“Do you seriously believe that if you weren’t an enormous part of what I want, I wouldn’t have thought of that already? Do you think I’m a total idiot?”
I stuttered. “No, I just, I—”
“You think I’m playing at this, don’t you? You never considered I might really commit to you both. Admit it, you’ve doubted me from the start.”
That wasn’t true.
Or was it?
I thought back to when we were at the bungalow, in our little bubble where reality didn’t exist. Even then, I was wracked with uncertainty, and only when we were having sex did I believe everything was going to be all right. I thought I’d hidden my doubts pretty well, but it seemed she could read me like a book.
On the other hand—
“Do you blame me?” I argued back. “You’re the flakiest person I’ve ever met. You ran away from us all those years ago, and okay we were all young then, but I knew from the start you’d do the same again.”
Muriel snorted with derision, but I wasn’t ready to stop.
“And you told Cameron you love him before me.”
“I love you both,” proclaimed an exasperated Muriel.
I held a hand up to stop her. “You didn’t say that. Look, I’m not even mad. This just makes sense. You’ve got more in common with Cameron, and his happiness means the world to me, so I’m going to let you two get on with it.”
Muriel jumped down from the bed and stood in front of me, her eyes bright with tears.
“I know what this is about. You don’t respect me because of what I do.”
“What? That’s bullshit; I’ve never said a bad word about your job.”
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s clear in your body language.”
“Oh, you’re a body language expert now, are you?”
Muriel slammed her hand down on the bed, and I had to admit I was surprised at the strength of her anger.
“Whenever I mention my work; my photoshoots, my followers, when my mom talked about the ads I was in. Every single time you look disgusted like we’re talking about cleaning toilets.”
“At least cleaning toilets has a purpose.” I instantly regretted saying that, it came out all wrong.
She gazed up at me, and any hint of affection or respect she had for me was gone from her eyes.
“Hugh Davis, I always thought you were a charming, brooding pessimist. But, it turns out, you’re just an asshole.”
She walked out, leaving me standing alone.
It seems I managed to come up with the worst idea in the world, and I mortally offended her because I chose a quick quip over actually discussing my feelings.
Good job, Hugh. Great work.
I smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand. Why are you the way you are?
After a few minutes spent lamenting all the things I should have done differently to avoid being called an asshole, like not behaving like an asshole, I walked back out into the reception to call a cab home. On my way, I bumped into Butch, Cameron’s dad, who had just left his son’s bedside.
I must have looked terrible because, despite everything that must have been on his mind, when he caught sight of me, he tilted his head in concern.
“Hugh, you okay, buddy?”
I heaved a sigh. “I’m fine, thanks, Mr. Moore.”
“You certainly don’t look it.”
I tried to wave away his concern.
“No, seriously. You look like crap warmed up. Cameron’s going to be fine, you know? He’s getting more feeling back in his legs by the minute. He’s pretty much out of danger.”
A bit of good news, at last. I smiled and thanked him for letting me know, but before I could head off, he took hold of my shoulder and looked me in the eyes.
“That’s not what’s troubling you, is it?”
I shrugged and tried again to walk away. Butch didn’t need to hear about anyone else’s problems right now. Like his son, he had a heart of diamond-studded gold, so he refused to be brushed aside.
“Come on, my boy, let’s sit down. Remember how you used to call me Fake Dad when your real dad couldn’t help you out as much as he wanted to?”
I smiled at the memory.
My dad worked such long hours when I was a kid that he was rarely around to play ball or tell me about girls, and my mom’s only advice was that girls break hearts and I should keep my head in my books.
Butch was friends with my dad, and he agreed to take me under his wing.
He ended up giving me advice on every subject from trigonometry to the birds and bees. I knew I wouldn’t have achieved my dream of becoming a journalist without his guidance.
“I remember. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for that.”
“Don’t you dare thank me. It was a joy to help you, and I’m getting the feeling you need a bit more of that fake dad advice now.”