Every Day

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thanks. I used to hate it, but I don’t so much anymore.”

“Why?”

“It’s just a pain to spell.” She looks at me closely. “Do you go to Octavian?”

“No. I’m just here for the weekend. Visiting my cousin.”

“Who’s your cousin?”

“Steve.”

This is a dangerous lie, since I have no idea which of the guys is Steve, and I have no way of accessing the information.

“Oh, that explains it.”

She is starting to drift away from me, just as I imagine she drifted away from the girls talking next to us.

“I hate my cousin,” I say.

This gets her attention.

“I hate the way he treats girls. I hate the way he thinks he can buy all his friends by throwing parties like this. I hate the way that he only talks to you when he needs something. I hate the way he doesn’t seem capable of love.”

I realize I’m now talking about Justin, not Steve.

“Then why are you here?” Rhiannon asks.

“Because I want to see it fall apart. Because when this party gets busted—and if it stays this loud, it will get busted—I want to be a witness. From a safe distance away, of course.”

“And you’re saying he’s incapable of loving Stephanie? They’ve been going out for over a year.”

With a silent apology to Stephanie and Steve, I say, “That doesn’t mean anything, does it? I mean, being with someone for over a year can mean that you love them … but it can also mean you’re trapped.”

At first I think I’ve gone too far. I can feel Rhiannon taking in my words, but I don’t know what she’s doing with them. The sound of words as they’re said is always different from the sound they make when they’re heard, because the speaker hears some of the sound from the inside.

Finally, she says, “Speaking from experience?”

It’s laughable to think that Nathan—who, from what I can tell, hasn’t gone on a date since eighth grade—would be speaking from experience. But she doesn’t know him, which means I can be more like me. Not that I’m speaking from experience, either. Just the experience of observing.

“There are many things that can keep you in a relationship,” I say. “Fear of being alone. Fear of disrupting the arrangement of your life. A decision to settle for something that’s okay, because you don’t know if you can get any better. Or maybe there’s the irrational belief that it will get better, even if you know he won’t change.”

“ ‘He’?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

At first I don’t understand what she sees—clearly, I was talking about her. Then I get where the pronoun has led her.

“That cool?” I ask, figuring it will make Nathan even less threatening if he’s gay.

“Completely.”

“How about you?” I ask. “Seeing anyone?”

“Yeah,” she says. Then, deadpan, “For over a year.”

“And why are you still together? Fear of being alone? A decision to settle? An irrational belief that he’ll change?”

“Yes. Yes. And yes.”

“So …”

“But he can also be incredibly sweet. And I know that, deep down, I mean the world to him.”

“Deep down? That sounds like settling to me. You shouldn’t have to venture deep down in order to get to love.”

“Let’s switch the topic, okay? This isn’t a good party topic. I liked it more when you were singing to me.”

I’m about to make reference to another song we heard on our car ride—hoping that maybe it’ll bring her back in some way—when Justin’s voice comes from over my shoulder, asking, “So who’s this?” If he was relaxed when I saw him in the kitchen, now he’s annoyed.

“Don’t worry, Justin,” Rhiannon says. “He’s gay.”

“Yeah, I can tell from the way he’s dressed. What are you doing here?”

“Nathan, this is Justin, my boyfriend. Justin, this is Nathan.”

I say hi. He doesn’t respond.

“You seen Stephanie?” he asks Rhiannon. “Steve’s looking for her. I think they’re at it again.”

“Maybe she went to the basement.”

“Nah. They’re dancing in the basement.”

Rhiannon likes this news, I can tell.

“Want to go down there and dance?” she asks Justin.

“Hell no! I didn’t come here to dance. I came here to drink.”

“Charming,” Rhiannon says, more (I think) for my benefit than his. “Do you mind if I go dance with Nathan?”

“You sure he’s gay?”

“I’ll sing you show tunes if you want me to prove it,” I volunteer.

Justin slaps me on the back. “No, dude, don’t do that, okay? Go dance.”

So that’s how it comes to pass that Rhiannon is leading me to Steve Mason’s basement. As we hit the stairs, we can feel the bass under our feet. It’s a different soundtrack here—a tide of pulse and beat. Only a few red lights are on, so all we can see are the outlines of bodies as they meld together.

“Hey, Steve!” Rhiannon calls out. “I like your cousin!”

A guy who must be Steve looks at her and nods. Whether he can’t hear what she’s said or whether he’s trashed, I can’t tell.

“Have you seen Stephanie?” he yells.

“No!” Rhiannon yells back.