KylePlaysRugby
Morning. Good luck on your first day.
Kyle’s message is waiting for me when I wake up. If I’ve learnt anything about him over the last two months, it’s that he’s an early bird, whereas I’m decidedly not. I smile as I read the message and debate how to respond. It’s silly, but his morning messages always make me a little giddy. It’s a lovely, thoughtful thing to wake up to, so the first thing I do every morning is check my messages on the adoption forum.
Kyle doesn’t need my moral support anymore. Not about finding out he was adopted anyway. His dad is still waiting for a transplant, which sucks. They have a potential donor, but it can take at least three months to get all the tests done to be sure. Who knew? I certainly didn’t. Anyway, we’re still chatting. At first, it was every few days. A casual, ‘how are you?’ here and a friendly ‘how was your day?’ there. Somewhere along the line, those messages became more frequent, and now we message daily.
I’m nervous.
I’m starting my first job since graduating. I’ll be working for a supermarket chain, helping to design their clothing collection. My stomach might as well be the spin cycle on a washing machine. I’m going to skip breakfast this morning. If I eat something, I’ll hurl.
You’ll do great. They want you. They picked you out of a sea of candidates.
I appreciate his words, but they don’t help to calm my churning stomach.
I need to jump into the shower. Chat later.
Send me a photo of your first-day outfit.
Will do.
We do that now—share photos of what we’re wearing. I haven’t admitted that I drool over the photos he sends me. Kyle is hot.
Those photos are how I know how gorgeous he is. He has short, dark hair, which is styled into a quiff at the front, warm brown eyes, a nose that’s a little too big for his face and has probably been broken at some point, and a square jaw which is clean-shaven in all the pictures he’s sent me. He’s a bricklayer, so his skin is tanned from working outside. Warm undertones give his complexion a golden glow. He has broad shoulders and is big but not hulking. He’s the kind of guy who would catch my eye in a bar or club. The kind of guy who could wrap me up in his strong, muscly arms. The kind of guy I’d go home with and beg to tell me how pretty I am while he fucks me.
Those thoughts are inappropriate. Kyle is an online friend, nothing more. We don’t even live in the same city. He’s never flirted with me. Is he even into guys? Our sexuality has never come up in conversation.
I throw myself through the shower and put on the clothes I chose last night. When I went for my interview, I wore a suit but noticed within thirty seconds that the dress code is smart casual. I err on the side of smart but still casual, wearing a white, collarless shirt that’s oversized and baggy on purpose, and black jeans. I take a selfie by my window, which gives the photo a diffused, hazy effect, and send it to Kyle.
You look great. Let me know how your day goes.
Will do.
Still nervous?
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Remember how amazing you are. They’ll love you.
My heart flutters. He’s being nice. He’s being nice. I can tell myself that over and over, but his praise still goes to my head.
I’d better go, or I’ll miss the bus.
I can’t be late on my first day. Kyle doesn’t reply. Either he’s making sure he doesn’t distract me so I don’t miss the bus, or he’s working.
I read his penultimate message a few more times while I’m on the bus, letting his praise buoy me. By the time I reach the office, my stomach is less unsettled, and I’m feeling confident enough to smile.Remember how amazing you are. They’ll love you.I take a deep breath, smile, and walk into the building. First day, here I come.
* * *
KYLE - ONE MONTH LATER
My uncle has been confirmed as a suitable donor for Dad.
NotThatHaru
That’s amazing news. How are you feeling?
Relieved. I know he’s not out of the woods yet. It’s major surgery, and it’ll take him time to recover. As a family, we’ve been holding our breath for three months. Now it feels like we can breathe again.
