“Sure.” I have a strong urge to select another unusual egg to fidget with, but I can’t look away from Martin long enough.
He makes an attempt several times before words actually form. “Are you okay receiving jewelry from…” he stops himself, looking away.
“From a guy?” I whisper. He looks back at me again, unblinking. I try to force a casual laugh, but it comes out jagged. “First of all, we don’t know it was jewelry. And second of all…”
I can’t finish either. I try to keep smiling.
The moment freezes between us.
“Martin, I don’t really know how I feel, if that’s what you’re asking.” I grab a massive green egg and hold on for dear life. “I can’t really articulate what I’m thinking.”
“Do you think that you and your secret person are at a jewelry-exchanging level?”
My jaw drops instinctively. “We’ve never met,” I blurt. A small woman squeezes by us, commenting politely. We lean intothe fridge together to give her space, the cold air chilling my neck. “I’ve never met him. I don’t even know what to think,” I confess. I feel like I’m mumbling.
He looks at the basil in his hand.
“What was it like for you?” I ask, not sure how this is going to play out, but I’m all in now.
“What was what like?”
“Being gay. At first,” I ask softly. I desperately need to set this egg down before something terrible happens. I do so gently, then look at Martin, who seems to be searching for something in his brain.
“That’s, uh…” he stops himself and starts again, only to falter.
I hang my head for a minute, noticing the pattern of the floor tiles for the first time.
The silence seems to speak for itself. “That’s okay,” I say slowly, not able to make eye contact. “You don’t have to answer that question. We should probably head out.” I start a slow turn back to the front of the store. “I didn’t mean to get so serious. What else did we need? Fish sauce?” I’m looking around the store.
He’s following me down the aisle.
“Liam, it’s not too serious. It’s just a lot to take in, the fact that you and I are having a conversation about guys.”
I stop and turn to him. We’re still in the open fridge section, now overflowing with every kind of mushroom imaginable. The chill burns through my shirt. The space between us is warm.
“Do you think it’s possible that…” I pause, but can’t look away from him. His blue eyes are swimming in the open fridge light, “that something could be right in front of your face from the start, and you just can’t see it? Like something prevents you from acknowledging it?”
He stares for a moment. “Sure,” he exhales softly. I feel the warmth on my face.
I look from his eyes to the floor. “Maybe I’m just starting to see it. Maybe that’s what this is.”
I hear the pace of his breath shift, but I don’t look up.
“You mean… with your secret person?” The words are soft, barely audible.
I look up into his eyes again. He’s not blinking and there’s a desperation I don’t understand. I get lost for a moment in the storm of blue around his pupils, the tilt of his brow in the question. Neither of us speak, with words at least, but I feel like there’s much being said. “I haven’t actually met this guy,” I finally say, smiling coyly. “So there’s that!” I breathe a small laugh and suddenly Martin is laughing with me, so quietly the mushrooms can’t hear.
Our quiet laughter breaks and Martin is smiling. “The way you’re handling this. You seem like you’re just going to take life at its fullest. It’s a beautiful thing to see and I’m glad I can share that with you.” He’s full-face smiling, his eyes steady.
I smile back, almost painfully, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Mostly, I just don’t know what I’m doing. Just going for it, I guess.” The hum of the fridge changes to a lower pitch. We stand for an awkwardly long moment until a woman approaches, reaching for a very large mushroom with a small bow and polite words in another language.
Moving apart, we meet each other’s gaze momentarily, then look away. Before I know it, I’m following him through the aisles again, retrieving the scrap of paper with that messy list for something to hold on to, at least.
Tuesday night lands hard. The weekend is usually when I do all the things I need to do for my apartment, but with the memorial for Martin’s mom last week and some work thingsand maybe even just lack of motivation, I get home from work on Tuesday and feel like my place is a mess and something must be done about it. So cleaning the kitchen, tidying up the living room and cleaning the bathroom is priority tonight.
In the back of my head, a thought keeps re-emerging about my secret person: other than a few words after the jewelry store, I haven’t heard anything from him. There is an explanation pending, but I don’t really even care about having an explanation. I just want to communicate, and I don’t think I could handle it if this is how the whole adventure ends. I’m also replaying the words “text me anytime” in my head. I can use the app and send a message, but it feels wrong. I keep telling myself he’ll text when he’s ready. Maybe I should’ve texted immediately, but I didn’t and now it seems too late. This monologue plays out in my head in a way I haven’t experienced in a while. Since I’ve ‘met’ my secret person, the anxious voice in my head has been quiet. Tonight it’s back and I’m not sure how to quiet it.
After the kitchen is clean, I grab the bag of recycling and I’m moving toward the door, straightening random things in the living room as I pass frantically, trying to escape the words in my head.
