Page 233 of Incompatible

He says it calmly in that same neutral and polite tone.

"And I congratulate you on the success of your music career, Bay," I say. It comes out stiff and overly formal, but I honestly can’t think of anything better.

"I had substantial help along the way," he answers diplomatically with a slight nod in my direction.

Silence follows. He takes another slow drag from the vape while I watch him discreetly from the corner of my eye, when he looks away toward the skyline beyond the terrace railing.

Bay is definitely not the size I remember from high school. He’s grown and now stands somewhere between six seven and six eight, and he’s much more muscular, something that isn’t always obvious in photos or videos when he’s sitting during interviews or moving around as a small figure on stage. But now, sitting right across from him, I see him in full.

When I overlay his stature with the stalker’s, it fits perfectly. Yeah. For some reason, I had the image of him as an eighteen-year-old boy ingrained in my mind, and somehow the shadowy figure of his stalkeralter egonever overwrote it. So seeing him at his actual size almost shakes me, this intense awareness that I’ve been living with an outdated image in my head, of a boy rather than an adult man.

I watch his movements from beneath half-lowered lids.

So. We fucked. And yet… we didn’t. Not as Alex and Bay.

It’s hard to explain, but somehow it doesn’t feel real; it’s like a dream full of ghosts, secrets, dimmed light, masks, and something forbidden that we could not let take shape.

Over the last four years, I have gone into heat three times. On the worst days, when the pain and desperation twisted through me, I called him, the stalker. He came without protest, without a word, and did everything I asked.

No unnecessary words were spoken. I didn’t ask for more of the ‘pretending to be Bay’ part. I accepted his help during my heat because I needed safety and release, but I couldn’t afford attachment or acknowledging that it was actually him. I took him as Bay’s ghost, not him in the flesh.

Bay smokes slowly, releasing thin streams of vapor, his eyes locked on the cityscape, saying nothing, while the backgroundhum of the band’s conversation surrounds us, and yet between the two of us there is this strange soft quiet.

The energy I can feel in Bay’s presence… so familiar. The way his hands move, the posture of his body and head, even the same scent of laundry detergent.

"So how have the last few years been for you?" I ask, still keeping my tone careful.

Bay turns his gaze toward me, unreadable and calm.

"Very active, a lot of things I was involved in took up my time."

What an evasive answer.

"Anything besides your music career?" I ask, tilting my head a little, tempted to add something like ‘wandering around parks, watching after your ex’. But his eyes stay on my face and he doesn’t seem rattled by the question as he keeps slowly rolling the vape between his fingers while a thread of vapor rises straight upward.

"Plenty of different things, it would take a long time to explain," another evasive answer.

The waiter brings our food and everyone leans over their plates, exchanging comments about the dishes, some pleased with their choices while others complain.

I have no idea what else I could say to Bay, what point of contact I could find, because our lastofficialconversation was wild. I screamed at him like a lunatic over the phone, ‘Bring me back to life!’ and just thinking about it makes me cringe inwardly.

But he pulls me out of my dilemma and suddenly says,

"In three weeks we’ll be playing on your campus again, and I want you there, Alex."

"Oh, so that’s why you went to see the provost?"

He nods. "Yes, the seventieth anniversary of the college."

"Three weeks? Maybe on a Saturday?"

"Yes."

I think for a moment, running through my schedule, and my therapy sessions often fall on Saturdays or Fridays, and I happen to have one booked that weekend, which means I’ll feel awful for the rest of the day.

"I’m not sure whether I’ll have therapy that day, since I go to desensitization sessions once a week for my allergies."

Bay tilts his head slightly. "Therapy for allergies? I’m glad you’re taking care of that, I hope it brings you relief."