Chapter 8: What Chris Said in the Dark
We didn't talk right away.
Frank stayed for another hour.
He and Chris sat at the kitchen table while I made tea none of us particularly wanted.
They talked in low voices — not arguing, not performing.
Just talking.
The way I had never quite heard them talk before.
When Frank left, he stopped at the door and looked at me.
"Thank you for telling me the truth this morning," he said.
"Thank you for asking for it," I said.
He nodded once and went.
Chris locked the front door and stood with his hand on the deadbolt for a moment.
Then he turned around.
"Do you want to talk now?" he asked.
"Yes."
We sat in the living room.
The lamps were on.
Outside it had gotten dark while we weren't paying attention.
"I owe you an apology," he said.
I waited.
"Not just for last night.
For the whole thing." He looked at his hands.
"I knew what was happening.
I told myself it wasn't that bad.
That you didn't really mind.
That it was easier than starting a fight with Donna." He stopped.
"That was wrong.
I let it go on because it was easier for me.
Not for you."
"Yes," I said.
"That's right."
He looked up.
"I'm not going to pretend that doesn't hurt to hear," he said.
"I know," I said.
"I'm not trying to hurt you.
I'm trying to tell you the truth."
"The thing about you being oversensitive — " He stopped.
Started again.
"I said that because I didn't want to deal with it.
Not because I believed it.
I knew you weren't being oversensitive.
I just didn't want to have the conversation."
The lamp on the side table made a small warm circle of light.
Outside, a car passed.
"What do you need from me?" he asked.
"Going forward.
What does that actually look like?"
"I need you to be on my side," I said.
"Not against your family.
On my side.
There's a difference."
"I know there is."
"When Donna makes a joke at my expense, I need you to say something.
Not a big speech.
Just something.
Enough to let her know it's not acceptable."
He nodded.
"And I need you to remember this conversation," I said.
"Not just tonight.
In six months, when it's someone's birthday and everyone's picking a restaurant.
I need you to remember."
"I will," he said.
I looked at him.
Looked at the face I had known for six years.
The face that had smiled at me across the table last night, relaxed, unsuspecting, while I quietly arranged for everything to change.
"I believe you," I said.
"I want to believe you."
"That's enough for now," he said.
"That's a place to start."
He reached across the cushion between us.
His hand open.
Waiting.
May you like
I looked at it for a moment.
Then I put my hand in his.
