In Between the Lines

Chapter 20: If You Can't Fix It, Then Mix It

"You don't like mushrooms," I said again.

"Yes, but how did you know that? I've never told you—"

"You were picking them off your pizza the other day. So I know you don't like them." I closed my eyes, picturing his beautiful face in my mind as I recalled every moment I'd spent with him.

"I know that the painting of the boat in your hallway is your favorite because your eyes flash to it every time you pass it," I went on. "And I know that you like the sound a piano makes because when we were listening to music in your car, no matter what song, your breathing always got just a little bit deeper when those keys started playing . . . I know that you like grape soda, but you don't like actual grapes . . . That when you really, really find something funny, you don't laugh because you're too busy replaying it in your head . . . That you hate the sounds the chairs make at school when they slide across the floor. And I could probably go on all night, but—I think you get the point."

The line fell silent, and I counted my breaths as I waited for Dez's response.

Secrets. All of it—secrets I had kept hidden in a special, little corner of my heart.

But when an entire minute passed and he still didn't say anything, my nerves got the better of me.

"Are you there?"

"I'm here." Dez's voice was hoarse, but he didn't say anything else.

I sat up from the couch, restless again. The crackers and water had helped; I was still drunk, no doubt, but I was no longer a stumbling fool, so I knew exactly what I was saying as I said, "Do you remember what I told you about me that day you found out I knew about you and your brother? What I told you that no one else knew?"

"When you randomly blurted out that you used to go to school outside of Boston?" He sounded thrown by the sudden change of subject. "Yeah, of course I remember. I have to say though, if you were trying to distract me from being pissed at you at the time, that was—"

"I wasn't trying to distract you, Dez. I was trying to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Everything."

Again, that damning silence.

But there was something I realized when he walked away from me today. That this entire time, my lies hadn't been protecting him at all—they'd been hurting him. And maybe it really did make me selfish, perhaps even more selfish than my mother, but I didn't want to be the reason he was hurting anymore.

I would . . . figure out a way to keep him safe, even if he was no longer kept in the dark. And who knew? There was a chance that him knowing everything would make things easier. Maybe I'd been going about it all wrong—maybe letting him into those darker parts of my life wouldn't bring him closer to me. Maybe it would give him reason to understand why he needed to stay at a distance.

And he had to. He had to understand.

"Dez," I braced myself as I began slowly, "the reason why I've been lying to you . . . "

"Don't," he breathed.

I paused, blinking. "What?"

"Don't tell me the truth now," he said, though it sounded like it pained him to do so. "I told you, I want you to be sober when you decide it's what you want. I don't want to take advantage of you like this, Peacock. I don't want you to regret it in the morning."

"You sound like you're talking about sex," I said lightly, if only to hide the knock of disappointment I felt as he said it. 

"But it's more intimate than that, isn't it?"

My silence seemed to be answer enough for him.

"If you decide tomorrow or anytime in the future that it's still what you want, I will be there to listen. I will always be there to listen and hear you out—that is my promise to you. But for tonight, let's just try to forget about it, okay?"

I shook my head even though he couldn't see me, still tasting the words now riding impatiently on my tongue. But a better, more clear-headed part of me knew he was right. As much as I wanted to finally put everything behind us, I was still three glasses deep in whiskey.

"You should try to get some sleep," he said, "You're going to have a nasty hangover tomorrow. I'll call you in the morning, okay?" 

I exhaled.

In the morning.

When I would tell him everything.

He added lightly, "Or did you think I was going to let you sleep through class and ditch me?"

I gave a slight laugh. "Never."

"Alright then . . . good night, Peacock."

There was a sort of calm in his voice, one that hadn't been there when he'd first answered the phone, as he said it.

So before he hung up, I said, "Dez?"

"Yes?"

And it might've been the effects of the alcohol taking its final pull on me, or maybe it was the fact that I knew tomorrow would change everything between us.

But I said, "I've dreamt of you, too."