“I’m bi,” I tell him.
But there’s nothing on his face.Absolutely nothing.“Okay.”
“I wanted to tell you that.”
“Okay.Great.You discovered your secret sexual identity, and you told me.”
“I told my dad, too.And Gran.”
For the first time, the hardass mask cracks, and he says, “Oh God.How’d that go?”
“It’ll be okay.Gran’s real happy.”I feel like I have to give him something, so I say, “She keeps sliding dirty pictures under my door.I think she thinks we’re in college or something.”
He laughs, and it’s a startled sound, a cracked-open sound, raw.Happy, but hurting.
“I guess I wanted to talk to you because I wanted to tell you that it wasn’t fake,” I say.“It was real.And I don’t want it to be over.”
Gray looks around like somebody might come help him, and then he laughs again, and he says, “Sam.”
I give him a few more seconds, but that’s all, so I push off from the desk.He tenses like he might retreat, but he stays where he is, and when I reach him, I take his head in my hands and kiss him.He tastes like that Blow Pop smell, and like he’s had too much coffee and nothing to eat.But he also tastes like Gray, and his mouth is as warm and soft as I remember.He doesn’t touch me, though.He doesn’t move at all.
And when I pull back, he says, “Sam.”
“I love you.”
He shakes his head.
“That’s okay,” I say.“You don’t have to say anything.But I wanted you to know that.I—I spent a lot of my life wanting people to like me.Wanting to feel like I belonged, because I grew up feeling like—like I didn’t, I guess.And I did a lot of stupid things because of that.I’m not proud of that.”I draw a deep breath.“But I’m proud of who I am now.And I know who I am, and what I like, and what I want.”I wait until he looks at me, and I say, “And I know who I love.I love you.You didn’t trick me.You didn’t force me.You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do.”I’m surprised I can laugh, and it’s a full, happy sound.“God, Gray, Ireallywanted to do those things with you.And I’m happy I got to know you, the real you, because I love the real you, and I think he’s wonderful, and I wish more people got to see him.”I stop again.It feels like I’ve been talking for hours.But I open my mouth, and more words come out.“I’m not saying this because I expect anything from you.But I’m sorry I left.And I’m sorry I let you leave.”
He still hasn’t said anything.He’s pale, and he keeps looking at me and cutting his eyes away, and he turns the vape in his hand like it’s a genie’s lamp and he needs to make a wish.
“And thank you for the dog memes,” I say.“Because they made me happy.Youmade me happy.”
He’s breathing hard now, staring at the floor.
“I’m going to go,” I say.
I’m at the door when he says, “I don’t know how to do this.”
I wait, but that’s all.So I say, “You don’t have to do anything.”
He wipes his eyes, and now I can see that he’s crying.“God, Sammy, I fuck everything up.I fucked up WISP.I fucked up my chance with you.Every fucking thing I touch—I’m a fucking disaster.And I told myself I wouldn’t do it again.I told myself I wouldn’t hurt someone again.And I did it anyway.Fuck, Sam, I fucked up a fake fucking relationship.What the fuck does that tell you about me?”
“Well, I guess that you’re a person like everybody else.”
He looks up at the ceiling.He’s trying not to cry.
“Forget all that stuff about fucking things up,” I say.“What do you want right now?”
He shakes his head.But he says, “I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you, Sam, because Ido.God, the last few days, it’s—I don’t even know how to tell you.”
“But what do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.What do you want?”
He lets out this helpless noise.And then he says, “I want to be with you.”But before I can say anything, he’s rushing out with “But that’s what I’m trying to tell you.I don’t—I don’t knowhow.God, Sam, I wassucha terrible boyfriend.I was awful.And I’ve tried so hard to break those patterns, but look how badly I fucked up the first time I got scared.I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend to you.I don’t know how to be the person you deserve.I don’t know how to love you.”
