You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(66)

And I get where you have to be so cautious with our titles. You work for a machine that teaches women to think men are incapable of being a fucking boyfriend. But you feel me, Vail, don’t you? You feel me doing things for you, preparing for you. That’s why you called twice today. Once to bitch about Barry—I am not a location scout, location scouts get paid!—and once to say you miss me—What are you wearing right now? I like you like this. Wanting me to walk through the day with you. Torturing me by spending the night at your place instead of mine. Girls need alone time or we stop looking like girls, my dear. Ah, you’re adorable. And in the morning, my bed is too big and I miss you but that’s okay. It’s okay because it’s fun to exit my loft in SoHo and feel tourists eye me like I must be special. Amazing, the way strangers who don’t matter have the power to make you realize you do fucking matter. I spend an hour picking out a hot pink gift bag in a dainty little stationery store, and Mooney has a point, he does. Fucking SoHo, fucking tragedy, what it used to be, but at the moment, fucking useful.

The girl at the register hands me the receipt. “Wow,” she says. “You’re the world’s best boyfriend. I never saw a guy spend that much time and look at that much stuff.”

I laugh at her because of you. I know you’re not my boyfriend. Ha. And then I thank the girl and run before she can put the moves on me. I’m feeling myself, and Mooney’s Benjamins are burning a hole in my pocket, so I glide into Marc Jacobs and buy a soft black sweater. A birthday suit for me to match your raspberry beret, the birthday suit I got for you.

My Motorola rings, and I forgot about the world. About people who aren’t you.

“?’Sup, Dick?”

“So he is alive.”

I let Dick ride my ass about being pussy-whipped and before you know it he’s talking to me about all the boring shit in his lonely life. The indie movie he’s maybe shooting and a disease Schlitz caught off some girl. The poor guy is jealous and how could he not be?

“Fuck,” I say. “STDs…bad dates…I’m glad I’m done with that sleeping-around shit.”

He laughs. “Right, Goldballs. Sure thing.”

I slip on a scab of ice, and Dick cackles. First time in weeks that I’m not a cool cat.

I cling to my precious cargo. He’s like Mooney, just jealous. “I slipped is all, I’m fine.”

“So there’s a rave where every prep school chick in the city is looking to get down.”

Gross under any circumstances, but I humor the poor guy. “Ah, were that I was single.”

“Don’t be a doormat, Goldbitch. You’re not married…. I hope.”

“No, but I am out shopping for birthday presents and she did invite me to her party so, ya know…. It’s like that.”

“Huh.”

I stop in my tracks. I don’t like that sound, that silence that follows. Does he know something, Vail? Did he see something? Did I miss something? Did you do something?

“Kid,” he says. “I think you’d better get down here. I think we gotta talk.”





23


I was good, Vail. Wrapped up like Pop Rocks. Safe with you, sure of you, us. But now I’m climbing the subway stairs and again I hit ice—fuck you, Manhattan—and I have to calm down. Gently, Joseph. You’re my girlfriend. You called me twice today. That’s textbook girlfriend shit. Things with us are good and real. Perfect. But there it is again.

I know you’re not my boyfriend.

I bust into the Beanery, and Dick makes a face. “No caffeine for you, son.”

I sit at the counter. I sweat. “What did you mean? What did she say?”

“Have you looked in a mirror, kid?”

“I was in a rush.”

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s some truth right there.”

I drink my glass of water and give Dick the update on our sleepovers and here it comes. Another fucking lecture. He says I can’t give myself away to you. He says it’s a turnoff for a girl, the way I’m always with you, never with anyone else. Open 24-7 like a fucking bodega.

“I’m not an idiot, okay? It’s not like I told her I love her or anything.”

“But she told you she doesn’t want a commitment.”

“Not exactly, and you know girls…They have to say that.”

He eyes the pink bag. The Marc Jacobs bag too. I grab my stuff. Mine.

He says a girl he was actually pretty into once gave him the heave-ho because he bought her a Brita water filter. “I keep telling you, kid. It happens to all of us. You like her too much and she knows it, so where’s the challenge for her?”

I know you’re not my boyfriend. You are holding back a little bit. Two phone calls in one day is not two fuck-fests in one day. I can’t lose you. I just can’t. “So, what do I do?”

“Well, you can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. Your only move now is…Seriously, what’s in the bag?”

“I didn’t go crazy. Most of it’s for me.”

“So what’s the plan? Did you make reservations and shit?”

“I told you. She’s having a party.”

“Ouch.”

“No ouch. She invited me and it’s just a few friends getting together at Botanica. She and her roommate planned it before we got serious. It’s cool.”