The table broke out into laughter, until someone behind us said, “You could always call them sugar lumps. Bit unknown.”
My heart skipped. That was Marcus’ voice. I hadn’t spoken to him in at least a month.
Nobody said anything for a couple of long moments, until Ivy questioned, “Hey. Found your art supplies?”
“Yeah, finally.” Marcus strolled up close to me and took a seat. “Looks like I came in at just the right time.”
He seemed friendly today, and in a good mood. I didn’t wantthisto be the topic that revived our friendship, but if it got me and Marcus talking again, I’d take anything.
“Hey.” Marcus reached out to nudge me.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Hey. You doing all right?”
His voice was playful. “Well, everyone isn’t talking aboutmyballs, so I’m doing pretty great.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.” Despite the conversation not being my favorite, I was really glad Marcus was here.
“I always liked referring to Charlie’s balls as my personal fun bags,” Ava said dreamily. “Isn’t it so sweet?”
Now Ava was joining in, and since she knew more about what was going on down there than anyone else here, I had to put a stop to this. I stood and said, “Look, people, I don’t really mind if you guys know aboutsomeof the stuff Ava and I do. I’m fine with sharing details about one of the most private parts of my life. I’mnotokay with the community discussing my balls en masse.”
“You said they could shareprivate parts!” Ava cackled.
“I—”
“I love them, so should everyone else!” Ava nearly hit me as she raised a fist in the air. “Who’s with me?”
Everyone gave a collective cheer, and I slapped a palm to my face. There was no stopping it now. I’d created a monster.
Marcus climbed onto the table, standing to recite lines as if he were upon a real stage. “They were two eggs wrapped in a silk scarf, a velvet satchel adorned with the soft hairs of a ripe peach. When the light hit his bulging sack just right, the eyes shone like jewels.”
“Nay, good sir!” Alistair bellowed, clambering onto the table to stand beside him. “For thy scrotum remindeth thee of a disco ball, or perhaps, the beauty of blue marbles, which is sustained by the refusal of your love.”
Chairs scraped the ground as everyone at the table leapt to applause. Somehow along the way, this had literally turned into a three-act play.
About my balls. Fan-fucking-tastic.
Other people climbed onto the table to offer their own renditions. Marcus hopped down and came over to me. “Can we talk?”
I was really scared about where this was going, but I wasn’t going to back down. “Okay.”
Marcus and I walked to a quieter area of the food court, away from our friends. Neither of us said anything right away, so I felt like I was forced to, in order to break the silence.
I cleared my throat. “Marcus… are you good?”
He gave a sigh. “No. Not really. But I’m better than I was.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m going to therapy, and I got a diagnosis,” Marcus explained. “Ava was right. I do have BPD. She was spot on.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Wow. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. The diagnosis has been helpful, because at least I know what’s wrong with me now, and I can find tools that work and help me feel better. They switched up my medication, and I actually think it might be working this time.”
He scuffed his shoe on the floor. “Plus, I’ve been working on my art, and that’s really helping. Working on a new play and stuff.”
“I’m happy you’re feeling better. Though I have to take some of the blame, because it’s partly my fault,” I said. “I’m sorry for what happened and for what I did.”
