Hey, you busy or can you talk for a bit? Not urgent, just—actually never mind, it doesn't matter.
Anyway did you see they're finally redoing the pool on Larkspur? Third summer it's been closed for "repairs," which at this point is just a word they use instead of "budget."
Yeah, I saw the signs. Third summer. They keep finding "unexpected delays" which is code for nobody knows how to fix it. I drove by this morning, just finished at the office, the smell of chlorine and rust was pretty strong. Reminded me of that summer we went to the lake, only the water was actually blue. Or so I thought. Anyway, maybe it opens next year. Or the one after. Doesn't really change much, does it? Hope you're not expecting to jump in anytime soon. Not that you were planning to. Did you?
No, wasn't planning to jump in, no. I don't even swim that well, honestly, which is a stupid thing to admit at thirty-four.
The lake thing though — that was, what, the summer before last? Feels longer. I've been meaning to tell you something about that summer actually. It's not — never mind. What else is going on with you.
Thirty-four and can't swim? Please. I still panic at the deep end. But yeah, that lake feels a decade ago. And don't change the subject. You were saying? About what you wanted to tell me? The pool is a dead end, we both know it. You had something else. Or was it just the heat making you talk? Look, it's fine if it's nothing. I get distracted too. I've been spending too much time at the office, staring at spreadsheets that definitely don't need updating. Does it matter? Maybe. Maybe not. Did I say too much?
No, it's not the heat. It's — okay. It's about that summer, and it's not about the lake exactly, it's about after, when I said I was staying with my cousin for two weeks and I wasn't.
I don't know why I'm bringing it up now. Spreadsheets, God, at least yours are boring in a normal way.
You weren't with your cousin. I knew that. You said something about a "family emergency" and then vanished for three days. I thought you were in trouble, or worse, just avoiding me. But you weren't with your cousin. So where were you? Don't give me the spreadsheet excuse. It's not about you being bored; it's about you lying. Or maybe not lying, just... omitting. It's fine. Really. I'm not angry. Just curious. Why tell me now?
I wasn't in trouble. I was in Marsden, actually, at my sister's, and it wasn't an emergency, it was — she was going through something and asked me not to say anything, so I didn't, not even to you.
That's it. That's not even the thing I meant to say. There's another part and I keep talking around it like an idiot.
Marsden. Okay. I get that. Family stuff, tough to explain. But you're doing it again. Dancing around the real thing. You said there's another part. What is it? Don't tell me you're an idiot, you're just careful. Or maybe you're scared I'll think less of you. Which is weird, since I know you better than that. Or do I? Sometimes I feel like I'm guessing with you. Like those spreadsheets. Anyway, tell me. Or don't. I'm listening. But you have to stop filtering everything first.
My sister wasn't going through something alone. I was there because — okay, there was someone else there too, someone I hadn't told you about, and it wasn't like that, but it looked like that, and I've just never found the right time to —
Actually forget the "looked like that" part. That's not fair to say and then stop.
Stop. Don't backtrack. It looked like what? You were with someone you hadn't told me about? Who was it? And why does "it wasn't like that" matter if you're the one acting guilty? Look, I'm not trying to trap you. I just... sometimes I feel like I'm walking through a minefield with you, one wrong step and boom. But you keep stopping halfway. Is it about who it was? Or what happened? Just say it. Or don't. I might have misunderstood the whole tone.
It was Deller. Not — nothing happened, I need you to actually hear that part, but he was there and I didn't mention him because you two have history and I didn't want to deal with your face doing the thing it's doing right now, probably.
That's the whole thing. That's smaller than I made it sound, I think.
Deller. Right. So you were hiding from me because you thought I'd make a scene? Or because you thought I'd care? Look, I'm not doing the face thing. Okay, maybe a little. But you didn't owe me an explanation about who was in your sister's living room. Unless... wait, why does that make me feel weird? No, don't answer that. It's fine. I'm just surprised you thought I'd care. Or maybe I'm just surprised you thought I wouldn't. Does that make sense? Or am I overreacting again?
You're not overreacting, I think I just assumed the worst version of you in my head instead of asking. Which isn't fair, I know that. I don't know why I do that with you specifically.
Anyway it's done now, it's out, whatever it was worth. You want to talk about something that isn't me for a minute.
Yeah, the worst version of me. That stings a bit, honestly. But fine, let's drop it. You want to talk about something else? How about the fact that I found a beetle in my kitchen this morning and spent twenty minutes trying to guide it out with a cereal box? Work is the same, just more spreadsheets, but the beetle was weird. It didn't want to leave. Or maybe it was just confused. Like me. Did I just compare myself to an insect? That's bad. Ignore that.
Twenty minutes for a beetle is generous, honestly, most people give up after three. What kind was it — the shiny black ones or the weird striped ones that get in through window gaps this time of year? And no, comparing yourself to a confused beetle is fine, it's better than the spreadsheet thing.
Shiny black ones. Huge, actually. Felt like it was mocking my cereal box strategy. But you know, sometimes I think we're all just like that beetle, banging against the window glass thinking there's another side when it's just paint. Anyway, did I ramble too much? You seem distracted. Is it the beetle thing or did Deller pop back into your head? Not that I'm fishing. Just... you looked like you were thinking hard. Or maybe I'm reading it wrong again.
Not the beetle, not really Deller either. I was thinking that the thing I actually wanted to tell you tonight isn't the Deller thing at all — that one just came out because it was easier than the real one.
I don't think I'm getting to it tonight though. Sorry. That's annoying, I know.
Easier than the real one? So there's something even more buried? Look, don't apologize for being a human mess. I'm not going anywhere. Maybe it's not time yet. Maybe the beetle was the point. Or maybe you're just tired. I'm tired too, mostly just from carrying my own version of "something else." Does that make it better, knowing I'm messed up too? Or worse? I should probably stop talking before I say something I can't take back. You okay?
Yeah, I'm okay. Just tired the way you get when you've been holding a thing so long you forget it has edges.
Knowing you're carrying something too doesn't make it worse, actually. Kind of levels it out. Maybe another night. Go feed your beetle or whatever you're doing, I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Feeding the beetle? It's long gone, Vic. Probably flew out or got eaten by a spider. But yeah, holding it until you forget the edges sounds about right. That's a pretty good description of it, actually. I'll see you tomorrow. Don't overthink the edges tonight. Or do. Whatever helps you sleep.
Yeah. Talk tomorrow.
Right. Tomorrow. Don't let the edges cut you tonight.
Try not to let yours cut you either. Night, Rafe.
Night, Vic. Try not to let the beetle you imagined fly away. Or stay. Whatever. Sleep tight.
Ha. Night.
Goodnight. See you.