Patrick shook his head. “Believe me. You don’t want to go in there.”
Then, he jiggled the car keys in front of my face and said, “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
In the car, I told Patrick everything that had been going on. About the record. And the book.
And To Kill a Mockingbird. And how Mary Elizabeth never asked any questions. And all Patrick said was, “It’s too bad you’re not gay.”
That made me stop crying a little bit. “Then again, if you were gay, I would never date you. You’re a mess.”
That made me start laughing a little bit. “And I thought Brad was fucked-up. Jesus.”
That made me laugh a lot more. Then, he turned on the radio and we drove through the tunnels back home.
When he dropped me off, Patrick told me the best thing to do was keep away for a while. I guess I already told you that.
He said that when he knew more, he’d give me a call. “Thanks, Patrick.” “Don’t mention it.”
And then I said, “You know, Patrick? If I were gay, I’d want to date you.”
I don’t know why I said it, but it seemed right. Patrick just smiled cocky and said, “Of course.”
Then, he peeled out down the road. When I lay down in bed that night, I put on the Billie Holiday record,
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