Isla had just started transitioning when we met, and it’s been beautiful to watch her come into her own, to finally be able to live as herself. I feel lucky I’ve gotten to be by her side through some of her journey.
“A trick?” she asks.
I hold up my phone. “No. My dead brother’s boyfriend.”
“How scandalous!” she teases, making me laugh.
“It’s nothing like that.” It can’t be. Even if Hunter wanted to fuck—which he absolutely wouldn’t—how in the hell could I do that? It’s wrong on every level. “I just…want to be his friend, I think. He’s hurting.”
“You’re hurting, babe.” She squeezes my thigh.
“I’m fine.”
“You always think you’re fine, and you’re always worried about everyone else.”
Not if she asked my family. I go for a change of subject. “Wanna have sex?” Sex always helps.
Isla laughs. “No, because I know what you’re trying to do right now.”
“Have an orgasm?” Isla and I hook up sometimes, but it’s just sex for both of us. According to her, it’s one of the only ways I let people in, blah, blah, blah. If that were the case, I’d have let a whole lot of people in.
“No. Distracting me. You forget you told me you used to crush on this guy.”
“Ugh. Why do I talk to you?”
“Because you love me.”
“I was a kid. I don’t feel that way about him anymore. He was just a cute boy who used to be at my house all the time, so he was my queer awakening.” I’ve tossed around different labels for most of my adult life—bisexual, pansexual, the latter probably being more spot on—but mostly I just call myself queer. I’m not big on labels.
“I’ve seen him. He’s fucking hot.”
I groan. “So hot. He’s also in love with my brother. My family would lose their shit. The world would lose their shit if we fucked and they found out. Plus, I don’t want him. He’s annoying.” Heisannoying. He’s not as perfect-acting as he used to be, but it’s still there.
“Why would the world care?”
“It would be a whole thing—Coach Blake’s remaining son, fucking his favorite son’s boyfriend, after that favorite son died. It would be weird.” We shouldn’t even be talking about Hunter and me fucking, but Isla can get me to speak about things without me realizing I’m doing it. “I just…want to be there for him.” Because I think he needs it. I think he needs it more than he realizes.
“Okay, fine. I believe you. Now, can we watch another episode ofPose? It’s killing me to wait for you.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, we can watch.” The show isn’t running new episodes anymore, but Isla and I started watching it a couple of weeks ago. We don’t have the time to watch as much as we’d like, and she’s not nearly as patient as I am. We cuddle on the couch in a way I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with anyone other than Isla. I don’t know what it is about her that makes it easier for me to let my guard down, to let my mask slip so I can simply be.
The Pulse are playing Vegas tonight, at home, and I’ve forced myself not to look at the score or pay any attention tothe game. I’ve managed to spend most of my life not caring about football, and I don’t plan to start now. Hunter winning or not has nothing to do with me. How he plays or what he does isn’t any of my business.
Eventually, Isla leaves, and I go into my darkroom, leaving my phone on the table and working on developing photos. Most of my work is done digitally now, but I enjoy the manual process and still do it for fun. There’s something special about film, about being deeper into the process, giving me another creative outlet. I’m in there for hours, until late into the night, sleep eluding me again. Or is it me evading sleep? When I grab my phone on the way to my bedroom, I notice a text from Hunter. My pulse jumps, a reaction I’m not proud of.
Ignore it. Stop talking to him. What’s even the goal here? Is it really being there for him?
All I know is there’s no chance in hell I’m not replying. Honestly, I hadn’t expected him to message me first, or at all. I’d already decided not to reach out to him, and we could go back to not having anything to do with each other the way it’s supposed to be.
Hunter: When did you know you wanted to be a photographer?
My brows draw together, my forehead scrunching up. Whatever I imagined he’d text, that’s not it. My mom is the only person in my family who ever really talked to me about my photography. Actually, that’s not true. Sometimes Ellis would ask. Despite our complex relationship, he wasn’t a monster; we simply never shared any interests.
I grab a glass of water, turn off the living room lights, and don’t reply until I’m in bed.
Me: I was six, I think… Mom was working on this fundraiser, and people could donate items for an auction. I was helping her.
Hunter: Making a mess of things, you mean. *laughing emoji*
