“Oh my God. I wish Cart could hear you right now.”
“And he’s a cop. Is that, like, a thing for you?”
“Goodbye, Auggie. I’ll tell you if I get that record.”
“You should put out for him. You should definitely put out. Then he’ll give you Robert’s file.”
“It’s not a date,” Theo said, laughing as he stood. “Now goodbye. I have to get ready.”
“You’re getting ready,” Auggie said, ticking it off on his finger. “You look happy. He’s picking you up, right?” Auggie held out three fingers. “It’s a date.”
“He’s Ian’s best friend,” Theo said, shoving the chair back into place because the joke wasn’t funny anymore. “And it’s my birthday, so will you fucking drop it?”
“Yeah,” Auggie said. “Sorry. I was just—”
“I’m going to shower.”
Auggie spoke when Theo was moving into the front room. “Hey, um. Theo?”
“What?” When Auggie didn’t answer, Theo looked back; Auggie was staring at the table, shredding the tissues, the fear shrouding his face again. “Oh,” Theo said, blowing out a breath and trying to smooth out his voice. “Yeah, ok. You can hang out here until I get back.”
“Thanks.”
“But don’t go upstairs, don’t mess up my papers, and don’t even fucking think about touching my beer.”
19
After Theo left, Auggie tried to get comfortable on the couch. There were three problems. Problem one, his shirt kept sliding up, and the duct tape on the cushions irritated his bare skin. Problem two, the couch was either too long (if he tried to sit up), and he felt like he was sinking into it, or too short (if he stretched out the whole way), and he remembered that he had fit just perfectly on the couch when Theo had taken up part of it for his thesis. Problem three, though, was the doozy. Problem three was that Theo was on a date.
Theo might not know it was a date. Theo, in fact, might even claim he didn’t believe it was a date. But Auggie knew it. He could tell. The way Theo looked when he came down in a black tee and jeans and bright white sneakers. The care Theo had taken with his hair and beard, the bro flow gleaming, the thick beard groomed, and the smell of cedar and moss following him. The beers—beer after beer, until he looked like he was in high school and afraid of getting cut off—while he waited for his ride. Mostly, though, it was the way Theo had shouted when Auggie had teased him about it.
And no matter how Auggie squirmed and twisted and flopped on the couch, his brain was squirming and twisting and flopping even more frantically. He’d picture Theo at some fancy restaurant with a big, handsome guy—for some reason, he looked a little like Orlando—pulling out the chair. He’d picture Theo smiling that tiny, gentle smile when the guy poured him a glass of champagne. He’d picture the static spark when their hands touched for the first time that night, and the handsome guy tried to laugh it off, and Theo just did that quiet teacher thing that made every bone in Auggie’s body resonate like he’d hit a new frequency.
Then Auggie would flop onto the couch, remind himself he was an idiot, and go back to his phone, searching for Robert McDonald’s social media profile. He didn’t find anything on Facebook, so he switched to Instagram. On a second set of tracks at the back of his head, his brain was replaying the first time he’d shown Theo one of his videos, and the confusion on Theo’s face when he said, You’re a pretty good dancer, because he’d missed the whole point of the video, which only made it cuter.
Groaning, Auggie tossed his phone aside and buried his face in his arm. He was such an idiot.
He called Fer.
“What, dickcheese?”
Based on the background static, Auggie guessed Fer was driving. “Hey, what’s up?”
“You called me. What do you want?”
“I just wanted to talk.”
“Bullshit.”
“Come on, tell me what you’re doing.”
“Are you lonely?” Fer asked.
“No.”
“Are you bored?”
“No.”
“Are you doing your homework?”
“God, Fer, yes.”
“Because Mom is paying a shit ton of money for you to go to college.”
“I know. I’m doing my homework, ok? This is why I don’t call you.”
“I thought you joined a frat.”
“I did join a frat.”
“Why are you being a lonely fucker and calling me? Don’t you hang out with those guys?”
“If you watched any of my content, you’d see I do all sorts of stuff with them. A few of them are regulars. We hit it off pretty well.”
Fer grunted.
“So,” Auggie said. “What are you doing?”
“I’m driving to the county jail to bail out your assturd brother.”
“Isn’t every turd an assturd? And anyway, he’s your brother too.”
Fer grunted again.
“What is it this time?” Auggie asked.
“Possession. Again. Bail is going to be a fucking fortune.”
“I thought Chuy was in rehab.”
“Yeah, well,” Fer said, and for a moment he didn’t sound like Fer at all; he sounded tired and alone and hopeless.
“Are you ok?” Auggie asked.
“I’m not in a bathtub of Dom Perignon getting a blowie from Selena Gomez.”
“You are so weird sometimes.” Auggie blew out a breath. “Hey, um, Fer. I kind of forgot someone’s birthday. I mean, I didn’t even know it was their birthday. What do I do?”
“You forgot someone’s birthday? Who? What’s her name? How long have you been dating?”
Auggie fixed his gaze on the wall, a crack in the plaster, and wondered what it was like to just say things, not always having to think about the next lie and the next and the next. He felt himself becoming cardboard again. “We’re not dating.”
“What does she like?”
“Books, I guess. Shakespeare.”
“Drop her.”
“Fer!”
“She sounds like a drip.”
“Will you just help me, please?”
“Is she super fucking hot?”
“Yes, sure, whatever.”
“Is she funny?”
“If it’ll move this conversation along.”
“She likes books?”
“Yes.”
“So get her a book.”
“Never mind. You’re useless.”
Fer laughed. “Tell me why you like her so much.”
“Goodbye.”
“Tell me one thing, and it’s gotta be the absolute fucking truth,
