I manage to smile back, and then I turn and keepwalking.
Seventeen
Silas
Ihate comingdown to the city. I hate driving in the city even more. Scott’s apartment building is easy to find. I have to park more than seven blocks away, but I don’t care. I’m handling this once and for all. The temperature jumped back up earlier in the day and it's even hotter in Manhattan long after sunset. Sweat’s dripping down my back by the time I’m standing outside Scott’s place. I find our last name on the button next to PH. The building is kind of shitty on the outside, but at least he has the best apartment in the place. I press the button and nothing. I press it again. He might not be home. It’s not a problem though. I’ll find him and I can wait. I pull out my cell phone and hit his number. I’m sure he’s going to let me go to voicemail, but heanswers.
“Jesus, what, Si? What do youwant?”
“Where are you rightnow?
“In my apartment.Why?”
“I’m downstairs. Let mein.”
“What the fuck? Why are youdownstairs?”
“Because I came here to talk to you, face to face. Let me in or I’ll start buzzing your neighbors. It’s fucking hot outhere.”
“Fine.” The call ends and a moment later, the door buzzes open. The outside of the building is deceiving. The inside is completely remodeled. I cross the empty lobby, pass the unattended front desk, and take the elevator to the top floor. Scott has the top floor to himself. The elevator opens to a small landing. The door to his place is wide open. I walk inside, into his open kitchen living room area, but I don’t see himanywhere.
“Scott.”
“Hold on.” He comes walking into the kitchen, pulling a Harvard Law t-shirt over his head. I watch him as he maneuvers to the other side of the kitchen, putting some distance and the kitchen island between us. He leans on the countertop, bracing his palms on the edge. He won’t look at me. That doesn’t hide the massive bruise going down the side of hisface.
“That was you buzzing?” heasks.
“Yes. You don't even check to see who'sdownstairs?”
“No one just shows up at my place. I figured someone buzzed the wrong apartment. So you're here. Drove all the way down to punch me in the faceagain?”
“Imight.”
“Great.” He slaps the counter, then walks over to a mini bar near the window. I watch him as he grabs a glass and pulls the top off a decanter of Scotch. Our dad has always taken his whisky seriously. Something about this whole show is a different kind of douchey. “You want a drink?” heasks.
“No. Idon’t.”
“Fine. I’ll help myself while you read me the riotact.”
“This place suits you,” I tell him. Cold and dark. The whole setup is dark wood and even darker marble. I’m sure Scott thinks it fits his too cool, too smooth style. It feels dark and weird, impressive at first and ultimately over the top, in the most extreme way. Classic Scott. I wait until he downs half of hisScotch.
“Mom wants us to work things out,” I tellhim.
“So let’s work things out. You’re the one holding thegrudge.”
“You almost fucked up my whole life. Sorry if I didn’t take your fake ass apologyseriously.”
“What do you want from me, Silas? My time machine is in the shop. I can’t change what happened. I fucked up. Okay? I fucked up really bad. I’m sorry. But I didn’t ruin your life. We both turned out fine. It’s water under the fucking bridge. Just moveon.”
“When did you become such anasshole?”
He rolls his eyes and starts walking out of the kitchen area. I follow him. He stops walking and looks at me. We’re the same height, but he looks so small these days. I realize then just how long it’s been since I’ve really looked at him, since we’ve really been around each other. We have both moved on, we’ve both changed in a lot of ways. I think Scott forgot that I’m the one person who truly knows him. He can’t fake anything aroundme.
“Tell me. You used to be nice. You used to be a good person. When did you become this guy? Was it the day you got to school? Was there some sort of secret society you joined that had ‘be a complete piece of shit to everyone around you’ as one of their founding tenets? What the fuck happened toyou?”
“I don’t fucking know, Si. But I get it. I’m a dick. We both know that. Mom and Dad know that. You’re the sweet, good son and I’m the dick. You can’t get it right with every kid, I guess. But what the fuck does it matter? You got the farm. It’s doing well. Dad told me it’s doingbetterthan when he was running it. You have friends, both human and of the animal variety, who would clearly do anything for you. You fucking won. So why don’t we get to what you really came here to talk to meabout.”
“Itold—”