“If it makes you feel any better, you did win that round. I’ll never have what you and Quinn have,” he says.
“You’re young. Don’t knock yourself down like that.”
“It’s not a knock, Patrick. I don’t want those things. I’ve never wanted those things. Not with a woman, not with a man, not with a nonbinary person. I’m ace.”
I sit in stunned silence for a second. “That’s… that’s cool. I’m happy you found that out about yourself. How long have you known?”
“A while,” he says with a rueful laugh. “I’ve never told anyone in our family that before. I’m ridiculously surprised the first was you.”
I laugh along despite the gibe. “I’m glad it was. Thank you for trusting me with that.”
“Of course.” Those two words feel like the first bricks laid on a road to a real relationship.
“Say,” I breathe, taking my own brick down. “Can I tell you something I haven’t told anyone in our family, either?”
“I’d love that. Just give me a minute.” It’s muffled, but it sounds like he’s telling his assistant that he’s taking an early lunch.
Before I know it, I’m spilling everything. From the frying pan and the first flight to the dream house and Quinn leaving. It feels good to unload some of this. It feels even better that the person listening and offering advice in response is Bradley.
49HERE’S TO NEW BEGINNINGSQUINN
33 DAYS ’TIL CHRISTMAS
Thanksgiving is tomorrow.
I park my car in the driveway and let out a sigh.
It’s my first without Patrick.
To combat the sadness, I took a trip to the drugstore and picked up face masks and a couple of bottles of nail polish that caught my eye—a deep brown, a dark red, and a buttery yellow. Tonight, Veronica is going to come by, we’re going to put onCarol(a seasonal comfort watch) and beautify ourselves.
With a reusable shopping bag swinging from one hand, I head for the mailbox, right as my phone starts ringing. It’s Mom.
I’ve received a few texts from her since I returned but they’ve been brief, from which I can sense an upset she won’t admit to. Strange that she’s chosen now to call, but I’m not going to miss this.
“Mom, hey! Long time, no talk. What’s happening with you?” I ask, keeping my tone light even if I’m hurt.
“Been busy. Work,” she says. “Just calling to say happy Thanksgiving before I head up to the mountains with Pete.”
“What mountains? Wait, who’s Pete?” I ask.
“Oh, right.” She clicks her tongue. “My boyfriend.”
I lean up against the trunk of my car, setting the bag down on the driveway I salted this morning. There might be snow in the forecast, which I’m happy about. I miss the fluffy stuff. Just like Imiss Mom. And I’m more than a little hurt she didn’t tell me this sooner. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know as of late.” Her tone is clipped.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call.” I don’t add that I’ve been playing pretend in the land of sugarplums and elves to save Christmas because even if Veronica understood, the improbability here is too high. She’ll think I’m making fun of her or something.
I can almost see her shrug and flip her hair over her shoulder like she’s so blasé about it. “Yeah. Me, too. Same here.”
The silence simmers between us for a second. “Where did you meet this Pete?” She doesn’t even chuckle at the rhyme. She must be really pissed.
“The casino.” Mom always had a habit of gravitating toward men who ruled the card tables or boasted assurance at the roulette wheel.
“How long have you been seeing him?” I ask. You can miss a lot when you fall off the face of the earth for nine months.
“Seventeen, maybe eighteen weeks?” Mom often relays the length of her relationships in weeks the way a new mother relays their infant’s age. She thinks the higher the number, the better it sounds.
