Loverboy Butch, page 20
‘You guys heading home in a second?’ I ask when he moves towards the now vacated camper van.
‘Nah. Dexy has rented the van from their friend for another night, so we’re gonna stick the rain out and chill.’
‘Nice.’ I say, thinking the exact opposite.
‘Besides, Mia has offered for them to help on the site for a bit, so they might stick around for a couple of weeks and make a bit of floating cash. I’ll probably stay as long as Arch can spare me from the shop.’ He chuckles and then turns to face me with that Carpenter-Brown smile that’s so damn infectious. ‘Hey, you don’t wanna take my shifts, do you?’
He’s joking, but weirdly, I wish I could say yes. I would much prefer to spend tomorrow and Tuesday working on cars with Archer and Kyle rather than in my beige cubicle under artificial lighting. I smile, laugh politely like I’m supposed to and suppress the impulse to agree.
‘Dex is staying here?’ Trying to distract my mind from its erratic wants, I focus on what Parker left unsaid.
If Dex is staying on the campsite with their friend, helping out for a few weeks, it means that they’re going back to their regular ways. They might not bother to come home and see everyone before jetting off again. This week, it’s a campsite in the New Forest, next week, it’s Prague or Peru or wherever they’re sending skateboarding influencers these days.
For some reason, it’s as though I’ve swallowed a rock as I reckon with the thought. It wedges itself in my throat, and I gulp it down, pushing until it lodges itself in my chest, weighing on my heart. If Dex never comes back, we will never get a chance to revisit last night. Not to finish it, but to at least talk it through.
It dawns on me all too slowly that they probably realised this.
Without seeing me again, they won’t have to let me down easily or hurt my feelings in any visible way. I see it now, how they’ll just slip away, shirking their responsibilities once more, running away from the mess they made in just two short weeks.
The stone sinks to my stomach, its weight grounding my feet to the floor.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Dex comes skipping up, their hair water-logged again, a stunning granola blonde in tow. She looks like something out of a Western movie; her hair is the colour of wheat, and she’s wearing high-cut shorts, red cowboy boots and a peasant shirt that is practically plastered to her bare chest. It is shockingly braless and deliberately visible in this weather.
It’s the sort of unapologetic self-confidence I want to admire. She looks amazing with or without the bra, but the second I notice the hoodie she’s wearing, whose hoodie she’s wearing, I hate her.
I feel foolish. Just another girl in a worldwide conquest. A blank space to fill the time while Dex was home. Less than twelve hours have passed, and already, some other girl is wearing their hoodie.
It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.
I wish I could say I stayed strong, my cold, hard exterior returning quickly enough to conceal my pain. It would be a lie.
Have you ever sat in the corner of a class you aren’t good at, faced with a word problem that stumped you? You’re in your regular seat, you usually understand at least half of what is said by the teacher, and only an hour ago, you were at lunch laughing with your friends and having a pretty good day. Maybe you didn’t want to come to this class, but you weren’t expecting to have your self-esteem completely obliterated. Yet there you are, blinking back tears, staring down at an unsolvable problem. It makes no sense; you’re trying to find its solution, applying all the knowledge you’ve learnt from the teacher, but you can’t make any answer make sense. You know the wrong ones when you write them out, but haven’t found your way to the right one, and now, you’ve run out of solutions. You are exasperated and exhausted, and to make matters worse, everyone around you is flying through it, not stuck on this one silly problem that’s halted the progress of your life. You can’t do anything about it. The teacher hasn’t gotten to you yet to answer questions, and you refuse to publicly admit that you’re stupid, so you do nothing. You’ve wasted so much time on this one question that the rest of them feel like a wash. You’ve already fallen behind everyone else, but you have to just turn the page and pretend that you aren’t crumbling under the pressure of your private shame. Completely lost, maybe a solitary tear dripping on the page, as you can’t help but wallow in your self-pity.
That is how I am feeling. Humiliated in front of only myself, confidence demolished, and forced to pretend that I’m not fighting back tears at the thought of being so foolish.
I’ve always had a great knack for self-loathing, but I’m taking it to a new level right now. My self-loathing isn’t just reserved for me. It’s a burning supernova bound for collision, and Dex is a stray object trapped in its trajectory. If I’m being devastated, I’m taking them down in the crash.
They’re still bounding towards us, blissfully ignorant of the hatred they’ve just reignited in me.
‘Oh, cool, you’re still here!’ They grin at me. ‘Dean, this is my friend Mia, who runs the site, Mia, this is Dean, she’s-’
‘Just leaving.’ I cut them off. I angle my head away so that I can’t see the way the smile tumbles off of Dex’s wet face.
‘Cool name,’ Mia nods, unperturbed by my rudeness.
‘Thanks.’
‘And you must be Parker, right?’
Parker and Mia chat engagingly about the farm, he’s immediately more excited than I have seen him in years, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the stunning woman or the wildlife. Probably both.
‘You sure you and Pom don’t want to stay and dry off a bit?’ Dex asks, shifting their posture towards me, their shoulder shielding us from Parker and Mia’s conversation to create the illusion of privacy. It does nothing to soothe me. I can still see the worn blue fabric of their hoodie covering her head. I still know that Dex’s attention had moved on to its next flavour of the week lover.
Bitterly I wonder if they found time to fuck her already while I was saying goodbye to our parents. It would be just like them.
‘No thanks, I have things to get back to, unlike some people.’ There might have been a way to administer those words like a joke, but I do it with every ounce of contempt I can muster.
It has the desired effect. Dex’s auburn eyebrows crumple together as they try to catch my eye.
‘Okay, ouch,’ they half-heartedly chuckle. ‘Well, I guess I’ll see you—’
‘Don’t worry about it, Dexy.’
‘What?’
‘You’re going to go back to doing your thing. Hopping around from place to place, woman to woman. You don’t need to do the little speech-’
‘What little speech?’ They sound confused, and I remind myself that this is how people get away with crushing girls’ hearts like grapes to make wine. They play innocent, naive, someone who would never purposefully hurt you.
‘The one where you tell me it was fun, but you don’t do repeat visits. I get it. It was a bet. You won. No hard feelings.’
‘Dean, that’s not-’
‘This is just what you do. You run away when things get weird or hard.’ I glance over at the other two and drop to a whisper. ‘Last night was a mistake anyway. A slip-up.’
Their eyes are locked on my face, dancing around, trying to get my attention. I stay steadfastly focused on my shoes, refusing to give them the privilege of my attention.
‘Do you genuinely believe those things?’
‘It was a mistake.’ I try my best to sound cold and firm and not to let the emotional quaver of my voice creep in. ‘You’re flighty. Irresponsible. It’s just who you are.’ I’m not sure I believe those two, but I’ve said them aloud now, and I can’t take them back.
‘I don’t understand where this is coming from. We were good. I apologised. We’ve been good!’
‘It’s not coming from anywhere. I’m just stopping before you feel the need to make a big deal of something that meant nothing.’ I protest.
‘Okay, hey, take a beat. Do you want to stop before you say something you’ll regret?’ Dex uses a calm, distant tone, and it grates on me.
How dare they be so relaxed when I’ve just taken shots at their character! How dare they not care that I’ve told them everything between us was a mistake! It was a lie, or at least an overreaction, on my part, but seeing them this unbothered by it hurts more than I could ever have anticipated.
‘This isn’t new. You bolt the second life gets real.’ Instead of retracting my knife, I gouge the wound wider.
‘That’s rich.’ They scoff, and I’m rewarded with the flicker of annoyance that underlines their words.
Finally, I’ve had some emotional impact on them.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ My voice trembles as my anger flares.
They fold their arms over their chest and double-check that Parker and Mia remain unaware of our tiff.
‘Your life wouldn’t know real if it came and bonked it on the head. Everything about your life is meticulously curated so that it stays at arm’s length. A job you don’t like. Friends you never engage with. Romantic partners you aren’t interested in. You don’t give your real opinions on anything. You hold back. You always hold back.’
That is the final straw for me. I can’t stand here and let them rip me to shreds when Dex has already done enough emotional damage for a lifetime. I already feel too small for this kind of talk.
Their words hurt, and maybe, another time, I might be able to admit that some small part of them is accurate, but not right now.
‘Who needs friends like you anyway?’ I mutter just loud enough for them to catch, and to my relief, my sister rolls down Hedy’s window to whine.
‘De, move it, I’m freezing my tits off here!’
I take that as my exit signal and turn to wave a curt goodbye to Mia and Parker, ignoring as Dex calls out to me one final time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dex
Summer doesn’t so much slip as skitter away from me like a many-legged critter I am failing to capture. Before I know it, the long, light summer nights are skulking back into shadows, bringing a brisk chill with them.
It’s surprisingly nice to watch the seasons change from the safe consistency of one window. The full-blooming tree outside Parker’s spare bedroom begins to wilt a little, its leaves ripening in colour until they blend in with the early sunset behind them, the warm russet and umber hues of a fox. It’s comforting to track its progress parallel to mine, seeing the evidence that staying still doesn’t have to mean staying the same.
‘Tell me again what it is that you do?’ Hawa feigns ignorance from the phone in my hand.
‘I’m an insurance viability claim advisor.’
This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation. The wheres and whys of my current role get most of my friends hung up, but it pays decently and leaves me enough free time to work towards something enjoyable, so I’m stomaching my way through it.
‘Those are just words jumbled up to make a title. That’s not what you do.’
‘I sort through old files for claims that never went anywhere and bring them up so my company can pass them onto other insurance companies, who will then call to hassle them about a possible claim they will inevitably not want to make. Is that what you want to hear?’
‘So you just facilitate cold calls.’
‘That’s precisely what I do. They pay me to rummage around in a labyrinth of filing cabinets, supply a weekly report of contacts, and dispose of the rubbish. It’s not exactly ethical, but it’s no worse than any other office job.’ I chug the last of my Coke can and lean back on the bed.
‘Do you even have an office?’
‘No, but I have the basement, and no one else wants to come down there because it’s dusty, and I have a desk and a swivel chair, which is kind of like having an office.’
‘Only you would find this job and not hate it.’
‘Now, no more about my boring butt show me the ring!’
Graciously, Hawa obliged, hovering the back of her left hand in front of the camera to show off her whopper of a rock.
‘Good god, I didn’t know teachers made that kinda money in the States.’
‘They do not,’ my friend is practically glowing with pride. It’s nice to see her so visibly happy from afar; my insides feel like they are, in some small part, basking in the excess warmth of her glow. ‘Iman is calling it an investment in their future.’
‘Can’t fault that logic.’
I only know Iman in passing. They met while I was in Canada, the winter before last, and didn’t start living together until I headed home, so the only quality time we spent together was sharing a wing of that Hampton’s mansion back in June. We have that strange mutual fondness you gain when you both love the same person in different but no less wonderful ways.
‘What are we thinking? Spring wedding, summer, destination?’
‘Dude, relax. My mother doesn’t know yet; I am not ready to make any plans before I’ve done the numbers.’
In response to that nonsense, I make a fart noise. ‘Bo-ring. Call me back when you find your sense of fun again.’
‘If you don’t stop being such a little bitch about this, I’m going to have to find another butch of honour.’ Hawa holds my gaze, and I just know that she was holding that little nugget in to use when I pissed her off.
She was right, too, obviously, because it makes me shriek with glee. I’ve never been a part of a wedding before, at least not in an accessory sense. Poppy and Arch still haven’t made it down the aisle despite putting a ring on it more than a decade ago, Nora and Liam have no plans to, and, despite being relatively popular most of my life, I’ve never had any friends close enough to offer me so much as an usher position. Well, with one notable exception, but the thought of Dean and weddings in the same sentence makes my stomach twist itself up.
My reaction might have been a fraction too loud, though, because Parker peeks his head through the door in alarm.
‘You good?’
‘Oh, shit, yeah.’ I smile and turn the phone to face him so that Hawa can flash the ring once more.
‘Bloody Nora, that’s a big diamond,’ he says in response.
‘Thank you, cutie,’ Hawa singsongs back down the phone.
When we first met, it took Hawa all of about three seconds to comment on how hot she thought my siblings were. I mean, across-the-board markings and what she would say if she saw them in a bar. She was a particularly big fan of Parker. I believe the words she used, despite my gagging, were ‘he’s got a rough and tumble look I’d take for a ride’. Needless to say, I’ve done my best to keep them apart ever since.
It doesn’t exactly help that Parker finally realised who Hawa is two months ago. I get that she doesn’t look the same as the lanky, awkward ‘boy’ who used to be reblogged repeatedly on Parker’s Tumblr and pinned to his wall as a teen.
Once he realised why she looked so familiar, their friendship appeared to be destiny, whether I attempt to keep them apart or not.
‘If you’re not dying and you have a spare minute, can I pry you away to help carry some boxes down to the car?’ He asks in an unusually polite tone.
I know my brother, and this is not how we interact, so either something is wrong, or Parker needs a favour, either way, I’m too curious for my own good. I sign off with Hawa, promising that I’ll call her soon so we can make more business plans and I can hassle her about weddings before trotting into his room.
The walls are strangely bare; the shelves filled only with dusty knick-knacks and books, I assume Park has no intention of taking. At the foot of the bed are six large boxes labelled clothes, crochet, and miscellaneous shit.
‘You got to work quick.’ I survey the remaining things he has to pack, impressed.
It’s only been three weeks since Parker announced his grand plan to move into that old decked-out van of Mia’s and help her run the farm in the campsite’s off-season, and he’s mostly already moved out.
He does, in theory, still legally live with me. His room will stay empty to house his furniture, and he’ll pay half the rent for a couple of months to test his plan before jumping head-first. I can’t complain; a two-bedroom flat to myself for a discounted fee is nothing to scoff at, but truth be told, I don’t think he’s coming back.
As we share the weight of one of the book boxes and head down to the car, I try to cut to the chase.
Parker has been doing what he calls a ‘slow move’ where he takes one car full of things up to the farm at a time, every few days, and I’m beginning to wonder whether there’s more to that than meets the eye.
‘How much room is there in this van? You’ve got a ton of stuff for a quote-unquote temporary situation, my guy.’
‘Mia’s offered to put some of it in the main house for me while I get settled.’
‘So you think you’ll like it there long-term?’
He clears his throat and smiles. ‘It’s good work.’
‘Sure. It’s just about the work.’
‘Dexy?’
‘Mm-hmm?’
‘Do you think that there’s any chance Mia might like to go out with me?’
I snort, shifting the sharp edge of the cardboard box in my grip before my fingers go completely numb.
‘The girl is housing you, feeding you, and employing you.’
‘So?’
‘I think there’s more than a chance, dipshit.’
The corner of my brother’s mouth tips skyward, in the smallest indication of a smile, as if he is trying to keep it private.
This doesn’t come as a complete surprise to me, given that he hasn’t stopped talking about Mia since I introduced them four months ago.
It’s easy to see how they could work. Parker is laid back and introverted, Mia is the same kind of happy-go-lucky person, but she’s much more extroverted. I have never seen her hold her tongue when someone needs to be set straight or see someone floundering socially and not extend the offer of friendship.
