“Remember the foam pit they had set up for all the little kids? You dragged me right into it. There was a bubble machine, and you said, ‘No one can be sad as long as there are bubbles.’”
Well, damn. I’d forgotten that. The memory rushes back, vivid and crisp. Hud was so sad that night, but the moment we stepped into the white, sudsy foam and started popping bubbles, he smiled for the first time in days. I felt like I’d won the lottery.
“Hudson, I—” the words stick in my throat. I just stare at the bottle, stunned by the simplicity of it.
Slowly, I crack it open and fish out the little plastic stick slick with soap. I lift it to my lips and blow. Dozens of tiny bubbles float out and away from us, the iridescent orbs glowing in the fading sunlight.
“Thank you. This means a lot.”
“I should be thanking you. This doesn’t compare to what you did for me this week.”
“I’d do it a million times over,” I tell him, hoping he can hear the earnestness in it.
He dips his head before looking away towards the setting sun.
We go quiet for a few minutes while I blow sporadic bubbles, Hudson reaching up to pop the ones that float near his face. He looks contemplative, like something’s bothering him.
“You alright?” I ask, watching him closely. I screw the lid back onto the bubbles and start putting all the things Hud gave me back into the bag.
“Yeah. Just thinking about Ella,” he admits, his smile tight.
“It seems like y’all fit well together. She clearly likes you a lot.”
He lets out a long breath and starts rubbing his hands up and down his jeans.
“Cull, I need to tell you something.” He pales, the calm from a few minutes ago gone without a trace.
“You know you can tell me anything. No judgment ever.”
Please let it be that he’s having second thoughts about Ella. If I can’t have him, then maybe we can be single together. Eternal bachelors.
Yeah, right.
“Ella and I don’t fit together. We aren’t really dating.”
Relief washes through me, but I keep my face passive, not wanting to be a prick by showing my happiness.
“Then why are you two acting like you are?”
He’s fidgety, his long fingers tapping an erratic rhythm on his thigh. “So our parents will lay off trying to push us together.”
That makes sense, but it doesn’t explain why he couldn’t just tell me that from the start.
“Why not just tell me?”
“Because I’ve been hiding something,” he whispers.
His face goes green, like he might be sick. I scoot closer along the railing until our knees are touching. That familiar shock of electricity lights up my entire system, the same way it does every time we touch. I grip the railing, part to keep from falling into the river, and part to keep from reaching for him.
“What’s going on?”
He blows out another breath and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. He scrunches his eyes closed, like he’s scared to see my reaction.
“I’m… gay.”
My entire world stops, that one word hanging in the air between us.
“What?” It’s the only coherent thought that makes it out of my mouth. My heart kicks into overdrive. He couldn’t have just said what I think he said.
