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“What are you doing?” It’s a stupid thing to ask, because I can clearly see what he’s doing. He’s pulling all of his clothes out of the dresser. Bobby V is getting all of his stuff out of our room. His books are already off the shelves, and his guitars are gone, so he started with the important shit first.
“You broke up with him without speaking to me about it.” He skips past my stupid question, straight to what’s actually going on, which is so like him. “He has broken up with me as well. He asserted that we are ‘a package deal’. That he did not want to continue with me as an individual participant in a relationship.”
“I’m sorry, Bobby. I… I didn’t want him to do that. I didn’t exactly plan to break up with him.”
“Unsurprising.” The ice in his voice cuts deep. “You are consistently impulsive and callous in relationships. You do not consider how your actions will impact others.”
“Bobby…”
“I need space, Deandra.”
Fuck.
Deandra?
Fuckfuckfuck.
“Bobby, I’m really sorry.”
“I know. You always are. I need to change the pattern of behaviors I engage in with romantic relationships. I may not be able to accommodate you in that capacity in the future.” Which is him breaking up with me, even though we’ve never really been in a relationship that didn’t involve someone else. He picks up his pile of clothes and starts out of the room. “We have band practice tonight at seven.”
Which is him saying he won’t come get me like he normally does. Every time, three minutes before practice, he’ll come in and get me out of whatever reading or writing I’m buried in with a cup of coffee in hand. I don’t deserve him.
He walks out of the room.
So I do the first thing I can think of. I text Kyle.
DZ: i fucked up so bad
KD: DEEEEE! ur so STUPID
DZ: did he already tell you?
KD: yep. ur a dumbitch.
DZ: i know
KD: what are you gonna do?
DZ: fuck if i know
KD: figure it OUT, gurl. i dunno is not an acceptable response. this is Bobby V, not one of the stoner dickbags you fucked over in high school
DZ: are you home?
KD: no
DZ: where are you?
KD: out. back for practice
DZ: kk
Not helpful. He’s not wrong though. I don’t know what to do. I can’t think.
So I run. Because I’m a fucking literalist, I guess. I run through the rolling green of Prospect Park until my legs are burning and my side aches. I keep running. I trace through my relationship history, and I am the absolute worst, because I have fucked up throuples with Bobby V on four separate occasions.
How is he still my friend? How does he not hate me?
I keep running.
I start stringing the words together, figuring out what I need to tell him, everything I need him to know. I need a plan. A plan that I actually follow. And maybe a stupid gesture to make sure he knows I mean it.
So I go home and shower. I write it down, because I have to write it down. Words are my medium. I know how to play bass, but not how Bobby V plays guitar. He is the music, and I’m just trying to keep up. But words? I can reshape the world with words.
When I stop writing, I look at my phone and realize it’s 7:01. I’m an idiot because I should have set an alarm the moment Bobby V said he wasn’t going to get me for practice. I grab my bass and practice amp, and I bolt downstairs.
Bobby V’s already set up, but Kyle is only just unpacking his kit, so I can get plugged in without causing delays. I am here. I am serious about this. Bobby V is noticeably not making eye contact with me. I can still do this.
Practice is messier than usual. Kyle is all over the place or maybe I am, but we can’t seem to sync up our rhythms. Bobby V keeps racing ahead and checking himself, because he’s off beat. Tarima’s the only one of us who’s holding it down.
After practice, Kyle drags me out to get late night fried chicken. He doesn’t say much and neither do I, we just sit at the chicken shop and eat. We sit on the same side of the booth and lean against each other.
“Seems like you had a day.” I say on the way home.
“Yeah.”
“Are we talking about it?”
“Are we talking about yours?”
“You already know my shit. I’m asking you a question, Kyle.”
“I don’t know. I just… am feeling weird about some stuff. I’ll figure it out.”
“Is stuff named Jayden?”
“Nope. Stuff is named Kyle.”
“My area of expertise. I’ve been studying Kyle since I was eight.” I give him a shoulder check, and he laughs.
“I’ll let you know when I have a research topic for you to help me unpack.”
“Sure. Whenever you’re ready.”
At home, I set back up at my desk. I write for three days. Well, I also do my reading for class and grading and eat and all that bullshit, but I write and rewrite and edit for three days before I knock on Bobby V’s door.
When he answers, he gives me a long slow look. I hesitate for a moment, and we just stand there in silence.
“I wrote this for you. About you. I don’t know if you’re ready to talk to me yet, but let me know when you are.” I thrust the paper forward, looking down, avoiding his eyes. He takes it. He shuts the door again. I go back to my room and get out my bass and headphones, so I can practice.
Twenty minutes later he comes in. I don’t know if he knocked and I missed it, or if he just comes in without knocking. I pull off my headphones.
“You wrote lyrics.”
“I mean… it’s only lyrics if we make it into a song. I would say I wrote you a poem.”
“Your poetry eschews a standard rhyme scheme and disrupts rhythmic expectations for emotional emphasis. These are lyrics.”
“So, what do you think?”
“They are very compelling. Both as a general piece but also as a personal statement regarding our relationship. It… is a love song.”
“I…”
“A love song about finding home.”
“Yeah…”
“My feelings are the same.”
“Oh.”
“I feel we need to assess how we want to proceed in our relationship.”
“I am really sorry, Bobby. You don’t deserve to be part of anyone’s package deal. You’re…” My voice falters. Fuck. I’m gonna cry. “You’re the best person in my life. You deserve to be what someone wants on your own. I don’t want to be the reason someone doesn’t see you.” Fuck. I’m crying, and I have to get this out. He pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m only dating lesbians and straight guys from now on. I’m not involving you in my stupid drama. I’m not going to keep hurting you like this. I promise.”
“I have an alternate proposal.” He waits as I keep crying. “I think we should actually only date each other.”
I pull back enough so I can see his face.
“What?”
“We should attempt dating each other without including anyone else in it.”
“You have said to me on multiple occasions that engaging in heteronormative monogamy is letting patriarchal definitions of relationships define us and draw lines of ownership over our personhood. Which is the most pretentious bullshit, but you’re not wrong.”
“I do not believe we would allow prescribed gender dynamics to dictate our behavior. And I did not say we needed to engage in monogamy, only that I wished to engage in a relationship with you.”
“Oh.”
“I… I am comfortable with us being a package deal for others. But only if we are truly partners, regardless of other participants.”
“Are you sure?”
“I love you, Deandra Zhao. Unequivocally.”
“I love you too.”
“Are you willing to try being my partner?”
“Yeah, Bobby. I’d like that.”
“This is a new approach to our relationship. I would like to proceed with caution.”
“I trust you. Set whatever boundaries you need.”
“I am not going to move back in your room yet.”
“Yeah, we’ve only been dating for five minutes. Kind of fast for you to move in with me.” He smiles broadly. He kisses me.