Page 451 - A Little Life: A Novel
P. 451

illogical and maybe a tiny bit self-involved, but it wouldn’t be truthful if he
                didn’t tell Willem that part of him was miffed that Willem had picked Jude
                and not him.

                   “JB,”  he  said,  again  and  again,  “it  was  very  organic.  I  didn’t  tell  you
                because I needed time to figure it out in my own head. And as for being
                attracted to you, what can I say? I’m not. And you aren’t attracted to me,
                either! We made out once, remember? You said it was a huge turnoff for
                you, remember?”
                   JB  ignored  all  this,  however.  “I  still  don’t  understand  why  you  told
                Malcolm  and  Richard  first,”  he  said,  sullenly,  to  which  Willem  had  no

                response. “Anyway,” JB said, after a silence, “I really am happy for you
                two. I am.”
                   He sighed. “Thank you, JB,” he said. “That means a lot.” They were both
                quiet again.
                   “JB,” said Jude, coming out of his study, looking surprised that JB was
                still there. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

                   “What’re you having?”
                   “Cod. And I’ll roast some potatoes the way you like them.”
                   “I guess,” JB said, sulkily, and Willem grinned at Jude over JB’s head.
                   He joined Jude in the kitchen and began making a salad, and JB slumped
                to the dining-room table and started flipping through a novel Jude had left
                there.  “I  read  this,”  he  called  over  to  him.  “Do  you  want  to  know  what
                happens in the end?”

                   “No, JB,” said Jude. “I’m only halfway through.”
                   “The minister character dies after all.”
                   “JB!”
                   After  that,  JB’s  mood  seemed  to  improve.  Even  his  final  salvos  were
                somewhat  listless,  as  if  he  were  delivering  them  out  of  obligation  rather
                than true depth of feeling. “In ten years, I’ll bet you two will have made the

                full transition to lesbiandom. I predict cats,” was one, and “Watching you
                two  in  the  kitchen  is  like  watching  a  slightly  more  racially  ambiguous
                version of that John Currin painting. Do you know what I’m talking about?
                Look it up,” was another.
                   “Are you going to come out or keep it quiet?” JB asked over dinner.
                   “I’m not sending out a press release, if that’s what you mean,” Willem
                said. “But I’m not going to hide it, either.”
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