Page 65 of Drowning Erin

On Sunday I go to Littleton to take my brother to lunch. So many times in my life it’s been painful to see Sean, but today it is not: he looks healthy for once. He’s put on a little weight, and he’s excited about everything. About his last semester of school, which begins in a week, and about working to become a counselor after he graduates. It was worth every penny I’ve spent if it helped get him where he is at the moment.

I tentatively mention that I’ve been spending time with Brendan. It’s juvenile, but I just like saying his name, as if it will somehow make what is happening feel more real. Which hurts a little, because I know that it’s not.

Sean frowns. “You mean as friends, right? Isn’t Rob due back soon?” he asks.

“Oh,” I reply, staring at my flatware, carefully aligning each piece as if I’m Martha Stewart. “No. Actually, he’s staying until August, I think.”

“August?” His tone demands eye contact, which I reluctantly provide.

“Yeah. We sort of broke up. I mean, we may get back together when he’s home, but I just couldn’t do it any more, and there was other stuff.”

“It was about the money, wasn’t it?” he asks. “He didn’t want you to pay my tuition.”

“No, of course it wasn’t that. There were a lot of issues. The money had nothing to do with it.”

“But he was pissed,” Sean says, looking dejected. “I could tell when I spoke to him.”

I wave my hand. “He wasn’t thrilled at the time, but he got over it. Honestly, Sean, money is pretty much the only thing we don’t have a problem with.”

“You’re going to need that money back if Rob isn’t supporting you,” he insists.

“I can always earn more,” I tell him.

He doesn’t appear to believe me, and given the increasing likelihood that Tim’s going to push me out of my job, perhaps he’s right.

* * *

I spend the entire weekend surreptitiously checking my phone, looking for a text from Brendan that never arrives. I crave him, crave everything about him—his smooth skin, his smell. The way he laughs, the sight of his name. It’s not until Tuesday, when I’ve begun to despair, that he texts. It almost feels intentional, the way he’s waited until I’m about to give up, before he makes contact.

Brendan: I woke up feeling like my walls could use some more work.

Me: The walls? Are we still calling it that?

Brendan: Fine. My dick. My dick could use some more work. I was trying to be subtle.

I know I should refuse. Anything that can cause me this much grief, this early on, is clearly something to be avoided. But apparently my brother and father aren’t the only members of my family with an addictive personality. Every time I get a little of Brendan, I need even more. No matter how bad it is for me.

* * *

It’s just after midnight when we’re startled awake by a ringing phone. I bolt upright, certain it’s my father, only to find it’s not my phone at all. It’s Brendan’s. He grabs it, fast, and hurries into the other room.

For a moment I’m merely puzzled.

And then I’m pissed.

The only calls a single guy receives in the middle of the night are booty calls, and of course he gets booty calls—he has a whole host of girls he can and does sleep with. Which prompts the question yet again: Why am I even here? I’ve never settled for being one of many to any guy, and I’m sure as shit not doing this with a guy who takes the call while I’m in his bed.

Beneath my rage, my chest feels like it’s been split in half, and if I were alone I would dissolve into tears. No matter how strong I feel, Brendan has the power to make all my threads unravel. He always has.

I begin searching the bed for my underwear. I’m nearly dressed by the time he gets back in the room.

He stops just inside the door and stares at me. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” I reply. I don’t sound angry. I refuse to be angry. He owes me nothing, and I owe him nothing.

I move toward the door, but he sidesteps and blocks it. “Why?”

I summon all of my inner fortitude to sound calm, when really I’d like to slap him and scream. “Look, I know how you roll, but I don’t need to be a part of it. I can do better than a guy who gets booty calls and answers them while I’m still in his bed.”