Page 111 of Someone Like Me
Drew and I eye each other in silent amusement before I find myself looking away, feeling a sudden shyness.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Drew says after a minute, “but I’m ready to listen if you want to.”
“I do want to tell you,” I confess, but I’m torn. I gave Janine the short version, and she cautioned me against sharing the worst of it with Drew.
His patient expression doesn’t change. “You don’t sound too sure of yourself, Guppy.”
“I want to tell you,” I say again, and I force myself to hold his gaze. “It’s just embarrassing.”
A flicker of surprise flashes in his eyes. “Embarrassing?” Concern now overtakes the surprise. “Did they do something to embarrass you at dinner?”
Drew’s protective streak is showing, and I realize at once why I want to tell him everything. It’s because he makes me feel so safe. And I know when I do tell him, this feeling of being adrift and alone will ease.
“It wasn’t like that,” I explain, shaking my head. “Nobody made a scene or anything.”
He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his strong, weathered hands clasping each other between them. “Then what embarrassed you, Evie?”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t want him to know, but because saying it aloud will make it more real. And then I’ll have to believe it. And I don’t want to.
Drew watches me for a moment before his gaze shifts to his right. His expression hardens, as though he’s just made up his mind about something, and he looks back at me.
“You want to see something embarrassing?”
I blink. “Um…” I stall, curious but cautious. “I don’t feel like there’s a right answer to that question.”
His mouth pulls to the side, humor dancing in his eyes. “Well, too bad. You’re seeing it.” He gets to his feet and moves across the room, stopping by the yellow dust cover.
“Do you have any idea what this is?” He’s studying my face, but his own is as stony as ever. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking.
I shake my head. “Something of your grandfather’s?” I guess, but even as I do, a tightness in my gut tells me it’s nothing innocent or nostalgic.
“No,” Drew says, his voice so low it’s almost inaudible. He leans down and takes the corner of the yellow sheet between his fingers, almost as if he’s unwilling to touch it.
When he peels the sheet back, I see a flat screen Samsung TV, probably about forty inches, a PlayStation 3, and two picture frames lying face down on a shelf. I have no idea what to make of this.
“Do you game?” I ask frowning. Of course he doesn’t. The PlayStation is a relic, and none of it is connected. Plus, all of this has been under a sheet every time I’ve been here.
The hint of a smile pulls at his mouth, but it doesn’t come close to his eyes. “No, Guppy. I don’t game. Not anymore.”
I look between him and the electronics and back to him again. Not anymore. He used to. And my guess is, since there are two remotes, he used to play with Anthony.
“Is this about your brother?” I ask, my voice just above a whisper. If it is, why is he embarrassed?
Drew nods. “This is proof I’m a criminal.”
The words send a jolt through me. I know what he’s done. It’s the harshness in his tone that hits me.
“Do you think that bothers me?” I ask, hoping this isn’t a new tack to push me away. I’d hoped we were passed that. And after the disillusioning night I’ve had, I don’t think I could handle it.
Drew drops the sheet to the floor and comes to sit beside me on the futon. “No,” he says firmly. “I know you don’t. But I stole this shit. With Anthony. And when Annie and Grandma moved my stuff in here, they brought this too.”
He glances back at the TV and company. “It was here when I moved in. That and the pictures of me and Anthony. This big, ugly reminder of how instead of having my brother, I have this stuff.” He waves a hand at the pile in disgust. “That, Guppy? That’s some embarrassing shit.”
I swallow. “It’s h-heartbreaking.” My voice washes out on the word. I clear my throat. “Not embarrassing.”
He leans back on his hands and raises a brow at me. “The reminder of it is heartbreaking. Awful, yes.” The way he’s looking at me is so open. So raw. “What’s embarrassing is how it holds me hostage. This stuff. What it means. I can’t get rid of it. And I can’t look at it.”
He blinks a slow blink. “That’s embarrassing.”
