40 Skyler and Lucas Have a Breakdown

August 10th

I had thought that on our drive back from work Lucas would want to talk about his photography gig for the opening night of The Shadow of Never. But he and Armand had made plans to meet in person, which was definitely more important.

"But is it too soon though?" Lucas said, his grip on the steering wheel concerningly tight. "A few days ago I said I wasn't brave enough to step out into the living room when he was already there in the house."

He looked genuinely worried, so I carefully bit back a laugh. "Too soon? Lucas you've been living with him for weeks. And he's flying home in like five days."

Lucas tutted. "Yes, but—"

"But I think it's really cool that you both agreed to meet." My time being a model for Armand's class was over, but it was hard to forget about a giant British man awkwardly pining for your oblivious friend. "I'm sure Armand is as nervous as you."

"I guess. It's just that I ... I don't know, should I be this concerned about what some guy thinks about me?" Lucas rattled a shaky sigh. "Maybe I should just go travel the world and find myself or whatever."

"Kind of thought you'd already done a bunch of traveling," I said, able to clearly imagine Lucas gallivanting around Europe with a flowy scarf and a baguette. "Why are you even rich if you haven't done an Eat Pray Love?"

He snorted. "That's a fair point. I always meant to, but I've only been as far as Canada, which, yikes. God knows I eat, but I don't pray, and as for love—" he gestured to the road ahead of us "—well you see what I've been dealing with—"

The car jolted, lurching us off-balance. I braced myself against the door, and Lucas's arm shot across my chest.

He navigated us to the shoulder of the road before turning to me, eyes wide. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." I glanced down at Lucas's fancy car that had betrayed us. "Is the car good?"

Lucas exhaled, finally dropping his arm. "I guess we hit a nail or something ..." He shot me an apologetic glance. "Sorry for soccer-momming you."

"It's okay," I assured him. "Thanks for saving my life."

Lucas rolled his eyes, then stepped out of the car. I followed, and—

Whatever we'd driven over, the front left tire was history.

"I don't suppose you have a spare?" I tentatively asked.

"I'm like eighty-nine percent sure I do, but this is one of the newer models, and it's not in the trunk like a normal car, it's somewhere ... maybe under the car?" Lucas ran both hands over his face and groaned. "I know my mom tried to teach me how to change a tire at some point, but I was thirteen, and you remember how you don't care about anything when you're thirteen?"

"Like it was yesterday," I said, "or at least, barely five years ago."

Lucas turned to me, one arm across his middle and the other crossing up over his shoulder. "And I don't suppose you know about cars and flat tires?"

"Who, me? I'm but a wee infant baby."

Lucas snorted sardonically. "Damn, we're a walking stereotype. The boomers were right about us."

Luckily he had AAA, though after calling there was nothing to do but lean against the side of the car and wait to be rescued.

"So ..." I began, watching Lucas's leg bounce anxiously, "want to talk more about how excited you are to meet Armand?"

His face went pale as he let out a little gasp. "Shit—" He fumbled with his phone, presumably sending Armand a text that he'd be late. Then his arm flew back up across his chest like it lived there now. "Skyler, I think I manifested this."

"You gave yourself a flat tire?"

"I've been so nervous about this meeting that maybe the universe channeled all that energy into my car breaking down."

"What are you nervous about? He clearly wants to meet you, what's the worst that can happen?"

Lucas's eyes dropped back down to his phone, which he'd been absently tapping on. "That he's disappointed," he finally said. "And that's the issue. I don't even know why I care so much about what he thinks of me. He already saw how messed up I was after Darren, but ..." he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder in a weirdly awkward move. "I just ... I have no idea what I'm doing."

Now if that wasn't the most relatable thing I'd heard all day. I continued gently, carefully, "Well, instead of wondering what he expects of you, maybe it would be easier to think about what you expect of him."

Lucas looked lost, like he was years younger than he was, closer to my age. "I don't even know that," he said softly, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks. "I do know that he's easy to talk to. We haven't been texting for very long, but it's kind of wonderful. Now that he, you know, texts back. And everything I told him, about Darren or whatever ... it just seemed like he was actually listening. Like he understands what I'm going through." He bit his lip, staring down at the ground. "It's weird. It's like I know him already."

It seemed too soon after Darren, but judging from Lucas's body language and the way he never did stop blushing, I had to ask. "Do you think you like him?"

"I—" Lucas began to hunch in on himself, which reminded me so much of Armand that it caught me off-guard "—I really like talking with him. And you're going to think I'm so stupid and immature, but I'd never considered having anyone else but Darren in my life. In like. A romantic capacity."

I couldn't speak for Armand Demetrio and didn't know what his intentions were toward Lucas, but I did know that he was a sweet man who seemed to care about Lucas's well-being. That, much like Lucas, he was a man who made people feel safe in his presence. "I wouldn't say I'm an expert in this area," I said, as the understatement of the decade, "but perhaps you don't need to go into this with certain expectations. It's just a meeting—maybe see where things take you. You don't have to define yourself by the relationships you do or don't have."

Lucas blinked at me, then shook his head in amusement. "One of these days I'll remember that apparently you were a philosopher in another life." There was a buzz, and he checked his phone again. His face fell. "He says he has to leave soon for class. I blew it."

"Well, technically, the universe blew it," I pointed out.

Lucas laughed. "Yes, good, you're right. Avoid accountability at all costs."

We were saved by AAA soon after that, and Lucas was able to drop me off at my dorm without further incident. He seemed to be in better spirits, so hopefully my advice had helped a little. It was always simpler to lend advice to someone else for their problems—which were usually pretty easy to decipher—than to solve my own.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

There was still a problem I had left to solve. I dug out my phone, hesitating for an impossible moment before texting Matt.

Skyler: hey can we talk

It took Matt several minutes—the dreaded three dots showed him typing, then stopping, then typing again—but he finally responded.

Matt: yeah

I set up the video call, and this was it. No going back now.

"What's up?" Matt asked, his demeanor calm and collected, though the edges of his mouth were tight and the smile didn't reach his eyes. "You see Delia's painting? I told her it looks absolutely sick, though I have no idea what's going on there, not even a little bit."

"Yeah, it turned out great." I forced myself to take a deep breath, to face the consequences of my actions once and for all. "Um. I needed to talk to you, though."

"Oh? What about?"

"Matt," I said quietly, "I know you're mad at me. Let's just get all this out in the open, okay? Just tell me what you want to tell me."

He scoffed. His eye started twitching. "What? I'm not mad, dude, I'm fine—"

"I can practically see the ulcer you've given yourself from the stress of being upset." I didn't want him to be mad, Matt never got mad, but if that was what it would take for us to go back to normal, for him to forgive me, then so be it. "Talk to me."

Matt blinked back, and I wondered if he would make an excuse to hang up again. Then a weird whimper snuck out of him. "I ... I'm ..." he propped up his phone and hugged himself. I hadn't seen him use such closed body language since middle school. "Okay. Yeah. I'm mad. It's so fucking weird, dude. I thought I could be cool about this whole thing, because I love you and want to support your decisions and stuff, right, but ..." He rolled his hands over the top of his head. "We had a plan, Skyler. I— You never said you were considering anything else. I thought we told each other everything."

"We do," I agreed, weakly, desperately wishing this could continue to be true. "I didn't plan it. I'm sorry."

"I just don't understand! I don't understand why you left and I don't understand why you won't tell me, and I—" Matt's voice cracked, and his eyes shone with tears. "I feel shitty, Skyler. Like you abandoned me and I don't know why. And I hate it, I hate being upset with you, and I haven't been sleeping and Delia's worried but she doesn't want to say anything and please can you just fucking tell me what's going on?"

I hadn't fully crafted my apology like I should have. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Matt," I managed, my own throat growing tight the longer I stared at the pain on my brother's face. "That was never my intention, and I promise, I swear, you didn't do anything wrong. This is—" Half truths. Half truths I could tell him. "You and Delia mean so much to me, and I saw how well things were going for you guys. So I ... I guess I wanted to give you an opportunity to figure out where that was going. You've always taken care of me, Matt," I pressed on before he could protest, "always made me feel welcome in your family, and comfortable with your friends, and all you do is look out for me. You never focus on yourself and what you want."

"You're saying I can't want to go to college and hang out with my best friend—"

"Of course not, but." I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "You'll always have me, Matt. I promise I'm not going anywhere. But between you looking out for me and me never being independent, it felt like a moment where just a little bit of space may have done us both some good. I'm so sorry I made you think I didn't want to be near you."

Matt sniffed again, and everything in him seemed to relax in the span of one inhale. "So ... what you're saying ... is that I'm a big sad whiny baby."

"That is not at all what I said, but to be fair only one of us is covered in snot right now."

He choked out a laugh. "Being mad is so exhausting; you may not have been kidding about that ulcer."

I smiled. "I really am sorry. Are we okay?"

"Fuck you. Yeah, we're good, but I miss my brother. When can you get back here to visit?"

"Soon," I promised. "Thanks for talking to me."

"Guess I have to retract what I said about that psychology major. I am not easily emotionally cracked like a gourd."

"That is an absolute lie, and Delia will agree with me."

We both reassured each other that we were sorry and we were okay and nothing would change that, and afterward, I sat on my bed, buzzing with overwhelmed relief.

I shot off a text to Robin, telling him that he was right, that it all worked out, but I didn't hear anything in response. I fought the urge to double-text to see if he was okay. He was probably just doing last-minute play cramming—I couldn't imagine how busy the cast must be this close to opening night.

Worst-case scenario I would see him at the show.