You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(118)

We will never have dinner with my parents, but I can come inside of you. “Okay.”

“He says coffee shop at seven and I’m there at six fifty-nine, and he’s outside waiting. I’m fluttering. It’s so romantic, we’re getting serious and then…he just wants his dog tags.”

Asshole. “Shit.”

“I told you it was bad!”

The only thing keeping me alive is your laughter. Tragedy plus murder equals survival. I’ll get through this. I will. “Eh, it’s cute. You’re cute, and he could be a real fucking asshole.”

“No, Joe, he wasn’t a bad guy. We were babies. We just didn’t know it.”

You were a baby, and he was an asshole. But now is now. “You hungry?”

You touch your chest. “And then he wants me back, he’s sending me the flowers and begging me for another chance…Total puppy dog mode. Remember that night we all went to the Indian place? Oh, the guilt…Also side note. I love how we can talk about anything, you know?”

Not really, Vail, and wait. Guilt? “I thought you were mad at me about my flannel.”

“Oh, right, yeah, but beyond that…mostly I felt so bad being with you because, well, he was sort of obsessed with me. The drugs and the girls…I think he was just nursing a broken heart, you know? A little bit too sensitive for this planet, I guess.”

I’M THE SENSITIVE ONE, YOU DUMMY. “I can see that, I think.”

“So there I was with you…you can make all the babies in the world. I felt so bad for him…. You got sick and after you left…oh, he begged me to go home with him….” I am in awe of you, Vail. Do you believe the horseshit that flows out of your mouth? Is there a Wonderbra strapped around your brain? I know why you rewrite history. You want me to see you as a lovable princess. Same way you told Dick that I was the one chasing you. I can’t believe you are lying to yourself at this level. And for me now! It is progress and I accept you for the nervous little liar that you are. I love all of you. Unlike some people. You can show me yours all day long, build a world where Dick worshipped you in full. But I will never show you mine. I got my stuff. I killed a guy. I’m a sap. Gullible and forgiving. But my flaws are my business.

I think that’s called compromise.

“Anyway, Joe. I’m sorry. I’ll stop going on about him. It’s hard to explain.”

“It’s okay. You had it bottled up and you’re getting it off your chest.”

And soon we’ll never speak of the motherfucker again.

You’re crying again. This time, it is a good thing. A bye-bye-bye style cry. You’re scared that I won’t love you just because he didn’t love you. There’s nothing to worry about, not anymore. I am the man, your man. I can give you children and pearl necklaces until the cows come home. And who knows? Maybe he was honest with you. Maybe he didn’t jizz. I don’t care. He is gone. He was using you, and I was right to remove him from the equation. You are not a therapist and you are not his sister or his mother. You are mine, all mine.

You pull away. Oops. My Portnoy got excited. “Not now. Not yet, okay?”

“Sorry. It just happened.”

“I am not ready for that.”

“I know.”

You yawn. You want to take a shower and change into something cozy. I do not ask if you want company.

“I’m pretty fucked-up, Joe.”

“Me too, Vail. It’s what you say to me.” And Dick, grr. “Everyone poops.”

You leave to wash up with a singsongy I love you. I me too you and I sit in your chair by the window. There’s a lesson in here, Vail. Dick had the chance to be honest with me, to tell me what he told you (if it was true). The more I sit with it, the more the no-jizz thing feels like the truth. It does explain a lot. Would I have killed him if he came clean? I tried. I asked him why he’s fucked-up about women. If he told me the real reason he’s scared of love…

There’s the lesson. Speak the truth, or a lie can kill you.

Soon, you come back to me. Better now. Clean. All cozied up in…Oh fuck.

You’re wearing my shitty black sweatpants, my murder pants.

Your hands are in your pockets, my pockets. Your lower lip trembles and the city doesn’t quit. Sirens and Jane’s Addiction from a scratchy car radio and a hot dog cart with a bad fucking wheel. Jane says, “I’m done with Sergio; he treats me like a rag doll.”

“Vail…”

I don’t finish my sentence. I can’t. You’ve got one hand in your pocket and here comes the other hand and it’s holding Dick’s dog tags.





41


It’s been seven minutes and I don’t know how many centuries and you’re still at it, still shouting. You didn’t find a smoking gun; it’s a set of dog tags. But you scream at me like you caught me red-fucking-handed. Most guys in my position would fight or fly away down the stairs, but I can’t do that. I can’t run out on my investment. I mean, come on, Vail.

I killed for you. I love you. We’ve been sitting shiva for sixty-something hours. I’ve taken care of you, tossed your frosted cupcake tops in the trash, assured you that you don’t smell (you do). There are stages of grief, I know. I did feel like you were stiffening up a little—Not yet, Joe—like you wanted me to fuck up so you’d have a reason to lash out at me, tie me to your whipping post. And it’s a first for me. I actually kind of…I want want to be whipped by you.