We’re at a restaurant in the city with executives from the boy’s record label. His cousin is here too, the one who thinks I talk too much for a girl. Tilly has promised to drop by. When she does, I’m chatting with Scotty, DJ, and Bill while the boy works the room, charming all the girls, and their fathers, the men in suits who hold all the power.
“Where’s Li’l Abner?” Tilly asks after greeting me, looking around.
“Over there,” I say, looking over toward the bar, where he’s surrounded by a crowd of executives’ daughters.
“So that’s how he acts when he takes you out?” she says, disapproving.
I ignore her. The boy looks up, waves at me, and notices Tilly. He excuses himself and moves toward us. Approaching, he politely greets her.
“You’re looking good,” he tells her.
“I know,” she replies.
He raises an eyebrow, glancing at me. I shoot him a look, I see you, and I know exactly what you’re doing. He laughs.
He’s giddy from his recent successes, and when he’s like this, he takes these dumb, Dadaist comedic risks that Scotty finds so irritating, they always bring him trouble. I sense he’s about to do something, and I brace myself.
Tilly, unaware of the boy’s psychology and having paid him little attention over the years she’s known me, and by proxy, him, doesn’t anticipate what’s coming. He edges closer, casually putting his arm around her, and turns on the schmooze in a way he usually only does with me when I’m around.
In this moment, I can’t tell if it’s a dominance play because she’s challenging him, or if he’s turned on by her haughtiness. Though he usually isn’t into mean girls. He prefers us sweet and welcoming. Not too challenging. Unless it’s me, of course, and that’s what hurts. He’s putting Tilly into my space.
Before she can react, she’s caught off guard by his sudden charm offensive. From my vantage point, I watch as he employs all his usual tricks. I can’t tell whether she’s allowing it, enjoying it, or just fighting for footing. A strange power play unfolds, quickly taking on a quasi-sexual tone, and my heart sinks. I feel sick, like I’m plummeting fifty stories in a falling elevator, when I hear him casually suggest we all go back to his hotel.
Tilly swiftly regains composure and shuts him down, a reaction he seems to enjoy far too much. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely into it or just pushing boundaries, but something inside me fractures.
Tilly notices my flushed face. The boy, suddenly remembering my presence, straightens. He remembers he’s not on the road. I’m me. He’s him. And Tilly isn’t someone you mess around with.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he says confused, aimed at me.
But I’ve already mentally left them. Instead of responding, I head to the bathroom, unsure what to do.
Tilly follows.
“Why do you tolerate that?” she asks, shaking me out of my daze.
I understand what she means. But I also know him, every nuance of his turmoil, rebellion, fear, darkness, and heart. I love him fully, and I don’t take it personally. It’s deeper than what we see here. Deeper than this restaurant. Deeper than the early stages of fame and the earthquake he’s about to unleash.
“You need to assert yourself,” Tilly insists.
She’s both right and wrong. She has no idea about the depth of our connection.
“He’s a teenage puppy testing you.”
I nod slowly, grounding again. “Yes,” I reply. “You’re right.”
But she doesn’t understand. It will sort itself out. He’ll know what to do. He was testing me, testing all of us, and himself. Wondering how far he could go. Wondering if he’s becoming the degenerate he suspects and fears. He used me as a mirror, measuring his morals against my reaction.
I can’t explain that to Tilly. She doesn’t have the patience for nuance. So I placate her.
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s go join Buddy and his friend at the jazz club.”
“And no, of course I won’t say goodbye to him,” I add. “He’s got the number for your parents’ house. He’ll call.”
And Heartbreak Hotel plays in my head:
You’ll be so lonely, baby.
You will be lonely.
You’ll be so lonely, you could die.
I put on my best face, turn up my inner light, and head to the jazz place. But deep inside, I’m sad, because I’m the adult here. I handle things calmly, knowingly. That’s how the boy and I have always danced, our unspoken lines, our quiet give-and-take. Yet this was his first rebellion against me. Even if it wasn’t truly about me, it was the first time he forgot about me entirely, and I know he’s feeling the pain of that now.
As I sit in the jazz club a few blocks away with Tilly and Buddy, I’m aware of his silent call.
Maybe he is a puppy testing me. Maybe I should assert myself.
But deep down, I know I don’t need to. It will self-regulate.
Generosity always goes further than power plays.
I stay awhile, then return with Tilly to the Upper East Side.
And early the next morning, the phone rings.
It’s him. Downstairs. Refusing to leave without me.
“Come back to me,” he pleads, his voice distinctly Southern. “I ain’t never gonna hurt you like that again.”
I tell him I’ll come down, that we can walk and talk. But he cries out, wanting me fully.
“I don’t wanna be without you,” he moans, making his tears audible.
***
We walk through the early Manhattan morning, watching the city stir to life.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“I know,” I reply. “But you can’t behave like that in front of me.”
“I didn’t think,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
“You have to start thinking,” I tell him. “If love is like a record, every hurt scratches it. Eventually, it becomes unplayable.” I stop walking. “You’ve got to think about me sometimes, and how your acting out affects me.”
He cries quietly, shaking slightly.
“I know,” he says, wiping his tears.
I’m not sure if he’s being sincere or playing me, he’s both trickster and sensitive, a good kid at heart, but also deeply manipulative when cornered. And lately, I’ve seen how he’s begun to play even me.
“I will not allow this callousness into our relationship,” I say, cool and calm. “You can check that at the door.”
“You were cruel to me last night,” I continue. “Casually cruel. You didn’t care about hurting me. You were hunting for sport.”
He starts to shake, and weeps openly, though he tries to contain himself since we’re on the street. He wants me to comfort him, to say it’s okay, but I don’t. I stand apart, hands in my pockets, watching. I need him to understand.
“I’m so sorry,” he pleads, eyes wide and desperate for kindness.
I walk on. It pains me deeply to behave this way. I never used to have to. I’m angry with him for forcing this side of me out.
“I think I’m becoming corrupted,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I say, turning toward him. “I can tell.”
We talk it through. We rest at his hotel.
***
Before I return to Bryn Mawr, I spend my last day in the city with him. I sense that the realisation, that I might not keep accepting his flippancy or meet him with unconditional love like I always have, has jolted him out of a false sense of safety.
So he does something he hasn’t done in months: He steps out of the whirlwind for a moment. Leaves the tornado behind. And he lives inside the stillness, the bubble we created as adolescents. And in that quiet, something in him cracks open.
“This is too hard,” he whispers late that night, clinging to me. “I’m never gonna love any girl as much as, or the way, I love you. It’s too painful to go through.”
I say nothing. I just hold the hand that’s wrapped around me close to my chest.
“I’m gonna be the one in control whenever I date someone else,” he adds after a pause.
I turn to look at him. “And you’ll tell me all about it, will you?” I smile. “Maybe don’t.”
He giggles, for the first time in a while.
“I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“It’s okay,” I say, leaning in to kiss him, fumbling at the waist of his underpants. “Let’s not talk any more.”
I look into that face, my beautiful, beautiful human boy. I know what the teens of America see in him. He’s magic. And somehow still mine.
“I never want to live without you,” he murmurs, voice full of melancholy.
“I never want to live without you either,” I whisper, moving slowly on top of him.
***
I have a year left at Bryn Mawr, and I refuse to jeopardise it, not just because the boy thinks he’s more important. I seek knowledge. Dreamy information. Wonder. That’s what I’m here for: him and myself, discovery and exploration.
I tell myself this on the train back to school.
I try to refill my head with common sense.
To put my longing on the back burner.
To walk back to me.
Because if I don’t, I’ll throw everything out the window,
and just run back to him.
And become the girl I never wanted to be.
So I sit here, trying, really trying, to reset.
To know my own mind again.
To find my footing.
My World of Interiors 