“Hang on one second,” I say to Emerson. Then I reach for my phone and squeeze myself into my very tiny bathroom.
Carter answers almost immediately.
“Hey,” he says, and I close my eyes, the sound of his voice already making me feel better. Steadier somehow.
“Hi. How are you?”
“At the airport about to take off,” he says.
“Right. You play in Montreal tonight.”
“And New York tomorrow.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “I can’t wait to see you.”
I can tell by the sounds around him that he isn’t alone. He’s probably with teammates, so I shouldn’t put any stock in his words. But it still feels good to hear them.
“Yeah. Me too,” I say. “So, listen, I just ran into a friend in the city. An old friend from SCAD, and we’re catching up and having coffee and I think…I’d like to tell him the truth.” I pause and take a breath. “About us.”
Carter is silent for a long moment before saying, “Okay. Do you…” He pauses and clears his throat. “Do you mind if I ask why?” His voice is almost strangled, like he’s fighting really hard to get the words out.
“Um, I guess just because we’re really close and it feels wrong not to be honest?”
He scoffs. “Hang on. Let me get somewhere private.” I hear some shuffling, then a creaking door, then stillness. I’m struck by the image of him trying to cram his six-foot-four frame into an airplane bathroom just so he can talk to me, and I smile as I picture it, even if I am struggling to understand why he sounds upset.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “I guess I just want to know what you mean by close. How close?”
Oh, my gosh.Suddenly, I know exactly why Carter is having such a hard time. And the thought makes me perfectly giddy.
“Carter Williamson,” I say, my tone turning playful. “Are you jealous?”
“What? No,” he quickly says. “I’m just…curious. And I’ve never heard of this guy, so I want to make sure you trust him.”
“Uh-huh,” I say.
“I’m not—” he says, but then he breathes out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. If you trust whoever this is, then of course you can tell him.”
“It’s my friend, Emerson,” I say pointedly. “We went to SCAD together, but he’s currently in New York visiting hisboyfriend’sfamily.”
“Right,” Carter says slowly. “Emerson has a boyfriend.”
“He does,” I say. “And they’re very much in love.”
“I just made a fool of myself, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” I say. “But it’s okay because I actually think it was kind of cute.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “There are parts of this…I know they aren’t real, you know? But sometimes they feel real. I want you to tell me if I ever overstep.”
A sense of relief washes over me that we’re dealing withsimilar struggles. “I get it,” I say. “And I’ve had similar moments. Last night I felt a weird and totally irrational urge to leave Shelby a one-star review on Google. Just because of how pretty her eyes are.”
“Shelby, who once dated my brother and is still hung up on him?”
“I didn’t say it was valid,” I argue. “Just that she was there, in the same room with you, with those gorgeous eyes.”
“I guess we’re even, then,” he says. “So moving forward, no review-bombing innocent realtors?”
“And no stressing over very gay best friends.”
“Done,” he says. “But Sarah, I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I trust you. You don’t ever have to justify your choices to me.”
