Real Life by Brandon Taylor

Author:Brandon Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2020-02-17T16:00:00+00:00

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HE’S SITTING ON THE EDGE of the tub, sucking on an ice cube he scooped from the metal bowl in the kitchen, when he hears a gentle tap at the door. He assumes it’s Emma, so he doesn’t say anything. She’ll either get the hint or come in. He circles the ice around his lips and on his tongue. He’s trying to get himself to cool off. There is another tap, more insistent this time, and then Miller’s voice: “Wallace, you still in there?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you need it?” he asks.

Miller opens the door and comes in. He sits on the toilet lid. “What happened out there? I looked up and you were gone.”

“Nothing, just feeling kind of funny, so I came in.”

Miller puts a hand to his head and frowns. “Are you sick? Do you have a fever?”

“No. On both counts.”

“You feel warm, though.”

“It’s summer,” Wallace says. He sucks on the ice cube, and Miller watches intently.

“Do you want to lie down? It’s cooler in my room. I have a fan going.”

The thought of being apart from the rest of them, being alone in a cool, dark place, sounds perfect.

“Yes,” he says, and Miller rests a hand at the base of his neck.

“Okay,” Miller says. “Let’s go.”

They go up the stairs, in the dark house, and they take a left at the top. Miller’s room is long and angular. There is a circular window through which he can see the lakeshore at some great distance. There are maps and postcards on the walls, and books in a cramped case under the windowsill, where there are pillows and a thick flannel blanket. The bed is large and comfortable, with a big quilt. The room smells like Miller—oranges and salt. His bike is propped against the closet. The floor creaks under their feet.

“Here you go,” he says, pointing to the bed. This room is much cooler. There is a fan in the other window, drawing the air in. He goes to turn on a light, but Wallace shakes his head.

“No, that’s fine. Please leave it.”

Wallace climbs onto the bed and lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, which seems too low for Miller.

“Do you want me go?”

“You would miss the party,” Wallace says.

“I want to stay.”

“What about the ice girl?”

“Ice girl?”

“You know—she was chipping ice earlier. She came for you. You shouldn’t disappoint her.”

“Zoe, you mean? Oh, she’s fine.”

“She thought you were funny. I saw.”

Miller is standing at the door with it closed, playing with the noisy little knob. “I don’t know what you want me to say about that.”

“Nothing,” Wallace says. This fight is already taking what little energy he has left. He puts Miller’s pillow over his face. It smells so good, so like him.

“I want to stay.”

“Then stay. It’s your house.”

Miller gets into the bed next to him and lies on his side. He puts a hand on Wallace’s stomach, which makes Wallace insecure. He wants to push Miller’s hand away from him, to be alone, to be perfectly alone.

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