Real Life(60)

“I’m just tired,” he says.

“When did you go home?” Vincent asks him, and from the directness of his gaze, even through the sunglasses, Wallace knows he’s been caught out for something.

“This morning,” he says before he can think of something else. “I walked home.”

“Yeah, because we were all outside, and you just vanished,” Vincent says. “Which is funny, considering how all of . . . last night happened because of you.”

Wallace licks the sugar from the corner of his mouth and takes a steadying breath. “Was that because of me? I thought it had something to do with you and Cole.”

“Oh, no, it was you, Wallace.”

“Vincent,” Cole says.

“You opened your big mouth and then you decided—hell, I don’t know what you decided, but suddenly, you’re gone. Why is that, Wallace?”

“I wasn’t trying to start anything,” Wallace says. “I’m sorry it happened the way it did, but I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“But weren’t you?” Vincent’s voice stabs through him. “Weren’t you trying to start something because you’re miserable? Because you’re angry? Because you don’t know what you want? Isn’t that it?”

“No,” Wallace says, but it’s a small sound.

“I think you need to mind your own business, Wallace. You’re going to ruin someone’s life one day.”

“That’s not fair,” Miller says. “Don’t do that.”

“Why, Miller? He intruded where he wasn’t wanted.”

“Babe,” Cole says. His face is flushed. He is giving Wallace a look of apology, but Wallace only shakes his head. He has this coming, after all. He’s got it all coming.

“It’s not fair to blame Wallace. We’re friends. We sometimes fuck up, but come on,” Yngve says.

“It’s all right, Yngve. I don’t mind,” Wallace says, shrugging. “Vincent is obviously very angry at me. It’s fine.”

“It’s fine,” Vincent says. “You know, Wallace, just because you don’t have someone doesn’t mean that the rest of us also have to suffer.”

“That’s true,” Wallace says. “You’re right.”

“Vincent,” Emma says. “Maybe calm down.”

“No, Emma. It needs to be said. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get how people’s relationships aren’t toys for him to play with. That he doesn’t get to fuck it all up for other people. This is real life, Wallace. Do you understand that? It’s real life.”

Wallace nods slowly, carefully, making sure that the gesture is immaculate, perfect, a faultless contrition. He can do this. It is a skill in life, serving this function, to be contrite, to pay obeisance.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble. For hurting you. I didn’t think.”

“You didn’t think,” Vincent snarls. “You didn’t think that it would have consequences. That other people wouldn’t suffer. It’s not a game. It’s my life. It’s Cole’s life. Next time, think of others.”

“I will. I’m sorry,” Wallace says quietly, his voice hot, like asphalt congealing. Miller and Cole share a look of horror, of shock. Emma is making soothing sounds, rubbing his knee. Vincent goes back to his mimosa.

“Wallace,” Cole begins, but Wallace looks up at him and smiles.

“It’s okay, Cole. It’s fine.”

The others at the table settle into tingling quiet, which eventually is broken up by the clatter of their forks and knives. It is a re-creation of last night’s dinner, how after Roman humiliated him, they all went back to eating, sitting in polite refusal to acknowledge the blow dealt to Wallace. He is not sad. He is not overcome with grief or sorrow at this. He has prepared himself for it, after all. It is a blow Wallace has been anticipating since last night; he is only surprised that it took this long to land. He wipes his mouth with his napkin, cuts another segment of crêpe, and he eats.

The taste is bland, but he chews anyway. Miller looks at him anxiously, as if Wallace might vanish at any moment. Wallace drinks his coffee.

“Emma, what are you doing for the rest of the day?” Wallace asks.

“Oh, I’ll nap, probably,” she says, laughing. “Maybe I’ll read.”

“Me too,” Wallace says. “I got that book Thom mentioned. I like it so far, I guess.”

“Do you?” she says wryly. “Don’t let Thom hear; he’ll never stop suggesting things to you.”

“I’d like nothing more,” Wallace says. Thom is too busy wolfing down his crêpes and bacon to pay much attention to them. He is a nervous eater. That is, when anxious, he eats with a single-minded ferocity. Wallace can relate. His appetite swells when he’s nervous. “What are you reading?”

“I’m on a strict Judy Blume diet,” Emma says. “Classics, you know.”

They share a bittersweet laugh. Emma’s eyes are red. She is angry again on his behalf, but she, like the rest of them, remains silent.

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Yngve asks. “The rest of us could use a laugh too.”