Don't Look Back by Gregg Hurwitz

committed. Together. Once you own someone, you start to despise them.”
    “The trick is,” Will said, “not to own them.”
    “Thanks, breeder. I read that fortune cookie, too.”
    “You learned to read?”
    “Gay people are generally literate. It comes packaged with the superior fashion sense.”
    “That’s another thing,” Eve said, losing traction on some of her consonants. “When did we get so fucking glib ? I’m sick of irony, of flip, of snark. When did everyone get so desperate not to be not jaded?”
    The others took a beat, either to unpack the double negative or because her rant was even more of a non sequitur than she’d thought.
    “Are you referring to me?” Jay said. “I thought I was being clever.”
    “Everyone just chill,” Will said, laughing.
    “No, no. This is good.” Claire pointed the empty bottle at Eve. “You wanna be earnest? You first, then. Be earnest.”
    Oops.
    Eve wet her lips. “About what?”
    “You know.” Claire’s eyes held that wicked gleam they got. “Your deepest darkest.”
    A challenge.
    Eve searched for words but felt her insides churning, the room going slightly on tilt. She’d gotten drunk and opened her mouth and now couldn’t back it up. The silence stretched out.
    Talk. Just fucking talk.
    “Look,” Will said. “We don’t have to do this.”
    “It’s fine,” Claire said. “You don’t have to rescue her. I’ll go. You can ask me anything.” She held up a cautionary finger, then pointed to her leg braces. “But not about this. And here’s why. I’m here on this trip because I’m not a disease. People want to know so they can label me neatly, slot me into place beneath some heading.” She glared out from under a fringe of dirty-blond hair. “I’m not gonna let you. So ask something else.”
    There was a beat, and then Jay said, “Okay. What’s with the heavy-duty dive watch? I assume you don’t dive given your not-to-be-asked-about medical condition.”
    “This?” Claire held up her wrist, regarded the watch face like an adversary. Then she smirked at it. “This is still-alive time. My-legs-mostly-work time. I-can-take-care-of-myself time. That’s the only kind of time I keep now.” She looked at their faces, then cracked up. “ Man, you guys look sober all of a sudden. Don’t worry. I won’t croak on this trip.”
    Eve tried to loosen her face but was having trouble.
    “C’mon,” Claire said. “Who’s next? I’m assuming one of you boys, since Eve lost her capacity for—”
    “My dad,” Eve said, “was a musician. He could play the trumpet with a cigarette sticking up out of his knuckles like a rooster comb.”
    Will drew his head back, seemingly surprised by her rush of words.
    Jay gave a nod. “Great little flair,” he said.
    “It wasn’t flair. It was magic. ” She smiled at the memory. “He wasn’t around much when I was growing up. Out on tour a lot, and then one tour, he just … didn’t come home. So I married safe, or so I thought. Stable.” She laughed at herself, laughed hard and true.
    “Dads are swell,” Claire said. “Mine used to make me get up from dinner every time he wanted something. Glass of water. Fetch the paper. I had brothers, but no. And if I spoke up? ‘Sorry to step on your toes, Gloria Steinem.’ I learned young to do what I wanted on my own.”
    “I guess I learned the opposite,” Eve said. “As pathetic as that sounds.”
    Her nails were clicking her shot glass, playing it like a flute. She stopped. They were still looking at her.
    “I saw a picture,” she said. “She’s beautiful. With the hair, the accent. She’s got this … freshness in her smile. And me, I let myself get lost. Buried. He didn’t do that to me. Ms. Pilates Accountant didn’t do that to me. I did.” A stick bug crept across the floor, summited Eve’s shoe, then ambled on its way. “That’s why I came here, I guess. Same reason Theresa Hamilton did. To find myself. If I’m honest…” A