Page 92 of The Girl with No Name
The guy grabs the textbook from the coffee table, shoves it into his backpack, and leaves.
Sam seems not sure what to do with herself. “Wow. I’m just… I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Everything okay?”
I nod slightly.
“You thirsty? You need anything?” She asks.
“I’m okay,” I say. We sit on the two stools next to her kitchen island. “But I’ll take a beer if you’ve got it.”
She goes the fridge, pops open two bottles of Pacifico, and puts one in front of me.
“Who was that?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. Might as well clear that up before I bring up my own misdeeds.
“He’s a friend. We study together sometimes.”
“Is he gay?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Look, so I went to that festival with Dunn this weekend.”
“Yeah…?”
“And I kissed someone.”
“What?”
“I was drunk—and tripping—but that’s no excuse. I don’t know what to do.” I take a swig of beer and watch her eyes dart back and forth as she processes. “I’m serious about this relationship,” I add after a moment. “I’m serious about you. I bought a ring, which is why I needed to tell you.”
“That’s why you flew out. To confess.”
I look her in the eye. “Yes.”
She nods silently, taking a big gulp of her beer.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I don’t know… This is a lot to process.”
“I know.” I can smell her perfume. My heart is a constant drum in my chest. I don’t want to think about the scene I just interrupted, or whether it’s weird that Sam is “studying” with some guy named Brandon close to midnight. WithBridgertonon the TV. I don’t want to ask what’s going on with that. I don’t want to know if this is what she’s been doing when she turns me down over FaceTime.
“Look, I’ll take a little walk, okay? Give you some time to think without me here. I know this is a heavy conversation.”
“Yeah.”
I get up and step out into the night air for a walk around. A part of me feels like I’m dying inside, but coming clean was the only thing to do. As I walk, my mind drifts to last summer when I came out to see Sam for the first time after the Peace Corps. I helped her bring some things back to Chicago for the summer.
We’d left California with a full car and a little spot for the dog in the backseat. She brought him back to her parents’ place. I’d never driven east from the west coast, and the landscape was new and novel to me—the desert formations of Utah, the mountains. Sam, on the other hand, had made this trip several times over the past couple of years.
As we drove, I’d thought about something she’d said to me. After we’d slept together, she’d turned to me and said, “I don’t think I’ve been in such good shape since I was in high school and hooking up with my boyfriend, like, every day.”
I didn’t know why that bothered me so much. I’d figured the problem was with me, in my own head, so I’d ignored the possibility that my jealousy could be valid. The more I’d denied it, though, the more the feeling had seemed to grow.
I’d thought about how we’d parted ways in our early twenties, me going to the Peace Corps and her to grad school,with the agreement to get back together once we were done with that period of our lives.
As I’d watched the Utah desert roll by, I’d remembered how when I’d come back to the United States for Christmas after nine or so months in the Peace Corps, she’d told me she’d been with someone.
Well, I had too—on the night before I’d left Bolivia. So I’d told myself the anger I’d felt simply wasn’t fair to her. It was part of the patriarchal double standard, and I wouldn’t let myself be bothered.