"Uh huh."
"I'm serious."
"You're never serious. That's your whole thing."
That one lands somewhere I don't love, and I go quiet for a second. Devon must hear it, because he sighs.
"I didn't mean it like that," he says. "I just mean—look, I know you took this job because of me, and I know you think it's just some placeholder until you figure out what you actually want to do. But you've been there six months and you haven't quit. That means something."
"It means I like having rent money."
"It means you're not actually the fuckup you pretend to be, and maybe you should stop pretending before people believe you." There's a thump in the background that sounds like Gabriel threw something, and Devon swears under his breath. "You're smart, Ray. Genuinely smart. I just don't want you to—" Another crash. "Jesus Christ—hold on."
I wait while Devon deals with whatever Gabriel just destroyed, and I stare at the sidewalk and think about what he said. The smart thing. People don't usually say that about me, and when they do, it's always with the qualifier.You're smart when you want to be. You're smart but you don't apply yourself. You're smart for someone who doesn't try.Devon's the only one who just says it straight.
Miles said I was adequate today. Which, from Miles, might actually be a compliment. When Richard Aldridge asked if I was any good, Miles could've said no. He could've said I was a disaster, which is what he calls me at least twice a week. But he said adequate, and then Richard told him to bring me, and for a second—just a second—Miles looked at me like he didn't knowwhat to do with me. Like I'd broken some rule he didn't know existed.
I liked it. I liked that I surprised him. I like surprising him in general.
Devon comes back on the line, slightly more frazzled than before. "Sorry. He pulled a book off the shelf and hit himself in the face with it. He's fine, he's just dramatic. Gets it from Alex."
"Gets it from you," I correct.
"Fuck off." But he's laughing, and I can hear Gabriel babbling happily in the background, and my chest fills up with something I can't name. This is my family. Devon, who raised himself so he could raise me. Alex, who showed up broken and angry and turned out to be exactly what my brother needed. Gabriel, who shits on people's chests and eats remotes and is the most perfect thing I've ever seen.
I want this for myself someday. I don't say it out loud because it doesn't fit the image—the fun one, the fuckboy, the guy who keeps it casual. But I do. I want someone who looks at me the way Alex looks at Devon when he thinks nobody's watching. I want the mess and the noise and the kid who destroys my apartment.
"I gotta go," Devon says. "Gabe needs lunch and Alex is on a call. But Ray? Just... be smart about the conference, okay?"
"I will."
"And don't fall for your boss."
"Goodbye, Devon."
He laughs and hangs up, and I stand there for another minute with my phone in my hand, the cold air biting at my ears. I should go back inside. I've got a stack of files to organize and a conference to prep for and a boss who will one hundred percent notice if I take a long lunch.
The thing Devon doesn't get—the thing nobody gets, really—is that I'm not pretending with Miles. I'm not playing dumb orbeing lazy or coasting on charm the way I do with everyone else. I actually try with him. I stay late organizing his files the way he likes them. I learned the Morrison case backwards and forwards because it matters to him, and I wanted to be useful, and when I said that thing about the AV setup today, it wasn't some spontaneous burst of genius. I'd been thinking about it for a week. I just waited for the right moment because I knew he'd dismiss it if I brought it up over email.
He still called me adequate. But he didn't say no. Richard Aldridge is sending me to a mountain resort with him, which means someone in that room thought I was worth something, even if Miles would rather chew glass than admit it.
I push off the wall and head for the entrance. The building swallows me back into its fluorescent lights and recycled air, and I take the elevator up and walk down the hall toward my desk, which means walking past Miles's office.
His door is open. He's at his desk, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug—the one I left for him this morning that he apparently did drink, because it's empty now—and the other scrolling through something on his screen. He hasn't noticed me yet, and I let myself look for a second. Just a second. His jaw is set, and that line between his eyebrows is still there, and his blond hair has come slightly loose from wherever he usually keeps it slicked back. He looks tired and precise and kind of beautiful, in a way that's got nothing to do with any of the uncomplicated, fun things I'm used to wanting.
Devon's voice echoes in my head.Don't fall for your boss.
Yeah. I should probably work on that.
I keep walking, but I'm smiling, and I can't really make myself stop.
Miles
Ican see through the restaurant window that there are four place settings instead of three, and I almost turn around and get back in my car.
I don't, because I'm a good son. I'm an excellent son. I show up once a month for dinner, I wear a nice suit, I let my mother kiss my cheek and tell me I look thin. That's the deal. She doesn't ask about my suppressants, I don't mention that Dad still hasn't paid back the money I lent them for the house. We're a family that runs on polite avoidance, and it works.
But four place settings means she's done it again.