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Was this another one of his practical jokes? Like when he told me he was a vampire with complete sincerity?
I realized, once again, that I knew nothing about this man. Maybe he did work at a carnival. Obviously there was nothing wrong with working at a carnival. It just wasn’t what I expected him to say, or the sort of thing someone I was dating would ever, ever say. And now that he had said it, it would make convincing my parents that we were in a relationship that much harder.
My self-preservation instinct kicked in at last. I decided to proceed as though he was joking.
“Oh, Reggie,” I said, forcing a fake laugh. “You’re so silly.”
“I am silly,” he agreed. “And you’re not. Which is why I was so touched when you agreed to see my carnival with me the last time I had a night off.”
If Mom’s eyebrows had gone any higher, they would have disappeared into her hairline.
“And what do you do at this carnival, Reggie?” she asked. “How long have you worked there?”
She was trying so hard to engage with this foolishness. It was honestly so sweet. My heart clenched with guilt at how hard she was trying to be supportive of this man she just met, and of this relationship that wasn’t real.
“Well, to be honest, I’ve only been acarniefor a couple months,” he said. He said the wordcarniewith relish. Like it wasn’t something he just made up on the spot to be ridiculous; like it was a job he loved. “But I do a lot of different things there. I run a couple of the games. Ring toss is my favorite, because I love it when these big brawny guys can’t get the rings to go where they want them to go and lose their shit.” I chanced a glance at Mom out of the corner of my eye. She was watching Reggie with the kind of rapt interest she usually reserved for deeply underpriced antiques at an estate sale. “I also help set up and take down a few of the rides, which is fine, but less rewarding on a spiritual level than watching grown men act like babies when they don’t win a stuffed animal.”
Mom looked at me. “Why did you tell me you met at the office?” Her tone was accusatory, as though implying I was embarrassed by my carnie boyfriend but shouldn’t be. It was difficult toknow exactly what she was thinking, though. By that point my brain had mostly stopped functioning.
“I…” I began. “It’s just that…” I swallowed. Following this conversation felt like walking through quicksand. Why couldn’t I think my way out of this?
“We did meet at the office,” Reggie said, coming to my rescue. “And before I was a carnie, I worked in an office of my own for about ten years. Well,” he added, chuckling, “mostlyin an office. Sometimes I was in the field. I did computer tech support.”
“Oh my goodness,” Mom said, her hand fluttering to her chest. “What made you decide to give that up and become a…a carnie?”
Reggie turned a little, and inclined his head towards me when he answered Mom’s question. “I was really good at my job. I got a bunch of promotions, raises, all that stuff.” He shook his head. “But I also worked nonstop, and my heart was never in it. Not even at the beginning.”
To my astonishment, Mom nodded sympathetically. “It takes so much out of you to go to a job every day when your heart isn’t in it. I admire you for finding the courage to leave and follow your dreams.”
He grinned at her. “Thank you.”
“I hope your parents are supportive of your decision, too.”
His smile slipped for such a brief moment that anybody not looking at him as intently as I was would have missed it. He recovered quickly, though, and was smiling again, broad as ever, when he answered, “My parents don’t have much to say about my life anymore.”
I could hear the hint of pain in his voice behind the smile. He didn’t even have his parents’ contact info in his phone. Given how much of a chatterbox he was about everything else, hisreticence about his family told me there was a story there. And one he had no interest in telling me.
As curious as I was, he didn’t owe me an explanation. He didn’t owe me anything at all.
Without thinking much about it, I clasped his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. To my surprise, he squeezed back. Whether it was just reflex, or gratitude for my small show of support, I couldn’t tell.
Either way, it was time to move on from this conversation.
“We both came here straight from work, Mom,” I lied. “So we’re famished. We’re going to get something to eat.” I nodded towards Aunt Sue’s dining room table, which had been turned into a staging area for the buffet.
“Of course,” Mom said. She smiled at us both. “Don’t let me keep you. Reginald, I look forward to chatting with you more very soon.”
After Mom left in search of other people to talk to, I breathed a sigh of relief. “You okay?”
“Sure,” he said. He was smiling again. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m always okay.” I wasn’t sure I believed him. But he was already looking away from me, towards the direction of the buffet table, clearly signaling this conversation was over. “Shall we?”
He held out his arm to me in wordless invitation. I swallowed. Right. We were doing this. With a slight nod to myself, I slid my arm through his, refusing to acknowledge how nice it felt when he tucked me closer to his side. Odd, too. Instead of the gesture making me feeling warmer, his body seemed to radiate chill, even though Aunt Sue’s house was well heated.
“Hungry?” I asked him.
He cleared his throat. “I ate before I came,” he said, giving me a pointed look. “But let’s get you some food.”
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