“Depends. Sometimes a few weeks. Other times just a couple days, but… isn’t there that saying?” he smirks. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder?”
“And what about… everything else?” I ask.
“Everything else?” he questions, his brow furrowing.
“Me being a guy.”
“Oh, that…” He clears his throat. “Like I said, we do what feels right for us.”
“That’s not what I mean, Trey.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, letting out a sigh. “I mean with other people. How do you feel about telling people you’re with a guy?”
“Well how do you feel about that?” he returns, sounding defensive.
“Honestly? It doesn’t bother me one bit. I’ve never focused on my sexuality, and didn’t care much for sex or hookups. Not since college. And to be even more honest? This is a relief.”
“A relief?”
“Yeah.” I huff a laugh. “I was kind of worried I was broken or something. I mean… I really had zero interest in sex since college. Like… zero. I didn’t understand why, but now I get it.” He raises a brow, so I explain. “It’s not just about sex for me. It’s not about getting off, it’s about the connection. A relationship. Wanting something stable.”
He nods in understanding, licking his lips as he thinks over what he wants to say.
“I won’t be shouting from the rooftops that I’m dating a guy, but if people find out, they find out. I won’t purposely hide it, I won’t hideyou, but… maybe I might be a little discreet. At least for now. You know, while we figure things out.” His gaze softens a bit, like his voice.
“I think that’s fair,” I say. “Do you want another beer?” I ask as I get up.
“Please.” He hands me the empty bottle, and I get us each a beer from the fridge, handing him his when I get back to the couch. I take a few gulps before taking a breath.
“So… what about the other thing?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t have to say the words, I already know just from the look in his eye what he means.
I sigh, staring at the bottle in my hand. “What about it?” I ask.
“Feels like something we should talk about.”
“Why?” I ask, my chest getting tight again. I don’t want to feel defensive over this, but I do. And I don’t know how to stop that.
“Because it feels like something you should have told me.”
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I say.
“No one?” he asks in disbelief.
I take a sip. “Yep. The only people who know are me, my mother, father, Tom, and the doctors.”
“Mandy doesn’t know?”
“She shouldn’t, but I guess with my blabbermouth of a mother, she probably does.”
I feel bad for calling her a blabbermouth. I know my mother means well, but damn…
“Look,” I start after a moment of silence, turning on the couch to face Trey. “This isn’t something I like to talk about. It’s something I’ve handled my whole life, something I deal with. It is not something that I will let define me. Not something I will use as an excuse. I chose not to tell people because I don’t want people looking at me as ‘the guy with autism.’ Because that’s what labels do to you, that’s what they are, whether you like it or not.”
“I would never do that,” he says carefully.
I huff a laugh. “It’s human nature to do it. Look at my mother. Every time she hears about something with autism, she’s thinking of me.”
He smirks. “Well, every time my mother sees Stitch somewhere, like a stuffed animal or a keychain, she sends me a photo of it because one year I dressed up in one of those onesie suits with the hoods, for a work party, so now she thinks that I’mobsessed.” He rolls his eyes. “Honestly, I didn’t have time to get a costume, and it was the only one on the rack two hours prior to the party, so…” He chuckles, drinking his beer. “Now, it’s a big reminder of me for her. Makes her think of me when I’m not there. Maybe it’s that simple for your mother, too.”
I finish my beer and get up to get another as I think over what to say and push away the defensiveness that won’t let up. When I get back to the couch, I say, “This isn’t something I like talking about, and I don’t want to. There’s no reason to bring this up—ever. I went to therapy when I was younger. I learned to deal with it. Now we can forget it’s there.”
