“Ugh, too sweet.”
Rafe chuckles and reclaims his plate. “I like sweet.” He winks at me and I feel my chest flushing for no reason.
“My brother used to eat peanut butter and cheese sandwiches,” I say.
“Which brother?”
“Sam.”
“That’s the oldest.”
I nod.
“That doesn’t sound good. What about Brian?”
“Peanut butter and grape jelly.”
“Grape jelly. That’s pretty bad too.” I nod. “And Daniel?”
“When he was younger, he liked this marshmallow fluff that one of the guys who worked with my dad used to bring over. Now, I think he likes peanut butter and cinnamon.” Well, I don’t have any idea about now, I guess. I haven’t shared any meal but Thanksgiving with Daniel in years.
“And you like just plain peanut butter, huh?”
“Dude, it’s not dream analysis or anything. I just like it.”
Rafe smiles; then his expression turns serious.
“Listen,” he says. “I’m really glad you came with me yesterday, but I hope I didn’t put you in an uncomfortable position.”
He touches my arm and I’m reminded of what Ricky said. I count, but even after five seconds he doesn’t take his hand away.
“Um. Well, no, but I just didn’t fit in. Obviously.” I snort, remembering the way everyone stared at me.
Rafe nods. “I know it probably seems that way. Really, though, the people there are pretty diverse. They’ve just been working toward the same goals for a long time. Sometimes….” He runs his hand through his hair. “Sometimes I think we forget that we had to learn about all these issues too. You know? It’s easy to talk to people who are already coming from the same place, politically. But the true test is whether we can effectively communicate those ideas to people who aren’t familiar with the issues.”
Rafe gets this intent look when he’s talking about this crap.
“They’re really good people, though. And Tony told me at dinner that he was glad I’d brought you.”
I laugh but it doesn’t sound right. “Yeah, dinner. I can picture that conversation. ‘Hey, Rafe, I’m glad you brought the stupid car guy who didn’t know what he was doing.’”
“Hey.” Rafe’s expression is serious. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Don’t turn something I said into a weapon you use against yourself.”
My ears heat. I grab a beer from the refrigerator and hold one out to Rafe before I remember he doesn’t drink, and he shakes his head tightly.
“Seriously, Colin. They’re not like that.”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning against the fridge and looking down at the floor I scrubbed the other day. The new bleach-to-water ratio I used definitely helped with the yellowing. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re perfect and you all volunteer at soup kitchens together and shit.” My voice is a snarl and I sound childish even to myself. I don’t know why I do this.
“Actually,” Rafe says, leaning forward in his chair, shoulders tight. “I do sometimes. What are you trying to say?”
“Whatever,” I mutter, wishing I could take it back. Why the hell does it piss me off so much that he volunteers at a soup kitchen?
“No. You think I haven’t seen this before, Colin? Someone trying to make me feel as if the work I do is suspect. Make it seem like my commitment to my politics is about feeling superior?”
And that’s what it is. Like every good thing he does just underlines how I’m no good to anyone.
“You do feel superior, though. Don’t you? To me, anyway. I can see what you think. I’m a selfish little bitch who doesn’t do anything for anyone but himself. Hell, who couldn’t even—”
“Stop it right there,” Rafe says sharply, out of his chair in an instant. “Don’t tell me what I think. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
I put more beer in my mouth instead, tossing the empty can and using the time when my back is to Rafe to get myself under control.
For a while we just stand there. Finally, he says, “You know, you volunteer too. At the YA.”
Yeah, I want to say. At the YA where the kids think I’m fucking gay because of the way you look at me. Except he’s not looking at me that way now. Now he just looks… disappointed. And fuck me, my stupid breathing thing is back.
I crack open another beer and slump against the counter, trying to get a deep breath. I have no idea what to say, and Rafe’s obviously not going to help me out this time.
“I’m going to leave,” Rafe says finally, as I finish the beer.