Page 439 - A Little Life: A Novel

Willem had looked at him and smiled. “Come here,” he said, and he did,
and Willem kissed him. He had been scared, and panicky, and once again he
had thought of Brother Luke, and he had opened his eyes to remind himself

that this was Willem after all, not someone to fear. But just as he was
relaxing into it, he had seen Caleb’s face flashing through his mind like a
pulse, and he pulled away from Willem, choking, rubbing his hand across
his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said, pivoting away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m
not very good at this, Willem.”
“What do you mean?” Willem had asked, turning him back around.
“You’re great at it,” and he had felt himself sag with relief that Willem

wasn’t angry at him.
Since then, he has been constantly pitting what he knows of Willem
against what he expects of someone—anyone—who has any physical desire
for him. It is as if he somehow expects that the Willem he has known will
be replaced by another; as if there will be a different Willem for what is a
different relationship. In the first few weeks, he was terrified that he might

upset or disappoint Willem in some way, that he might drive him toward
anger. He had waited for days, summoning his courage, to tell Willem that
he couldn’t tolerate the taste of coffee in his mouth (although he didn’t
explain to him why: Brother Luke, his awful, muscular tongue, the grain of
coffee grounds that had permanently furred his gumline. This had been one
of the things he had appreciated about Caleb: that he hadn’t drunk coffee).
He apologized and apologized until Willem told him to stop. “Jude, it’s

fine,” he said. “I should’ve realized: really. I just won’t drink it.”
“But you love coffee,” he said.
Willem had smiled. “I enjoy it, yes,” he said, “but I don’t need it.” He
smiled again. “My dentist will be thrilled.”
Also in that first month, he had talked to Willem about sex. They had
these conversations at night, in bed, when it was easier to say things. He

had always associated night with cutting, but now it was becoming about
something else—those talks with Willem in a darkened room, when he was
less self-conscious about touching him, and where he could see every one
of Willem’s features and yet was also able to pretend that Willem couldn’t
see his.
“Do you want to have sex someday?” he asked him one night, and even
as he was saying it, he heard how stupid he sounded.

But Willem didn’t laugh at him. “Yes,” he said, “I’d like to.”