“Are you okay?” I ask as we turn a corner, heading away from the crowded streets of the Magnificent Mile.
“I’m fine.”
“You seem a little…”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Grouchy.”
This makes him smile. “I think I’m nervous about seeing Max tomorrow.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
“This is the longest we’ve ever been apart. And lately it’s just been hard. I think the distance is getting to us.”
“You guys will be fine,” I say, but he looks over at me sharply, and I can tell he doesn’t want reassurances right now. So instead I slip an arm through his, and together we cross over one of the bridges that span the Chicago River, our feet making hollow sounds on the metal grates.
At our favorite burger joint, we take the stairs down to the entrance. Inside, it has a greasy smell to it, and the jukebox is playing too loudly. We slide into a corner booth and shove aside the menus, which we haven’t looked at in years.
Once the waiter takes our order, Leo continues as if we hadn’t stopped talking. “He’s been really pushing me about Michigan, which is stressful, because I’m not sure that’s what I want.” He hesitates. “But I love him. He’s…he’s…”
“Max,” I say, and Leo smiles. Max is his first boyfriend. His first love. He’s as outgoing as Leo is serious, a wildly talented guitarist who plays in two different bands and is officially the only person on record to ever persuade Leo to dance. He has a big laugh and irresistible curly hair and he loves Leo enough to have watched every single Pixar movie with him more than once.
“He’s Max,” Leo agrees. “But I don’t know if we can handle four more years of long distance. It’s the absolute worst.”
I nod, but I’m also thinking that nearness can be awful too. Being so close to someone you love without them knowing it. Without them ever returning it. That’s another kind of terrible.
“You’re lucky you know where you want to be next year,” Leo says. “I hate that it feels like I have to choose between Max and—” He gestures out the window, which I take to mean: Chicago, the Art Institute, his dreams. “It just kills me.”
“You have to do what’s right for you.”
He scowls. “What does that even mean? How am I supposed to know if I’m doing the right thing? All I do is worry I’m screwing everything up. And then I start worrying that all this worry is going to somehow jinx us, you know?”
“That’s not how the world works,” I say. “That’s not howloveworks.”
“How do you know? You’ve never been in love.”
His words are unthinking, but they still have a bite to them, and once they’re out there they have a kind of volume too: for a few seconds they sit blaring like a siren on the table between us, so loud it feels like the whole restaurant must be staring at me.
“Sorry,” Leo says. “That was mean.”
“No, it was true,” I say, shaking my head. “Well, half-true.”
“What do you mean?” he asks with a frown.
I drop my head into my hands. “God, Leo. Don’t make me say it.”
“What?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused.
“You must’ve noticed. We’re always together, and—”
“Teddy?” he says softly, and I brave a glance at him. When he sees my expression, he nods. “Aha.”
I sit up straighter. “You don’t seem that surprised.”
“I wasn’t totally sure,” he says. “But I had a feeling.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
