“Yeah.”
“Anyway. How’s Minnesota day two?”
“Well, I had sushi with Maddie tonight.”
“Sushi? You hate sushi.” He says knowingly. I love it that there’s someone out there who knows everything about me.
“Yeah, well it’s not too fond of me either. I think Maddie was a little confused as to what was fish-free and what wasn’t.”
“Dude, not the meat shits?” He sounds concerned, but there’s amusement in his voice, too. Gus hasn’t eaten meat for years either, and he knows how even a bite can mess with your digestive system in a very violent way.
“Yup. It was hostile.”
“Aw, that sucks. I’m sorry.” But he’s laughing that deep belly laugh that I love.
“It’s only funny because you weren’t the one who almost shit her pants in front of an aunt she barely knows.” I’m laughing too, relieved this is a normal conversation tonight and not like last night’s.
He laughs even harder and then takes a deep breath trying to rein it in. “Sorry, Bright Side. Oh, I needed that today.”
It’s quiet after a few residual chuckles escape him. And with it the nervousness creeps up on me again. “Gus?” I try to mask it, but my voice betrays me.
“Yeah.” It’s long and drawn out when he says it, like he knows what’s coming.
“Can we just be honest for a minute? It ... happened. We can’t treat it like the elephant in the room anymore. We have to talk about it.”
He exhales loudly. “Agreed.”
There’s a pause that neither one of us seems to want to address until Gus speaks up. “Listen, I know we were drunk and it’s like this big cliché, but it just happened. I mean, I didn’t have this grandiose plan to get you wasted and have my way with you.”
Is he being cavalier about this? Because we really need to talk it through. “I wasn’t drunk. I had two glasses of wine in like four hours. And I know you didn’t have much more than I did. Are you mad at me? I don’t want things to be weird between us. It’s not something I planned either, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.” His voice sounds sincere again.
It’s quiet for several moments. “You still there?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“So what happens now? Because I don’t think there’s a handbook to navigate this one.” My voice is calm but my insides are churning, which I hate. I usually don’t let things bother me. I can’t. I haven’t felt this way for a few months now.
And then he asks quietly, “Do you regret it?” He sounds almost timid.
I release the air I’ve been holding in my lungs and a little of the nervousness goes with it. “Are you seriously asking me that? Gus. You know me. That’s practically my motto: no regrets. Regret just leads to second-guessing and anger and sadness and I sure as hell can’t afford any of those.”
“Yeah.”
It’s quiet for several more moments and I wait for him to offer up more, but Gus is always quiet when he’s thinking about something, so I give him time.
When I can’t stand it any longer, I ask, “Do you regret it?”
He huffs and I can’t tell if it’s an exasperated huff or something else. But when the words come I know he’s amused. “Bright Side, I’m a twenty-one year old f**king guy. It was sex. What do you think?”
He does have a point, but I want answers from him. Not more questions. “But it was sex with me.”
“Hold on a sec.” I hear the click of his lighter and a deep inhale of breath as he takes the first drag from his cigarette.
“You should quit,” I nag softly. It’s habit to scold him about smoking, and even though I can’t see him or smell the tobacco in the air, I have to tell him.
He takes another deep drag and I hear him blow the smoke out. “I know, don’t start with me right now.” His voice suddenly sounds sad. So I stop and let him finish his cigarette because smoking always calms him down, kind of like playing the violin used to do for me. So I allow him his vice.
“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I don’t know, it was you, but it was … I mean, what happened a few days ago was … I don’t know … ”
I don’t say anything because I know he’s working through this. Choosing the right words is important to him. He’s a songwriter and he’s emotional and he wants to get it right. That’s just how it’s always been with Gus. He’s a communicator. He doesn’t talk just to talk. So I wait. I’ve always been pretty patient.
“Can I just talk to you for a second like a guy? I mean like you weren’t there, involved, you know, in what went down?” It’s calm, rational, honest Gus on the other end of the line now. My Gus.
“You can always talk to me, but okay if that helps, whatever.”
“That night was, I don’t know, it was f**king incredible.” His voice is animated now, the way it is when he’s just played me a new song he’s written for the first time or the way it is when he’s just rode out a big wave and it carried him all the way into shore. “I know this sounds cheesy as hell, but you rocked my world.” He’s right, it does sound cheesy as hell. But it’s Gus, and I know it came from the most honest, pure part of him because he’s not embarrassed to talk like this in front of me. His voice comes down a few notches and he continues. “I’ve been with a lot of girls, a lot of girls, but that night was different. It wasn’t random. There was this … I don’t know … this connection. I’ve never had that before. I couldn’t get enough.” He sighs and his voice drops. “And then it was over and you left town.”