“The Temple of Dendur. Did you ever take her there?”
Josh gathers himself. “First of all, I like the reflecting pool. I wanted some time alone with you tonight, so I chose – what I thought was – the museum’s nicest room. Second of all, no. I did not take you someplace where I previously made out with my ex-girlfriend. Or whatever else it is you think we might have done in there.”
“Well, I know that much. If you’d done anything more, I would have read about it. Very graphically! In your graphic memoir.”
Time stops.
And that’s when I know that I’ve just said the worst thing that I’ll ever say in my entire life. And I’ve said it to the person whom I love the most.
Josh’s voice is deadly quiet. “Anything else you’d like to share with me right now? Any additional criticisms of me or my work?”
I want to speak. I want to apologize. This isn’t about his ex or his work. I have no idea why I just said those things. I’m confused. I’m not sure why I feel this upset, why I’m picking fights about things that don’t even matter.
Brian glances at me in the rear-view mirror, and his expression is unbearably strained, as if he’d jump through the car window if he could fit through the hole.
“No. Really,” Josh continues. “As long as you’re finally opening up to me, why don’t you go on? Tell me what else is wrong with my book.”
I’ve backed myself into the furthest corner possible. “Nothing is wrong with it.”
“But there are things you’d change?”
“No! I mean, yeah, but…small things. You know?” Stop talking. “It’s not a big deal. All books require a little bit of editing.”
The street lights cast Josh in shadow. I can’t see his expression, but it doesn’t feel nice. He remains silent. Waiting.
“Okay.” I gulp. “Well. There was this one flashback that was in a weird place. When you get your tattoo? That scene…it just didn’t flow with what came before and after it.”
“All right.” It comes out like ice.
“And your parents. They were, like, this big deal in the beginning, but by the end, it was like you didn’t even have parents. They completely dropped out.”
“Because they live in another country.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t in your life any more. Even if it’s their absence that matters, it’s still something that should be acknowledged.”
His jaw is clenched. “Anything else?”
“Um.” My voice lowers to a near whisper. “There were a lot of drawings of Rashmi. In the middle.”
“Shocker.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, there were a ton of one-page panels that were just…there. Completely unnecessary. They didn’t contribute anything to the story.” I can’t believe that I’m saying this – all of this – aloud. A good girlfriend would keep her mouth shut. “And then sections of your junior year were really crowded. You needed more variation between the panels. More space.”
“More space.”
“Um, yeah. Spaces. Breaks. For the reader to contemplate things. To figure out what’s important, on their own.”
“Spaces,” he says. “To figure out what’s important.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m drowning in a river of my own making. “I didn’t say anything earlier, because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. It’s great, I promise.”
“You’ve used that word to describe it in the past. And yet, I still don’t believe you.”
“I’m sorry.” I say it again, my voice desperate.
“Are you sure you aren’t just pissed off? Maybe because it isn’t about you?”
“No!” The shame is overwhelming. “I wasn’t even in your life until this year. I know that. I know I’m not an important part of your story.”
For the first time in several minutes, Josh is thrown. “What do you mean, you’re not important to my story?”
“I haven’t been around that long. And you had this whole life before me, and you’ll have this whole life after me—”
“After you?” His voice gets an octave higher. “What do you mean after?”
“Vermont. Your school. Your future.”
Josh is baffled. “But…you’re coming with me.”
“Am I?”
“When Dartmouth accepts you—”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I say.
He punches his fist against the seat. “Stop saying that. Why are you always putting yourself down? You’re gonna get in. There’s no way that you’re not getting in.”