Peter Cabot Gets Lost (The Cabots, #2)

by Cat Sebastian

“Look, I was just trying to not be an asshole.” “I take it this is a new endeavor?” He said it so cattily and so immediately that Peter wanted to laugh. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. You’re right that it’s new.”

“Fine,” Caleb said, annoyed to discover that his complacency could be purchased with coffee and pie.

When he opened the door and was hit with a blast of morning sun, Caleb cringed. “Ahh, why is it doing that?” he cried, shielding his eyes with his hand. “The sun? Why is it shining?” asked Peter, unfairly amused. “It often does.”

“All you had to do is say you can’t read a map,” Peter said. “I can read a map!” Caleb protested uselessly. “There’s just something wrong with that one.” “Oh yeah? What’s wrong with it?” “That it’s attempting to put all this—” he gestured around them “—onto that little bit of paper. It just isn’t natural.” When he looked over, he saw Peter biting his lip to suppress a smile, so, like an idiot, he kept going. “The problem is that the world goes in all different directions, and a map is just…there, all flat and judgmental. I can’t look at one and imagine where I am, let alone where I’m supposed to go.” That was enough frank admission for one day, so he gathered up his pride. “Honestly, I think the rest of you are faking it. You look at the map, say ‘yes, yes, go east for thirty yards and then southwest for a mile and the service station will be on the leeward side of the car’ but really you’re just making it up as you go along.” “Leeward,” Peter said, now smiling openly. “You’re nuts.”

“So you’ve gone completely AWOL. Will your father be cross? Strike that, it was a stupid question. Will there be consequences other than your father being upset with you?” Peter was momentarily stumped by the question. He wasn’t sure how to explain that his family’s disappointment was bad enough, however much he ought to be used to it by now. But would there be other consequences? He was twenty-two. They didn’t really have any power over him,

“Whatever you’re thinking about, you’re doing it loudly,” Caleb said, somehow managing to imbue his voice with an edge despite speaking barely above a whisper. Peter smiled into the darkness. “That makes no sense.”

“Usually if I’m not sure what to do, I do either what’s expected of me or the thing that’s least likely to get me noticed, and that’s enough. But I want—shit—I want to—” He filled his lungs and slowly let out his breath, trying to remind himself that even if he had radically misread this situation, Caleb still wasn’t going to be horrible about it.

“Sometimes I wish I knew who was queer, you know?” he mused a few minutes later. “I wish I knew who was safe. The only reason I could tell those two were a couple was that they were sort of almost touching in the same exact way that we were.”

This is the flat tire incident all over again, isn’t it?” Peter cringed inwardly, remembering it. “Pretty much, yeah.” He felt a hand on his head, combing through his hair. “If I remind you that you’re allowed to be imperfect, will that help?” “Probably not.” “Do you want to hear it anyway?” “Sure, why not.” “You’re allowed to be imperfect. Anybody who expects perfection secretly likes being disappointed in people. You’re good enough exactly the way you are. Everything else is a lie.”

Caleb hated when people were willfully obtuse. There were enough tragically stupid people in the world without having anyone indulge in recreational stupidity.