“Both.” He wipes his nose and then the tears from his cheeks with his wrist. His fake tan smudges as he does.
Thank God, there’s an ocean between us right now.
If I was in London, I’d probably be wringing his neck, especially if I had to witness him and Ryan being all affectionate with one another. But thankfully, I don’t have to. All I have to put up with is the Instagram posts that Stephen will no doubt endlessly share. The first appeared an hour ago. It was a repost of Ryan’s story, featuring the pair of them holding their winning trophy from Queerz Night Pub Quiz. A pang of jealousy and envy arose at the sight.
If it was anyone else but Ryan, I’d be happy for Stephen. The fact that he’s finally found someone to settle down with, rather than endlessly scrolling through Grindr or frequenting the gay saunas, would normally be a cause for celebration.
And this is a celebration he wants me to share in with him.
I should be happy for him. He deserves a chance at love.
“You love him then?” I soften slightly, realizing this is more serious than I assumed.
“I do.” Stephen stands up and waves his arm about. “But I love you more and I don’t want to lose our friendship.” His facedisappears momentarily as he taps his phone on a card reader and then makes his way down to the back of a bus.
“I’ll break up with him if you want me to?” Stephen says, coming back into view. He chews the bottom of his lip.
Be the bigger person.
Don’t be so stubborn.
I let out a deep exhale and shift the car out of park and into drive.
“No, Stephen. I don’t want that. I want you to be happy. If that means you’re with Ryan, then so be it.” I attempt to swallow down the anger that is bubbling up. “But answer me this one question, how does it work?”
“What do you mean work?” Stephen lifts himself upright and closes the window next to him, revealing a silver mesh vest. No wonder he’s shivering.
“You’re both bottoms, and we know two bottoms don’t make a top.” Laughter fills my lungs as I pull out of the parking garage and make my way to the gym.
The sight of Mel’s Diner opposite the gym, and the smell of their delicious burgers and milkshakes, is far more appealing than the salad bowl that Andrew’s suggesting we have from Sweet Green. But if I’m seeing Alexander in less than seventy-two hours, I can’t be entertaining junk food. Not when I’ve worked so hard in these HIIT classes at Equinox to get this six-pack.
Oh, why can’t carbs and sugar create six-packs?
“See you at Mickey’s on Sunday!” Jason shouts as he crosses the street, causing the guilt I’ve been trying to bury all evening to rise back up toward my throat.
All day, I’ve been avoiding telling Andrew about not being able to make his birthday celebrations. I’m scared it will activatehis abandonment issues again. Especially now that he’s in this seemingly positive headspace.
“About Sunday,” I start as Andrew pulls the door open to the restaurant. His back muscles pull against his pink running vest. “I’ve got to head to New York for work. I’m not going to be able to make it.”
I wince as I look down at my beaten-up Nikes, anticipating his response.
“Your loss.” Andrew shrugs his shoulders when I look back up.
Wait. That’s it? No anger. No frustration. Just a dismissive shrug.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bring the best present back from New York.” The response falls from my mouth, fear lining every word as Andrew reaches the counter.
“Sure.” His one-word response is void of emotion as he gives his order.
Maybe all those positive mantras have rubbed off on him after all.
The server takes my order as we both work our way along to the cashier.
“Let me get these,” I say, brushing Andrew’s hand from his pocket and grabbing my wallet.
This time, Andrew doesn’t fight off my request, which is also unusual in and of itself. His attention is now on his phone as he fires Grindr open.
I pay for both meals and return my card to my wallet, grabbing my own phone and turning it off of Airplane Mode while the cashier bags our salad bowls individually.
