“Hey, Shaker Guy,” a bald server says, pointing to me as he passes our table. “Back so soon, nice to see you again.”
“Oh,” I say. “Thanks?”
But he’s already out of sight.
I turn to Lincoln. “I guess I was... just here?”
“Guess so,” Lincoln says, shrugging and giving me a sheepish look. “Sorry, that must feel really disorienting.”
“It’s pretty insane, yeah. Like someone else has been driving my body around while I was asleep. Why am I Shaker Guy?”
“I have no idea.”
“I wasn’t here with you, was I?”
“No. Not me.”
“Do you know who?”
“I... don’t. Just got home, remember?”
“Should I ask the waiter?”
“I mean, you could.” Lincoln takes a long sip of his shake. “In general, your therapist has advised us not to tell you much about what’s happened in the previous years. That it can be too upsetting and confusing and it’s better if you start fresh. Which I guess I get.”
“Hm,” I say. I really want to interrogate that bald server guy.Who was I just here with? A friend? A group of friends? A girlfriend? ALONE?But I can tell how uncomfortable that would make Lincoln, so I let it go. I take a deep slurp of my Oreo milkshake and move to another potentially uncomfortable topic. “What about you?”
“Me?” Lincoln asks, his eyebrows bouncing up.
“Yeah. How’s your, like, romantic life?”
“Oh.” My brother smiles and looks at the table, his face goingtomato red. “It’s good, actually. I’ve been hanging out with this guy Terrell. It’s only been a month, but... I like him a lot.”
“Yeah, bro!” I shout, loudly enough that it draws stares from several other tables. I reach across the table to punch his arm. “That’s the best news. And you came out! I was thinking you must have, but I didn’t want to assume, or—”
“Totally. Yeah. I came out at the end of middle school.”
“Wow,” I say, experiencing the same surge of FOMO I felt when Manny told me he was Immanuel now. Like, I wish I was there when Lincoln came out. I mean, Iwasthere. But I wish I remembered it. “Did Mom and Dad handle it well?”
“Yeah, they were awesome. And not really surprised at all.”
“Sweet. Did... I handle it well?”
“Yeah,” Lincoln says with a grin. “You were cool too.”
“Good,” I say. I want to give Lincoln a hug, tell him I’m proud of him, but instead I punch his arm again. “So, back to this Terrell guy.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Lincoln says, hands on his cheeks as if he’s five years old. “He’s a sophomore. And we’re—okay, don’t laugh at this, Carter, you have to promise.”
“I mean, I can try to promise. But laughing can be hard to control sometimes.”
“Nope.” Lincoln smacks the table. “Not good enough. I really need you to promise not to laugh.”
“Ohmigod, okay, now I’m nervous you’re going to tell me that Terrell is a robot or something.”
“He is not a robot. Do you promise?”
“Fine! Sure! I promise. GEEZ, DUDE.”
