Page 74 of Okay, Cupid

“Well, Jude, we know going into this that these relationships aren’t permanent. We’re in and we’re out.”

“I know.” I drop his hand, letting my face fall to the coffee table harder than I mean it to. “Ow.”

“Come on, don’t pout,” he tells me, scooting closer and letting me lean against his shoulder. “It’s understandable, I think.”

“Really?” My voice is muffled.

“I mean … yeah. It’s your second long-term assignment? You’ve never really gotten to hang out with humans our age before. Besides last year.” His tone makes him sound like he doesn’t want to bring it up. “I think it’s normal.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” And for the first time it occurs to me that Cal might just be telling me what I want to hear, and not what I need to hear.

“You just need to finish the job, and then you’ll be done. It won’t matter after that because they’ll forget all about you!” He has too much levity in his voice, almost like he’s thrilled by the idea of the gang forgetting who I am.

I want to vomit.

I finally pick my head up. “You never answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“Have you ever regretted having to leave someone behind?”

“Well, no, I haven’t,” he tells me. “I don’t think I’ve ever had any humans that I’d call ‘friends.’ ”

“So, you don’t know what I’m going through.” Maybe it’s cruel of me to phrase it that way. I just want him to be honest with me.

“I guess not.”

“I’m sorry, Cal. I didn’t mean it. I’m just …” I let my head fall again, softly this time. “I’ve been so confused lately, and worried.”

“It’s a part of the job. This is exactly why we’re not supposed to let the humans get to us. We’re better than them.”

Are we, though?

“What if I don’t want to leave them behind ? What do I do then?” My voice is barely louder than a murmur, and at first, I have to assume he hasn’t heard me.

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” Cal says after a moment of silence. “It’s just the life that we live.”

“Do you ever get tired of it, though?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean … when we’re older, on our own, we’ll be sent to live somewhere else, to be a Cupid wherever we’re needed.” We’re both lucky that we’ve been able to stay in the Bay for our entire lives, to be granted stability by Richard. Not every Cupid our age is so lucky, and once we’re eighteen, tested, and let out of the house, labeled fully independent Cupids capable of taking care of ourselves and others, we’ll be told where to go, unable to settle. There’s not even a guarantee that Cal and I will get to be near each other. I can only hope that we’ll stay in each other’s orbit.

It’s a lonely life, that of a Cupid.

I go on. “It doesn’t fill you with dread? Knowing that this is our life, that there’s nothing more out there?”

“Would you rather be human?”

I don’t say anything at first, which I know is bad because silence is just as much of an answer as me saying yes. But I honestly don’t know what I think.

“Sometimes I think I’m jealous of them,” I tell him honestly. “They get to do whatever they want, live their lives however they want.”

Love whoever they want.

Which isn’t even true; it isn’t a universal human experience. It’s a privileged one. If I were human here, in San Francisco, I’d certainly have more freedom than most of the planet. In other places, I might not be allowed to be myself; I might’ve been given parents who hated me for being trans or queer. Add to that me being white in a society where that makes everything easier. I’m afforded benefits that not every human has access to, be it because of their skin color or where they were born or how they identify.

“You don’t … want to be human, do you, Jude?”