“That doesn’t mean I passed,” Blake mutters. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”
“In that case, we’re toasting that my beloved child thought the bar was easy!” Linda exchanges an exasperated look with me. “To new relationships! And to Eris for joining our family!”
Surprised, I can only blink, eyes burning.“Joining their family?”They just met me.
It’s Blake’s turn to squeeze my hand, as if sensing the panic seizing my chest. Forget feeling trapped, everything in me is screaming to run, to crawl under the booth and leave now, so I never have to feel the disappointment when it turns out they were just being polite. But the fingers laced with mine are tellingme to stay, that I can belong here in this weird family, if I want to.
Linda thankfully doesn’t notice my attachment issues exploding in my head. She turns to her husband. “Michael, anything you want to toast to?”
Michael thinks for a second. “Uh…Sue.”
“Sue?” Linda frowns.
“That’s the dinosaur at the museum you’re going to tomorrow,” Blake explains.
Linda simply nods. “Oh, okay! To Sue, then!” She raises her glass.
“To Sue,” we say, as we allclinkglasses. Weirdest fucking toast ever, honoring a fossil when there’s so much else to celebrate. However, this is Blake’s party, and somehow a toast to a dinosaur fits them perfectly.
“Yourdadeatsdeepdish with a knife and fork. He went through six moist towelettes, which he brought from home, because he didn’t like when the food touched his mouth.” I toss my keys on the entry table as I shut my front door behind Blake. “And he brought his crossword puzzle to dinner. You really don’t see this?”
Considering how worked up they got about cleaning their place, Blake asked to stay at mine after dinner. They never need an excuse to stay, but Blake always comes up with one, whether it’s to use my washing machine, or because my couch is easier on their back when they’re up late studying. Tonight, it’s becausemy place is closer to the Loop, so it’ll be easier to collect Matt and Allie on our way to Boystown in the morning.
Personally, I think it’s because my apartment actually feels like a home, and not just an undecorated, cluttered closet where Blake sleeps, eats, and studies.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s autistic.” Blake spreads the waterproof blanket down before they flop on the couch. “With his CP, eating is easier when he takes small bites. The cheese was really sticky. And he just really likes word puzzles.”
“He gets tired when the music is too loud.” Not bothering to turn on the light (Blake hates overhead lighting, and the glow from the city through the window is enough to see by), I climb on top of them, wrapping my arms under their back. I love how Blake assumes we’re going to fuck immediately, on the couch, the second we’re home. Normally, we probably would, but the person I’m holding still isn’t my Bambi. Not entirely. The mask is still on, and it’s hard for me to get a read on them when they’re hiding from me like they do everyone else. Blake’s hand traces along my neck, making me shudder at their featherlight touch. “Your mom also seems more than a little neurodivergent. Might run in the family?”
“For the last time, I’m not autistic,” Blake laughs.
“Please, Stella peer-reviewed you within minutes the first time we met.” I tease as I kiss the bare bit of skin along their neck, where their T-shirt is tugged down. “But fine, when you’re ready to consider it, I’ll try not to say I told you so.”
After helping Stella get their diagnosis, and being Dream’s official reminder person to help refill her ADHD meds (a role Adrienne has yet to steal from me), I’ve been confident that Blake is not neurotypical pretty much since the day we met. After dinner with their parents, any doubts I had are gone. But there’s no point in pushing; if Blake never wants to acknowledgethat there is a chance, I will just quietly support them however they want to be supported.
I breathe in the clean scent of Blake’s skin, all of the stress and the anxiety draining out of me as they settle underneath me. I didn’t realize how much tension I was carrying until now, in the comfortable familiarity of home, of snuggling with Blake on the couch.
“Was I good tonight, Bud?” Blake asks, their smirk grazing my ear.
Tempting as it is to play along, because I know where that bratty tone will lead us, this is the first sign of the real Blake I’ve seen in hours. Even after opening up about everything they’ve been hiding, Blake’s mask never quite disappeared. I’m sure they want the stress relief, but I want to check in first. “You tell me,” I murmur.
Blake huffs. “That was neither praise nor degradation. I want my orgasms. Six of them.”
I laugh. “You’ll get them, I promise, you little freak. But first, seriously, Bambi, how did tonight go for you? Did you have a good time? Are you relieved now that you shared all your secrets?”
“Oh, we’re actually talking?” Blake whines. “Fine. I guess I had a good time? It was nice to see everyone.”
“But you were stressed as fuck.”
“Was I?” Blake asks. “Oh, I guess, yeah, but I’m always kinda stressed. And it wasn’t that bad, I suppose. I got everything out that I wanted to say. I didn’t say it as eloquently as I wanted, but I dunno. It was fine.”
“You were great, Bambi.” I hold them tighter.
But Blake isn’t done; I’ve unlocked their ramble mode. “I just feel silly, for stressing so much about it. Like, of course they were supportive of everything. I knew they would be! So why did Iconvince myself for months that this would be a bigger deal than it is?”
“I mean, your mom is hella intimidating.” I chuckle into their neck. “But mostly I think you freaked yourself out because you’re an anxious ass bitch.”
“Shut up, asshole.” Blake play-bites my ear. “You’re like a million times more intimidating than she is.”
