“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” Quentin said.
“Come on in.”
The apartment smelled like Indian food.
“Cort ordered dinner. Hope you’re hungry.”
It was late, but Quentin could always eat. “Starving.”
“Good. Sit on the couch, I’ll get you some food, and then we can talk.”
Henri was younger than Quentin, but right now Quentin felt like the younger and more inexperienced friend. Henri had always had an air of maturity to him, and Quentin felt it now.
He sat on Henri and Cort’s comfortable couch and stared at the TV, which was playing a replay of an old hockey game with the sound off.
“Cort’s in bed,” Henri said. “I wasn’t sure you’d want him here for this conversation.” He came into the living room with two plates of food and two cans of beer.
“What conversation?” Quentin asked, taking his food and his beer, and hoping he could pretend to be naive for a bit longer.
Henri sat cross-legged in a chair facing him. “The conversation we’re about to have. About why you’ve had a bad attitude for the past three weeks, and have seemed like you’ve been on the brink of crying ever since Tampa Bay.”
Quentin swallowed. His appetite was suddenly in jeopardy.
“Right,” he murmured.
“Something seems like it’s wrong,” Henri said, a little less bluntly, “and I’m worried about you. I’m not going to force you to talk about anything, because that doesn’t feel kind, but I want you to know that I’m here for you if youneedto talk about anything. Otherwise, we can sit here in silence and eat our food, or talk about things that are more comfortable, like hockey. Isn’t that what straight men do? Bottle up their feelings and talk about sports?”
Quentin rolled his eyes. “I think that’s offensive to straight men.” His nervous system was in full prehistoric mode, like he was facing down a predator. Neurons fired offDANGER DANGER DANGER.He tried to ignore it. “And I don’t think that would work, anyway, because I’m not straight.”
Henri took a bite of his curry, chewed, and swallowed.
Quentin raised his eyebrows. “No reaction?”
Henri put down his spoon. “Sorry.” His face had a bemused expression. “Oh, wow!” he said, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “You’re not straight. My god, dear me, I’m shocked. Someone get me a fainting couch and fetch the smelling salts. I am in danger of passing out.”
Quentin glared at him.
“How long have you known?” he asked his best friend.
Henri sighed, took another bite of curry, and washed it down with beer. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t know for sure, but I had a feeling. Do you remember when I first visited the Minutemen, when I was still in college? You and Drew Moreau took me out for a meal. Lunch, or dinner, or something. I don’t remember. But the media had made this whole big deal about how the two of you were rivals and didn’t get along when you played together, but I saw something very different when I hung out with the two of you. You were very comfortable with each other, and it almost seemed like you were flirting. I had my suspicions, and when Moreau came out the next year, I remembered that visit, and I remembered how the two of you interacted. Like I said, I didn’t know for sure, and I told myself I would never pressure you into telling me, but I always hoped that I would be a safe space for you, so that youcouldtell me, if you wanted to.”
Quentin felt like shit. Thelastthing he wanted was for Henri to think that Quentin didn’t trust him. “I trust you,” Quentin said, “and you havealwaysbeen a safe person for me. You’re my best friend, dude. I just…this shit scares me. No one knows. I’ve never evensaidthe words out loud that I might not be straight, except, sort of, a year ago, when I asked Drew if he might want to try again. But by then, he was dating someone else, and they were happy. I just thought I could ignore it, and it would go away, or that I would live my professional life as an athlete, retire, and come out quietly. I didn’t expect…” He trailed off.
“That you’d meet Joel?” Henri whispered.
Tears stung Quentin’s eyelids. “Is it that obvious?”
“What part? The longing looks you gave him, the way you were always texting him, or the depressive episode you’ve sunk into since you haven’t seen him the last two weeks?”
Again, Quentin glared at Henri.
“Sorry,” Henri said. “I don’t think I’m helping.” He put his food aside and joined Quentin on the couch. “Before we talk about Joel,ifyou even want to talk about him, and you don’t have to, let me say this.Thankyou for telling me. I recognize how hard that is, and I appreciate the trust that shows me. I love you, Quentin. You are my best friend. I admire you and respect you, and I have always been honored to call you a friend. You are a good man. Sometimes, being closeted can make us feel like we’re shitty people, like we’re lying to others. It’s not your fault for hiding a part of yourself. It’s this whole messed-up world that makes it so that we cannot be honest with who we are. You are doing a very brave thing by being honest about your identity, and I will support you in this bravery in any way that I can.” He gripped Quentin’s hand. “Iloveyou. Okay?”
There were tears on Quentin’s cheeks. He didn’t know how badly he’d needed to hear those words, all of them. “I love you, too,” he said. He sniffed loudly and wiped his nose. “God, this is hard. I feel like an ass.”
“You’re not an ass. Do you want to talk about Joel?”
