Page 43 of Okay, Cupid

“Seriously?”

I nod. “I went to a few groups. It didn’t work out.”

“My doctor made me go to a support group before he’d seriously consider me as a patient.”

I blurt out, “That’s fucked.”

“Right? I survived, though. It was worth it.”

It hits me that I’ve strayed too far away from the subject of Alice. Time to get back on course. “So, if you were out before you met your team, was there anyone else who was there?”

“My parents, of course. They were super supportive. Dad let me borrow his clothes until we could actually go shopping. My mom helped me cut my hair. My sister even stole my school ID and Sharpied over my deadname. Problem was I didn’t have ‘Huy’ figured out, so she didn’t have anything else to write.”

“That’s cute,” I tell him. “Can I ask where ‘Huy’ came from?”

“I wish there was a better story. But my mom just insisted that I have a ‘name that looks good’ if I was going to change it. So, I asked her for a list, and it stuck out to me.”

“I think that’s a fantastic story. Like being trans turned into a group project.”

He laughs. “What about you? Is Jude your birth name?”

“Yeah. It’s not from anything special, as far as I know. I’ve thought about changing it, but … I don’t know. It’s mine. I like it. When I look at myself in the mirror, I feel like it belongs to me.”

Once again, the conversation has gotten away from where I’m trying to direct it. Bringing up Alice right now might be too weird.

It’s been so easy to slip into these conversations, to forget what I’m here to do. I like being around Huy. And around Alice and Neve too.

It’s nice to have friends who aren’t Cupids. Who worry about random teenager things like acne and homework and not about helping keep the balance of the universe or whatever by getting people to fall in love.

Too bad there isn’t a world where I can have both.

“What?” Huy asks me, and suddenly I’m sitting in front of him again.

“What?” I parrot.

“You were just sitting there, like you were lost.” He stares at me so intently. “Where’d you go?”

“Oh, uh …” I feel a heat creeping up in my cheeks. “I was just thinking.”

“About?” he asks.

“Nothing in particular,” I tell him. I feel like an alarm is going off in my head, warning me that I’m in danger. “Tell me about your car. Truck!”

“Truck?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’d be easier to tell you what isn’t wrong with it. The headlights work, that’s pretty much the only consistent.” He laughs, pulling out his phone to show me pictures. “My mom gave it to me; it was hers in the eighties.”

“The eighties?” I can’t hide my shock. “No wonder it doesn’t work, that’s ancient.”

“Hey, it works when it needs to. And I’m not going to pressure it.”

“You’d think you’d want something more reliable, though.”

“It has character,” he says. “Besides, it’s from my mom. That makes it extra special.”

“Fair enough.”