揑 knew you didn抰 like him. I didn抰 think you抎 want to know either way at the time.?A half-truth.
揌e was a doofus. It抯 not that he was unlikeable, I guess. He just wasn抰 likable either.?
揧ou were a dick to him and you know it.?
揑 was the same to him as I am to every little boy you抳e had hanging on your coattails that is undeserving, Fee,?he spits.
揌e was the same age as me, Meyer.?
揧ou were dating down, Jones. He was small-minded compared to you. That抯 all that I meant by that.?
I adjust my purse on my shoulder, wondering how to put this to him honestly while saving face.
In the end, I抎 read Joe wrong. I thought he was as invested as I was, which, if I was to quantify it, would probably have been about fifty percent. We wouldn抰 talk every day, but we weren抰 sleeping with other people or anything, either. We certainly weren抰 making declarations of love, but I did see him at least once a week for about five months.
But, then there was his birthday. I抎 felt terrible that I didn抰 realize it sooner, but Meyer and I had a seven day trip scheduled up in San Francisco to do a series of shows. It was to start in S.F., immediately followed by Oakland, and San Jose. And, we抎 worked it out for Marissa （who was working out amazingly as his new tutor and quasi-nanny） to fly up with Hazel halfway through so that we could go to Alcatraz, as well as a play for her early birthday gift. The Cursed Child was playing, and the translators were incredible?I抎 scoped it out myself to make sure.
I could tell that Joe was already a little perturbed to come second so easily, but he didn抰 make a fuss over it, so I just figured it wasn抰 worth hashing out?
Until Hazel got a nasty flu two days into us being away. Meyer flew back immediately, and I came as soon as my last show was done two days after.
I walked through the front door of the condo he抎 been packing up to sell, to the faint smell of bleach and sickness. He and Hazel were convalescing in separate rooms, but Haze was already through the worst of it. She was tired and living on whatever Marissa would drop off on the doorstep （sporting no less than a hazmat suit）， but, she had her TV and Netflix with subtitles in her room.
Meyer, on the other hand, was ill.
I am all for poking fun at the man flu, but this man was truly sick. 103 degree fevers that I could only get to break by alternating Motrin and Tylenol, and even then would only get down to 100, for over three days straight. He could hardly keep down water, to the point that I was one foot out the door away from dragging his ass to the emergency room, before he finally turned the corner.
He抎 only ever had a goatee or nothing before then, but the days of barely coming to life, only to move from the bed to the bathroom, had given him enough stubble to pass for a beard.
I propped him up in bed, a freshly cleaned sheet tucked around his bare, clammy shoulders, and started spoon feeding him broth.
揑抦 surprised you抮e not complaining about this,?I said to him with a frown. He just looked at me with sad, bloodshot eyes.
揧ou抳e already heard the sound that comes out of me when I vomit. I can give you this,?he抎 croaked, his deep voice made even deeper by hoarseness.
And that was Meyer at his most vulnerable, I realized.
He抎 made himself into a man that really didn抰 use humor or sarcasm to shield himself anymore, unless it was for my benefit. He抎 worked tirelessly to be a better version of himself for his daughter, to constantly take care of everyone who mattered to him. But he抎 slipped just a little in that moment with me. It made me realize what a gift I抎 been given in him allowing me?in all my sarcastic, bawdy, glory?into the steel bubble that he抎 built around himself and Hazel.
For some inexplicable reason, he抎 let me knock on the secret door and waltz right in from the moment he met me. That was a small moment, when he was feeling incredibly weak and probably deeply embarrassed, where I could see him figuratively trying to tidy up, trying to keep me at the threshold.
I chose to shove past it. I put my palm to his cheek and ran my thumb against the new stubble there. 揑 like you with the beard.?
Once he抎 kept the broth and some crackers down for over six hours, I decided to head home, indescribably worn out from days of worry and little sleep. When I showed up to the rental, Joe was there, sitting on my front step.
揓oe?hey.?
揇on抰 worry. I won抰 take up any of your time.?
揥hat? What do you棑
揑 was at Lance抯 last night, with my buddies, for my birthday.?He looked at me and let that realization set in.
Fuck. I hadn抰 even texted him.
揌e told me you抳e been home for four days, Farley. I thought you were still in San Francisco this entire time, and you couldn抰 even give me the heads up that you were coming home.?
揓oe. Shit, I抦？I抦 sorry.?I抦 also just so very tired and would like to get past you and get into my bed, I抎 thought.
揑t抯？Well, I抎 love to say it抯 alright, but you know what? It抯 not. I抳e tried to be whatever it is that works for you. I抳e tried to just fit, in whatever capacity you抣l have me. I抳e been extremely respectful of the fact that you are passionate about your career, and have supported you putting it first. But, Farley, I think it抯 to the point that you抎 put your career梩hat version of you that lives on stage梐bove every other part of yourself. It抯 like it抯 this whole separate you, and you抮e willing to actually set aside your own happiness, and every other part of your life, in order for that one part of you to thrive. You can抰 make it through a meal without having to write some bit down. You can抰 go to a restaurant without having to watch other couples and what they抮e doing so you can invent some joke about it. You couldn抰 even fucking call me on my birthday,?he sighed, and I was overcome with the realization that Joe was actually not unaffected, and that everything Joe was saying was true.
Except, it wasn抰 the case when I was with Meyer, or with Hazel. Sometimes not even Marissa.
But especially, above all else, never with Meyer.
Sometimes when I was with him, I would get annoyed that I抎 even have to write something down, because I was too busy enjoying myself otherwise. I抎 do it anyway, of course, because I knew I抎 forget later. But the material that would come to me when I was with Meyer was just stuff that would happen in our conversations, in whatever we were doing. I didn抰 have to entirely fabricate anything, with him, ever.
Joe left without saying anything more, and I let him.
He抯 only ever late-night texted me once, and he followed it up with an apology text the very next morning.
I never cried over it. At least, not until I realized that I didn抰 even feel his absence from my life, which prompted me to truly open up to my therapist, Dr. Deb, for the first time. It was the first time I was sincerely worried about who I was becoming as a person. About my detachment.
I realized that I had been using another human being to meet a need, all while having my heart occupied by another.
揊ee. Did he梙e didn抰 do something, did he??Meyer asks, pulling me back to the present, his voice dipping to that deadly tone as he stands up from the car. I shake my head to clear it.
揘o. He didn抰。 Do anything, I mean. We just grew apart. We broke up over two years ago, Meyer.?
揑 knew you broke up. I just?had never asked.?
揑t wasn抰 worth mentioning,?I shrug.
He nods, accepting the answer despite eyeing me strangely.
揂lright, then. You ready for this??