Always Never Yours(45)
He blinks. “What? Why?”
“It’s run its course. Trust me. I’ve been here before. I know what happens next.”
“But you still like him.” His eyes are guarded.
I drop his hand. What brought us this close on the couch was how easily I felt I could like Owen one day. I could use him to get over Will or even fall for him for real, even though I know he’s right—in this moment, I do still like Will. “Yeah,” I say bitterly, “like that ever means anything.”
“Why do you do that?” I’m surprised to hear he sounds accusing.
“What?”
“You sell yourself short,” he says, softer this time. “You give up. It’s what you’re doing with Juliet and the play. I think you did it with your and Tyler’s relationship, too. If you like Will, then don’t write it off. I know you, Megan. Don’t undervalue yourself.”
His speech momentarily stuns me. It’s charged with conviction, and the words linger in the air while I search for what to say.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to point out that even if I like Will, I can’t force him to like me, when Anthony’s door bangs open. Eric storms down the hall, his hair disheveled. He startles when he sees us and stops for a moment. “It was good to see you guys,” he mutters distractedly. “I’ve got to go.” Before we have time to react, he throws open the front door, and he’s gone.
Anthony trails into the room, looking dazed. I’m on my feet and rushing to his side. “What happened? It looked like it was going great,” I say, realizing a second late I just let it slip I’d spied on them.
If he notices, he doesn’t care. “It was. Everything was perfect,” he says emptily. “And then his dad called, and he got weird and distant and just left.”
“Was there a family emergency or something?” I ask.
“Of course there wasn’t a family emergency,” he snaps, finally whipping his gaze to me. “This was just a terrible idea.”
“A terrible idea? You just hooked up with the guy you’ve been obsessed with.”
“Which is everything I could have hoped for, right?” he fires back. “It doesn’t matter he’s obviously in the closet with no intention of having a relationship with me—or that he’s definitely never going to talk to me again.” He’s yelling now, and there are tears in his eyes. “Because it’s enough I got to hook up with him, right? It might be for you, Megan. But not for me.”
I fumble for words. “I didn’t mean . . . I’m not—You don’t have the first clue what’s enough for me,” I fire back, finding my voice. “Or how much I did to help you. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had what you did have. Which wasn’t nothing.”
“I didn’t ask for your help. Whatever you did, whatever you said to him—you pushed him. You pushed us both. Not everyone wants to take things at your pace. Relationships aren’t a race against the clock.” I flinch, but Anthony blazes on. “I’ve never even had a real boyfriend. I thought Eric would be different. I thought he got me. It’s hard enough meeting guys in high school. It’s not like I’ve got endless relationships and hookups around the corner to console myself with—hard though it might be for you to understand.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, stung.
“Not fair?” He steps closer to me, and I can see he’s shaking. “Not fair is having to move schools because you’re too black and too gay to get lead roles. Not fair is dreading every school trip because you know no guy wants to be your roommate. Not fair is worrying every time you flirt with a guy if he’s going to laugh in your face.”
His words have me looking past the malice in his voice. Anthony hardly ever talks about this stuff, but I’m not unaware of the toll it takes on him. And I know tonight meant a lot to him. Of course he’s heartbroken. “I’m sorry. I think you’ll have another chance with Eric,” I say gently.
“I know you do. You don’t get it. It’s easy to tell yourself everything is going to be okay when really, inside, you’ve already resigned yourself to failure.”
I feel tears of hot anger in my eyes. I don’t have the words to deny what Anthony’s saying. Maybe I am resigned, and maybe it’s unhealthy. But right now, I don’t know how not to be.
“Fuck this.” I hear my voice waver. “I’m trying to be here for you. I’m trying to help. But forget it. You don’t want to talk. You only want to take your ruined night out on me.”
Grabbing my bag, I remember Owen behind me. “Come on, Owen,” I tell him, walking to the door. I think I catch him give Anthony an apologetic glance before I follow in Eric’s footsteps.
* * *
We drive home in silence, wrapped in too many layers of things left unsaid. Owen’s not meeting my eyes, and we exchange muted good-byes when I drop him off in front of his house.
The windows of my house are dark when I pull into the driveway. I walk in the front door, past the remnants of what looks like a family craft night, and up to my room. It takes everything I have not to slam the door behind me. It’s not just thoughts of Anthony and Owen that torment me. It’s something more selfish, too—that I teared up in front of them, and I’m not the kind of girl who cries.