“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” Mac felt his cheeks heat up. “It was standard levels of Gideon prickishness.”
“Well, I hope things weren’t awkward when you got home. Did you two make up?”
“In a way.”
Mac’s phone buzzed with a call from his aunt. He and Delia parted ways. He sat on the steps of the library and answered.
“How’s my favorite nephew?”
“Favorite by default,” Mac said. He couldn’t help but smile when he spoke to her. There was something in her voice like lemonade on a hot summer day. “How are you doing, Aunt Rita?”
“I’m good. How’s school going? Is your roommate situation working out?”
“In a way.” Mac knew that joke had short legs.
“A good way, I hope.”
“No, it is. It’s a really nice place. Gideon’s a good guy.”
“I’m happy that you landed on your feet. Have you spoken to Davis at all?”
“Except for an awkward run-in, no.” And Mac realized that this was the first time he’d thought about Davis since running into him at Cherry Stem. Thoughts of Gideon had replaced him, almost a clean swap.
“I still can’t believe…” He could hear her shake her head. “I have to be honest. I was never a big fan of Davis. He didn’t seem like the greatest guy.”
“How so?” Aunt Rita had only met him a handful of times, but she had a way of reading people. She liked to say that she knew someone’s whole movie just by the trailer.
“Well, you’re a loyal guy. Very loyal. And I don’t think he appreciated you.”
“I like the way you think.”
Their conversation went into a valley of silence, and Mac got a nervous feeling. It wasn’t like their usual gaps in talking.
“Mac, do you have a minute to talk?”
Mac felt the concrete steps beneath him, to make sure he was sitting down. When people asked if you had time to talk, it was never a good sign. “We’re already talking, Aunt Rita. Is something wrong?”
“Well, I don’t know how to say this.”
Mac held the phone as close to his ear as he could, until Browerton disappeared around him, and he was back in their living room.
“What is it?” He asked.
“I…well, it seems I have a tumor.”
CHAPTER twelve
Gideon
Gideon stared at his blank notebook. He was never much of a note taker in class. He believed everything he needed to know could be found in the textbook or in the lecture slides. Only professors so in love with their own lecturing would fill an exam with questions taken solely from what they say in class.
And today? His notes were completely non-existent.
We’re just experimenting, Gideon told himself repeatedly. He reminded himself of his brilliant geology class metaphor.I’m not gay. Just curious.Curious George, getting his banana.
They’d been ignoring the tension for weeks, but at least now they were dealing with it head-on. They’d fool around a little. The newness would wear off. The itch would be sufficiently scratched. Then, it would be behind them, and they could go back to being roommates, and friends.
And here was the conclusion to where his mental gymnastics brought him: There was a difference between doing gay things and being gay. Being gay was a whole lifestyle. Gay friends, parades, activism, assholes calling you names. Doing gay things was isolated incidents. A kiss here, a hand job there. Isolated. Not part of a lifestyle. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
