Sam smiles and nods and keeps working on the bow tie.“It’s okay to be nervous.But you don’t need to be; everything’s going to be fine.”
“Right,” I say.“Fine.”
He gives the bow tie a pat, which means I’m done.
“Full disclosure,” I say.“I’m thinking about doing some fucked-up stuff for attention and validation right now.Like, burn this place down and then get fucked by a fireman.Like, some weird arson porn.”
Sam nods and says, “Hmm.”
The silence that follows goes on long enough that I blurt, “I’m not going to do that, though.Because I’ve done therapy and shit.Because I might be a fuckboy, but I’m a reformed fuckboy.”
Sam straightens my jacket across my shoulders.
“Unlessyouwanted to fuck me,” I hear myself saying.“Just, like, a get-the-jitters-out fuck, you know?A quickie?”
Sam lays his hands on my shoulders.
He waits.And it’s hard, but I finally drag my eyes to his.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I say.“This is what I was talking about.This is why I warned you I’d be a terrible boyfriend.”
Sam’s got long lashes, I notice for the first time.He doesn’t even blink.He runs the backs of his hands down my lapels, and he says, “You know the first thing I learned about you?That I noticed, I mean.Before we really knew each other.”
I shoot my eyebrows.
“You like to run your mouth,” he says.And then he kisses me, and as he pulls back, he adds, “It’s cute.”
It takes me a few seconds to say, “It’s not cute.”
Sam is almost smiling.
“It’s outrageous.It’s crass, and it’s vulgar, and it’s offensive.It’s annoying, for fuck’s sake, and it’s childish, and it’s—it’s a cry for attention!”
“I know, sweetheart.Let’s get through dinner, and I’ll give you some attention.”
That shouldn’t gostraightto my cock.
But it does.
“I know it’s hard,” Sam says, and he takes my hands.“You care so much about this.Of course it’s going to be hard.”
I shake my head, and I want to play it off, but what I say is “I feel like a failure.”
“But you’re not.And your brain knows that, even though that little voice in your head says otherwise.”
“I guess.”
He squeezes my hands.
At that moment, the curtain twitches, and three women come backstage.Aiyana Jordan is wearing a dark dress that manages to look appropriate for the occasion without being ostentatious—a fine line to walk for a minister, I guess.I recognize one of the two women.Maggie Grober has short salt-and-pepper hair, and she’s dressed in black slacks and a white top with a pashmina around her shoulders.I’ve seen her at various events around town, even though I don’t know her personally—she’s got money, and she sponsors some of the local art and fashion events.The other woman is taller, with a mane of curly hair that’s still dark, and she’s dressed in an oversized herringbone coat and wide-legged trousers.She must be June Louise Nelson.
“Ready?”Aiyana says as she reaches us.“Gray, I think you know Maggie.And this is June Louise.And this is Sam.”
Everybody shakes hands.Maggie is smiling, and she’s giving off some grandma vibes.June Louise looks like she smokes long, unfiltered cigarettes and loves gin.
“Here we go,” Aiyana says, and she leads us toward the curtain.
Sam squeezes my hand once more as we head for the stage.I don’t want him to be uncomfortable, so I start to let go of his hand, but to my surprise, he holds on, and when I look over my shoulder, he smiles at me.
