Page 67 of Goode Vibrations

“So you learn to leave first and not offer even a hint of anything more than hooking up.”

I sighed bitterly. “I’m not a slut.”

“No judgment here, Pop. That accusation could be made of me, and it would probably stick.”

“Lexie just flat out owns it. I’m not that brave, not that fearless. She gives zero fucks. But I also feel like there are parts of her that no one sees, no one knows. We all had secret lives, I think. Except Charlie. Her life was all about Ivy League universities and top-dollar jobs. Cassie lived only for dance, and that was taken away from her by a car accident. Another whole thing. So I guess it was just me and Lexie with secret lives.”

“What was your secret life?”

“That I was hooking up with guys regularly by sophomore year. My whole life was that paint studio in the backyard, and hooking up. And everyone knew it. It was one of those unspoken secrets of the school community, that Poppy Goode was an easy girl.”

“Poppy—”

I waved him quiet. “No, don’t. It’s just true. I wanted validation. I wanted fulfillment. I wanted to be the center of someone’s attention. It’s called I have serious daddy issues, Errol. Look it up—abnormal psychology one-oh-one.”

“Not sure how abnormal that is, though.”

“And then I met Reed O’Reilly, and I thought he was the one. I thought he would fall in love with me. I thought he could make me feel whole. I thought I could pour all I was into him and somehow, there’d be this magic moment when I’d get it all back. Where he’d—” My voice broke. “Where he’d love me back.”

“Instead, you caught him fucking your best friend and roommate.”

“In my bed.”

“And you realized no one would ever fulfill you, no amount of sex or alcohol or drugs would ever fill that hole.”

“So fucking stereotypical, right?”

“When I was knocking about Europe after the band broke up, I was drunk most of the time. That’s my dirty little secret. I would make myself wait until evening, but I’d buy a bottle and drink the whole thing until I was so pissed I didn’t know who I was. Which was the point, after all, right?”

“Do you still drink?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Nah, not much. I got to a point where I realized I’d end up like Dad, just twenty years younger, and went cold turkey for a few years. Now I can have a drink or two, even get a bit pissed, but I don’t let myself go down that hole anymore. It’s dark down there, Poppy. Dark and lonely.”

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed.

“I just compensated in other ways.”

I forced my eyes to his. “Sex.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You can’t OD on sex, can’t get cirrhosis of the liver from it. It’s never the same twice, even with the same girl. And I realized I get as much fulfillment, if not more, from what I can make my partner feel as what she can do for me. Get by giving, I guess you might call it.”

I bit my lip. “I noticed.”

He laughed. “Poppy, you and me? We just barely scratched the surface of how things could be.” His eyes were serious as the laugh faded. “And I think you know it as well as I do.”

Dawn was breaking gray on the far eastern horizon.

Errol and I stared at each for a long time, silent now, many things yet unsaid, but so much out there for each of us to chew on.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said, eventually. “In the van. And, just for tonight…just sleep.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

He put out the fire, put up the camper top and made a bed out of his sleeping bag and the blanket, and we climbed in, both fully dressed.

Apart, at first.

But then, as we began to drift off to sleep, he turned to face me. Eyes sleepy.