You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(22)

Can’t tell you that, Vail. Can’t tell you that I was twelve years old when my parents got back together for the millionth time and took off for AC. On day four with no money and no food, I left the house. I wandered into Mooney Books, and the “old man” gave me a cold slice of pepperoni and The Catcher in the Rye.

“I dunno. Just kinda happened.”

You shrink a bit, and I’m losing you because girls are curious. That sixth sense, that extra hole, and why oh why can’t we just fucking love people? Why do you want to know all my secrets? Why can’t love mean that you don’t give a fucking fuck about my past?

“Joe…Never mind.”

A puddle in the sidewalk and we break apart, and is that what’s happening to us? “Vail, come on. What’s up?”

“Well, it’s just…I want to know you, you know?”

And I want to fuck you and no one ever really knows anyone and I nod. “Me too.”

“You say that, and I’m sure you mean it, but sometimes it feels like…Okay, like at the Indian place. I know that was shitty on my part. I’m a terrible person.”

We settled this and I don’t know why girls go backward when life goes forward. Push fucking push. “You were just nervous, Sitcom. We’re past that.”

You nod because you need me, because you’re scared of losing me. “The thing is…The whole time we were sitting there…I know you felt sick and all, but I’m telling stories and barista dude is telling stories and…I want your stories, Joe. I do.”

It’s a test. Life is always a test, and you’re doing it. You’re testing me. Twirling your red scarf like a witch with a scepter. It’s like that other guidance counselor I had in middle school, the one with a tight perm who said my mother had two days to get me new sneakers. If I don’t open up to you about something right now, I’m going to lose you. But it’s not fair. All the stories I have are bad and sad. No family dinners. No crazy plane rides to places like Turks and Caicos.

You take my hand. “Are you okay?”

I’m sweating and you know it. You feel my sticky palms. “Of course.”

“Phew,” you say. “No pressure, Cusack.”

You hold my hand. Tight. And then your phone rings. You groan. Cynthia.

You take the call, and I wipe my hands on my pants.

“Slow down…. Well, why didn’t you just leave? Well, I told you. The answering machine is broken…. Did he leave a voicemail on your cell?…Cynthia, I did not erase the messages…. You do not have a yeast infection…. It’s okay…. It’s fine…. I would but…Okay. Okay, just eat something…. Yes, H?agen-Dazs is a good thing, vanilla…. Yes, babe, it’s good that it wasn’t Rocky Road or mocha chip…. You just need to shower…. Yes, okay…. Okay, bye, honey.”

You hang up. You sigh. “Sorry.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Ha,” you say. “Well, if I have to know, you do too. She just woke up with some guy and she was glued to the sheets. I guess she blacked out with a quart of ice cream, and they were getting weird with it and…I think I am not in the mood for frozen hot chocolate.”

It’s all I’ve wanted to do since the day you kissed me, but sure. It’s okay for Cynthia to have nothing but bad, sad stories, and yet it’s not okay for me. None of this is okay. “Okay.”

You nudge me. “Don’t worry, Cusack. We’ll get there. We will. But if you’re not okay and you really wanna go…”

I’m not doing a good job with my face. You see the letdown. I put on a happy face. “Sitcom, I mean it. It’s fine.”

You lick those lips, the ones that came for me on Houston and Mercer. “So obviously, my place is out of the question, but your place…Whaddya say, Cusack? Do you guys have HBO?” You say that like it’s my place, like Dumb and Dumber are my buddies, and nope. Plus, they’re home tonight. They found new astrology sluts at a frat party. I can’t let you see my cardboard box with the mattress I pulled off the street. It’s one thing to get the runs in public, but to be living in a box…in a cardboard box. It’s the story of my life. I don’t have a place. Never did. But oh to be with you on a sofa, your boots off, your head on my lap.

“Yep, we can do that.”

You are happy now. You can’t wait to see where I live, but you can’t see where I live. I need to buy time. I point at a diner.

“Oh,” you say. “I’m good with snacks at your place. Or later tonight after…you know, we can order Benny’s Burritos or something.”

That’s code for I WANT YOUR PORTNOY TO FUCK ME SIDEWAYS, and this should be a good thing, a great thing. You want Sex and sex.

“So which way do we go? You said you’re downtown, right?”

I’ve never seen you like this. Openly pawing at me with those big eyes. I am the attraction, and you want me to come, but where are we supposed to go? The subway is two blocks away, but I can’t take you home because I don’t have one, not a real one.

“God,” you say. “I am so that girl, you know? I can’t wait to see pictures of you, baby pictures and school pictures and all that. Yee!”

I can’t show you those things because I don’t have those things, and I thought I was in the clear. In all the books, the girl wants the guy to go to her place. But you…You want my sofa, my bed, my Portnoy, my past. You squeeze my hand. “You okay, Cusack?”