“Besides, what would you know about gay dating anyway? It’s not like you’ve done anything since we broke up.”
“And how would you know what I’ve done and what I haven’t done?” I asked her with narrowed eyes and pressed lips.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you tell me what a boring, sad life you lead!”
“Hey!” It was my time to groan. “My life isn’t boring or sad.”
“Well, it’s not exciting either.”
I gasped. I stopped in my tracks to look at her in scorn.
“I’ll have you know; my life is plenty exciting.”
“Sure, it is. Buried deep in books and cat litter.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“Oh, it’s cruel. Your true colors… they’re not red, orange, and pink. They’re black. Black like your soul!” I cried.
Zainab rolled her eyes with a snort.
“There is the drama queen we all know and love.”
“Hey! Who did you call a drama queen?” I asked.
“You? Why? Are you trying to tell me you’re not?”
My shoulders sagged, and I pursed my lips before I spoke. “Yeah, but you don’t have to call me out like that.”
“Someone’s got to. You’ve dedicated your life to that store and the cats. But there’s more to life than cats and romance books.”
I glared at her.
“There’s nothing better in life than romance books and cats!”
Zainab laughed. But it sounded a little like a pity laugh. Like a “wow, Sami, you need to get laid because you’re starting to sound like a virgin” laugh. Like a “oh, Sami, you’re such a silly gay man you might as well not be gay at all if you’re not going to enjoy some gay sex” laugh.
Of course she didn’t say those things, but it was all I heard in my head. Maybe because it was all I could think about when the subject of the conversation turned to my personal life.
Because, yeah, I might sell and read queer books all day long, but it didn’t mean I had any experience on the subject.
I still remembered when Zay came to me and told me she’d met someone. It had been a joyful day. Because it meant I could finally live my truth. And yet, when it came to it, and we dissolved our marriage, I’d focused all my energy into taking Books and Claws off the ground. It had been my excuse since then, even if it had been two years since I opened the bookstore-slash-cat shelter.
And yeah, if it wasn’t evident enough, I was scared. Scared shitless to explore this suppressed side of me anddosomething—orsomeone—about it. I may act all confident and in touch with my whole self, but it didn’t mean I was. Which was kind of mortifying, especially when other queer people visited my store, picked up my book selections, came to my book club nights, and lauded me as a role model or whatever.
The truth was… I was a scared little boy in the body of an aging Muslim man.
“So, you’re going to stay single and celibate the rest of your life because you’re an avid reader and cat dad? Yeah, that sounds like a good excuse,” Zainab said.
“Come on, Zay. It’s not like the guys are lining up outside my door, bending over backwards to be with me.”
Which wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t exactly true, either. The island was full of gay guys. I should know. A lot of them were regulars at Books and Claws. But a lot of them were also all paired up or something.
“Hm…” Zay hummed, and I turned to her, shaking my head clear of my internal monologue that was making even me yawn.
I was pathetic.
“I would have thought you’d be doing the bending over.”
