One night in the basement of Bruxelles, two of Marianne’s friends were playing a clumsy game of pool while the others sat around drinking and watching. After Jamie won he said: Who wants to play the winner? And Connell put his pint down quietly and said: Alright, yeah. Jamie broke but didn’t pot anything. Without engaging in any conversation at all, Connell then potted four of the yellow balls in a row. Marianne started laughing, but Connell was expressionless, just focused-looking. In the short time after his turn he drank silently and watched Jamie send a red ball spinning off the cushion. Then Connell chalked his cue briskly and resumed pocketing the final three yellows. There was something so satisfying about the way he studied the table and lined the shots up, and the quiet kiss of the chalk against the smooth surface of the cue ball. The girls all sat around watching him take shots, watching him lean over the table with his hard, silent face lit by the overhead lamp. It’s like a Diet Coke ad, said Marianne. Everyone laughed then, even Connell did. When it was just the black ball left he pointed at the top right-hand pocket and, gratifyingly, said: Alright, Marianne, are you watching? Then he potted it. Everyone applauded.
Instead of walking home that night, Connell came back to stay at hers. They lay in her bed looking up at the ceiling and talking. Until then they had always avoided discussing what had happened between them the year before, but that night Connell said: Do your friends know about us?
Marianne paused. What about us? she said eventually.
What happened in school and all that.
No, I don’t think so. Maybe they’ve picked up on something but I never told them.
For a few seconds Connell said nothing. She was attuned to his silence in the darkness.
Would you be embarrassed if they found out? he said.
In some ways, yeah.
He turned over then, so he wasn’t looking up at the ceiling anymore but facing her. Why? he said.
Because it was humiliating.
You mean like, the way I treated you.
Well, yeah, she said. And just the fact that I put up with it.
Carefully he felt for her hand under the quilt and she let him hold it. A shiver ran along her jaw and she tried to make her voice sound light and humorous.
Did you ever think about asking me to the Debs? she said. It’s such a stupid thing but I’m curious whether you thought about it.
To be honest, no. I wish I did.
She nodded. She continued looking up at the black ceiling, swallowing, worried that he could make out her expression.
Would you have said yes? he asked.
She nodded again. She tried to roll her eyes at herself but it felt ugly and self-pitying rather than funny.
I’m really sorry, he said. I did the wrong thing there. And you know, apparently people in school kind of knew about us anyway. I don’t know if you heard that.
She sat up on her elbow and stared down at him in the darkness.
Knew what? she said.
That we were seeing each other and all that.
I didn’t tell anyone, Connell, I swear to god.
She could see him wince even in the dark.
No, I know, he said. My point is more that it wouldn’t have mattered even if you did tell people. But I know you didn’t.
Were they horrible about it?
No, no. Eric just mentioned it at the Debs, that people knew. No one cared, really.
There was another short silence between them.
I feel guilty for all the stuff I said to you, Connell added. About how bad it would be if anyone found out. Obviously that was more in my head than anything. I mean, there was no reason why people would care. But I kind of suffer from anxiety with these things. Not that I’m making excuses, but I think I projected some anxiety onto you, if that makes sense. I don’t know. I’m still thinking about it a lot, why I acted in such a fucked-up way.
She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, so tightly it almost hurt her, and this small gesture of desperation on his part made her smile.
I forgive you, she said.
Thank you. I think I did learn from it. And hopefully I have changed, you know, as a person. But honestly, if I have, it’s because of you.
They kept holding hands underneath the quilt, even after they went to sleep.
*
