"we should talk." any sentence that begins with these three words is a danger, the reluctance making itself known on andy's face even in the modified lighting in the downstairs studio space. they haven't put it to use, still relying on the one at alan's for the most part, the change almost strange to him though he understands the importance of things being close to home as often as possible. there are so many plates to keep spinning, too many. stress can be a trigger for some people. he turns in his chair, not standing up, but he closes his laptop nevertheless, the project not so urgent that it can't be put off a few hours.
"let's talk," he agrees, crossing one leg over the other as clive sits at the table across from him. things have fallen to the wayside, things like therapy becoming less important than his other obligations, always to others and not himself. he sleeps, at least, in bed until another reminder pulls him away. they can move to los angeles without him, but he doesn't want it that way. keep me updated, let me know he demands, wanting to be included on every email, to listen to every demo that comes through. they add another show to round out the calendar: too many gaps, he says, just one more.
clive, he likes, but is cautious with. he's somewhere close to amy's age, and reminds him of max: a dangerous combination. if harlowe is his emotional kryptonite, max jakobs is his mental, and clive lacks the decade of investment, no courtesy for the sake of harlowe, of marc, of friendship in general, of exhaustion from hearing himself on endless loop. and he's always there. andy can't shit without him. "how was the couple's thing?"
the other therapy. he hasn't decided what he thinks of veronica, predisposed to like that she seemed to keep harlowe on her feet, but uncertain what his role was meant to be moving forward. one step forward, two steps back. talking had only escalated things and she had walked out.
it was hard to remember how long it had been since the last time she had chosen something other than going to bed.
"good," he says hesitantly, waiting for a follow-up. there was always a follow-up question, but clive doesn't take the bait, leaving him to continue himself. "i think we're going back next week."
"do you want to talk about what you discussed?"
"not really, no."
clive pauses to consider this, and andy waits again, anticipating the push, ready to push back. he leans forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his legs, arms hanging between. "okay. that's not really the purpose of me being here, so - we'll talk about it. start easy. do you think it helped?"
2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015
something goes flying. it's probably a mug, but it flies past his head in a blur, too fast to turn and react. it shatters against the wall and he ducks the shards of ceramic as they scatter. what was once an attempt to cover up his mistake becomes an expansion of his arms as he steps towards her, voice raised. "who cares? who fucking cares? it's only sex? they don't -" his arms have lowered, but now they raise again to tap his fingertips against his head, closed as they touch and expanding as his arms widen again. "why would you think that anybody else matters? what's wrong with you? it isn't my fault if they love me too. what i feel is what matters."
2019 "you know i heard the fight," he says. everywhere. can't hide. they aren't being watched by alexa or facebook, but by her south african cousin. "some of it at least."
he can feel his shoulders tense, sitting up straight, chin lifting. he feels the defiance seep in, and says nothing, running his tongue across his upper teeth. his fault. they had been scheduled for a post-show chat, put on hold temporarily, and then forgotten.
"i think it'd be good to bring up. the two of you didn't let it go and pretend that everything was alright. that's progress."
"but?"
"your technique needs work, but you can't expect to get it right the first time you're honest with each other. you've both spent a lot of time trying not to be because you're afraid of what happens. don't let this be discouraging. i'm sure harlowe is being told the same thing."
"i said that i was sorry," he says quickly, defensively, his rigidity giving way to a moment of worry, which he covers with flippancy, snorting dismissively. "i get why it was a fucked up thing to say."
2002
"i got this for you," jamie says, holding out a shirt. he turns it over in his hands, the word sutcliffe embroidered on the back. he thinks about going in for a hug, but their mother is too fast, placing both hands on jamie's face as she kisses his cheeks. at seventeen, he towers over her, nearly as tall as he will be as an adult, but he seems like a child, blushing in embarrassment. he waves her off. "mum, stop."
"did you congratulate your brother, andrew?" she turns towards him momentarily, then back to jamie. "league winners. we're so proud of you, darling."
1995
the vanity at their grandmother's house is white, which surprises him, because he thinks of africa as a desert, like part of the lion king. it's going to get dirty, he thinks but she manages to clean everything up before straightening. he waits for her arm to miss the stem and knock the glass, but she finds her wine smoothly, lifting it to her mouth as she observes him above the rim. it's red, like her lipstick, like blood. he hands her the handkerchief his grandfather gave him, pulled from his pocket.
it was white and now it is stained with red.
"it isn't your fault," she says, running her hand over his cheek. "they don't let you play because you aren't any good. not everyone is good at something, bokkie. it's like," her hands flail in a circle, trying to conjure words, "it's evolution. thin the herd. don't you eat anything? why are you so little? what are they giving you up there?" the thoughts stray, and she turns to the mirror. "do you watch your mummy on the news, andrew? they get it down here, you know. and i told them, i said, 'staying with james was the cleverest thing i've ever done', and now they see it. he needed me and i needed him. on my own, yes, i've quite a lot, but, andrew," she places her hands on his cheeks, cradling his face. "andrew. we need each other, he and i. the whole is greater, you know. and jamie will be right there behind him, i can feel it. it's in his blood. he's someone. don't cry." she wipes at tears that don't exist. "your father's parents are nobodies, in that fucking house with nothing. and he wants us to go back. i don't understand. you can't love nobody."