I packed up my stuff while she packed up hers, and we walked out, stopping in the lobby to give our room key to the old lady in the American flag shirt.
October wanted to drive, and as she turned onto the highway I leaned my head on the cold, dewy window, closed my eyes, and tried to isolate what I was feeling. The trouble was, I wasn’t feeling anything at all. I was numb. But it was the kind of numbness that felt like pain.
Feeling nothing can sometimes hurt like hell.
When we got to Ukiah, October pulled into a gas station and asked me to fill up the tank while she went to the bathroom. It was the first time either of us had spoken since we’d started the drive.
We drove in silence for a little longer, but near Novato, October said, “Are you going to pretend to be asleep the whole way home, or can we talk?”
Here we go, I thought. But I didn’t say anything. Once again, I was Mutant Joe.
October tried to touch my hand, but I pulled it away and started playing Tetris on my phone.
“Joe, please tell me what’s going on in your head.”
“Don’t you know?” I snapped. “Aren’t you a mind reader?”
That agitated her, and she said, “There’s no reason to act like an asshole.”
“Fine.” I tossed my phone onto the dash and rubbed my face. “You want to know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking about the text I got from your boyfriend this morning. He wants to know how you are. What should I tell him? She’s a little groggy today, but she seemed great last night when I was eating her out on a cheap motel bed?”
She looked at me and said, “Maybe you should tell him that.”
“Jesus Christ, October.”
“So, this is about Chris? You’re acting like this because of Chris?”
“Don’t you feel even a little bit guilty?”
“You know I do. But I thought we decided something last night.”
“What did we decide?”
“That we’re going to tell him. Today.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? We were on drugs last night. We can’t tell him.”
“We have to. It’s the right thing.”
“Oh, now you want to do the right thing?”
She glared at me, looked back at the road, then at me again. “Come on, Joe. Life is messy sometimes. And I know that what happened last night probably shouldn’t have, but it did, and it was incredible, and I’m not sorry about that. Besides, technically we didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I bet Cal would disagree.”
“Well, no one will ever be able to convince me it’s wrong to listen to your heart. If Chris were in this situation, I’d want him to do the same thing.”
“I wasn’t listening to my heart last night, I was listening to my cock.”
I’d hoped that would set her back, but she shook her head and said, “No, you weren’t.”
She tried to touch my hand again, but I wouldn’t let her.
“Joe—”
“No. Pay attention to what I’m about to say. This can’t happen. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll fire me, kick me out, and forget we ever met.”
“I have no intention of firing you. You’re too good at your job. If you want out, you’re going to have to quit.” She reached for my phone because hers was in her bag in the back seat.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Chris.”
I grabbed the phone before she did. “Are you still high? You’re not calling him! Do you hear me? You’re not going to take him away from me!”
She turned her head and looked at me fully, for as long as she could before it became dangerous and she had to look back at the road, and I almost thought she was going to pull over so she could stare at me some more.
The truth of the matter had dawned on her though. “I get it,” she said. “For you, this is a choice. It’s me or him.”
“Yup,” I said sharply.
“And you choose him.”
I nodded. “I choose him.”
I saw that hurt her. Finally. And my numbness had obviously turned to malice, because I distinctly remember feeling victory over that. I had wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to hate me.
For the rest of the way, we drove in silence. And when we pulled in to Mill Valley, I said, “Drop me off at Equator.”
She parked across the street from the coffee shop and said, “Don’t leave. Please. We need to talk.”
I grabbed my backpack from the back seat. Before I got out of the car, I said, “Don’t tell him. There’s nothing else to talk about.”
She glared at me. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Joe. You don’t get to be the only one who has a say in what’s happening between us.”
“There is no us!” I shouted. “That’s why there’s no point in telling him. This is nothing. And if you hurt him for nothing, then you’re just cruel.”
I got out of the car, walked across the street and into Equator; only then did I look back to see if she’d driven away.
She had.
I didn’t order any coffee—too many people in line. I sat at one of the small tables against the wall of windows and waited for the queue to die down. It was a warm, sunny Sunday, and the place was packed. To my left, a mom was cutting up a waffle for her young daughter. To my right, a couple in yoga clothes were discussing their food allergies with the gravity of a United Nations Security Council meeting. A group of guys in cycling gear were loitering out on the sidewalk with little cups of espresso. Everyone talking and snacking and living the lives they wanted to be living, and I was alone.
I took out my phone and sent Cal a text that said: All is well here. We miss you, brother.
I saw
