stepping out. I’m going to feel what I feel and organize my thoughts a little.”
She nodded. “All right.”
He nodded. Then stepped onto the porch and shut the door behind him. Immediately, he opened it again and put his face in, with the closest thing he could get to a smile. “My keys are on top of the piano.”
Her mouth made the approximate shape of a smile in return. “I trust you.”
HE LET TWELVE BARS of a single song play and then shut off the music. Listened to the slap of his feet on pavement and the sound of his breath falling into a cadence. Let his thoughts wander in and out, trying not to be surprised at any of this. Tried to look at all the layers within, let every thought have its turn to talk.
Come take a run. We’ll have a conversation.
He turned off the lake’s rec path and took the trail through the woods instead, wanting to get far away from civilization and into the forest primeval of feeling.
Where he could talk out loud.
“All right, what’s bothering you?”
She fucked him.
“Yes, she did. That hurt.”
David. Of all fucking people.
“I know. It was a betrayal on all kinds of levels.”
He put his cock where only mine had been.
“Yeah, you liked being her first. You got off on being the only one.”
So what?
“Just saying.”
He fucked her. He took what was mine.
“He did.”
And she let him.
“It sucked. It was traumatic.”
What else did he do to her?
“Is that what’s really bothering you, bro?”
What