Bet on It (76)

Walker sighed, trying to think of a way out of this. “I’ve just been missin’ Gram is all. Plus, it’s kind of weird bein’ back in Charleston with so much around me after spendin’ so much time in Greenbelt. The change of pace has me a little shook up.”

That wasn’t untrue, but it didn’t make up the bulk of his shitty disposition, not nearly. Corey and Adya looked at him dubiously, and even Jamie looked unconvinced.

“You can talk to us about anything, man,” Jamie said softly. “It’s not like we don’t know you. Because we do—we know you, Walker. We know when something isn’t right.”

They didn’t know that he’d found himself in love in a matter of weeks. That he’d gotten fully enraptured by a woman who made him feel like he was capable of anything in the world.

They also didn’t know that he was struggling like hell to figure out this shit with his dad. Benny had called him two days after he’d arrived in Greenbelt. Walker hadn’t answered, but Benny had left a voice message requesting that he call him back—please. Once again, Walker had found himself at a loss for words, so he’d put the call off.

How could he tell his father that he didn’t know how to be his son? That underneath all the avoidance and panic was fear. Stinking, sour, clawing fear that he would open himself up, allow himself to be close to his father, only to be hurt again. He wasn’t a child, and he didn’t need to be taken care of like one. Being grown meant that he didn’t depend on Benny for the same things he had. It wasn’t the material things he was afraid of losing, but the precarious hold he had on his mental health. He didn’t know how he’d survive it if a relationship he cultivated with Benny turned out to be unhealthy.

He debated whether to tell his friends the truth. What good would it do? It wasn’t like they could fix things for him. Spin the world around on its axis until he and Aja were able to be together without causing themselves harm. They also couldn’t make his faith in his father something that he felt like he could hold on to.

But he was tired of keeping it all to himself. He hadn’t managed to find a new therapist since he’d returned, and he was feeling the effects of that more every day. His friends weren’t his counse-lors, but they had never been anything other than accepting. And the more accepting they became, the harder it got for him to hold his secrets so close to his chest. Maybe that was why it all hurt so much—because he hadn’t allowed himself to open up about it at all.

“I met a woman in Greenbelt.” Corey’s eyes widened, and Walker focused his gaze on an art print behind his friend instead. He’d start with Aja, not because it felt like a simpler issue to tackle, but because, somehow, the baggage of their situation felt less strenuous to carry. “Her name is Aja, and she’s unbelievable. Smart and funny and just as fucked up as me but constantly working on it. And … I love her.”

His words made it sound so easy, but he had no other way to put it. There was no way he was about to recount every little thing that had happened between him and Aja. He was open to sharing with them, but some things were just for him. The little intricacies of their time together didn’t need to be shared with everyone for his feelings to be understood.

“Wait,” Corey said, leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. “You’re telling me that you went home to take care of your grandmother and accidentally ended up falling for somebody? And that every single time we talked while you were there, you failed to bring it up?” He paused, but his mouth gaped. “Hold the fuck up, is this that same ‘friend’ you told me you’d made right when you got there? The one you claimed you weren’t going down on?”

Adya flicked Corey on the ear. “He literally said he wasn’t going down on her, you damn fool.”

“You let her see our texts?” Walker scoffed.

Corey shrugged. “Sometimes she texts for me when I’m driving.”

“Jesus Christ.” Walker rubbed a hand across his forehead, his exasperation growing stronger by the second. “I was not going down on her. I mean … not at that point. Later I di—” he cut himself off by clearing his throat. “I didn’t bring it up because I knew nothin’ could actually come of it.”

“Why not?” Adya asked.

“Because I’m here and she’s there and neither of those facts are changin’ anytime soon.”

Adya scowled at him. “It’s 2022, Walker—you’ve never heard of phone calls? Text messages? Skype? There are tons of ways to have a relationship with somebody that you can’t see in person all the time. You know that my only other long-term relationship outside of Corey was with someone who lived in London, right?”

He did know. And like the first time he’d heard about her mostly virtual five-year relationship, he found himself unable to see how that could be fulfilling for him personally.

“We made it work for a long time,” she continued. “And we were four thousand miles away from each other. You’re less than one hundred from your girl as we speak.”

“And when that relationship finally ended, was it because y’all didn’t love each other anymore, or was it because you realized that the distance between you wasn’t as easy to get over as you thought?”

He knew this part of the story too. And maybe it was a low blow, but he found it impossible not to bring up. After nearly half a decade of trying to make it work with each other, Adya and her ex had finally realized they weren’t comfortable sacrificing the lives they’d made outside of each other. The fantasy broke, and when it came time to take stock of what they wanted for their actual lives, it became clear that the other person didn’t fit anymore.