Page 26 of The Art of Drowning

But after a while, it became clear that no one had sensed the monumental shift inside of me, and I battled between being relieved and disappointed. I wasn’t worried about whether or not my family would accept me. Dad’s best friend at work was a lesbian and they’d been over at our house for Christmas a few years ago. Mom had always instilled into Sam and me a sense of social justice. She taught us that love was love. That people deserved dignity and respect no matter who they were or who they loved.

I wasn’t afraid of coming out because I worried about their reaction. Only, maybe I was. Maybe I was worried about Damien and how he’d react when he found out. Would he think of our stolen hours this summer differently? Would it freak him out that we’d been so close a few months ago?

I also worried that they wouldn’t react at all. That I’d spent all summer and the months since then agonizing over this, and I’d finally come out, and I’d get a head nod from Dad and a that’s nice, dear from Mom. And this life-defining shift inside of me would go largely unacknowledged.

I made it all the way to Christmas break without telling another single soul, besides Zeke, my secret. My truth lived under my skin, and I felt like everyone could see it but wasn’t acknowledging it. That was probably all in my head. Nothing had changed about me. Not a single thing except for the fact that I was more comfortable in my own skin.

The house was decorated for the holiday and school had just ended for Christmas break. As usual, Damien was staying here over the holidays. His parents had big important jobs and they often worked straight through the holiday season. Now that Damien was older, they’d stopped keeping up the pretense that they gave a shit.

Mom and Dad were out to dinner with the grandparents who had just dropped Sam off after their trip. Sam wasted no time changing his clothes and having a shower. Apparently there was a party he was dying to go to. I hadn’t expected to see Damien sitting on the couch when I went downstairs, but he was stretched out, looking comfortable and far away as he read a book.

“You didn’t go with Sam?” I asked, dropping down into the chair that sat adjacent to the couch. There was room on the couch if I sat near his feet, but I didn’t trust myself to get too close to him and not get weird about it.

“Sam is convinced that if I go, Marissa won’t look twice at him.”

“He still hasn’t forgiven you for Shaye crushing on you instead of him?”

Damien rolled his eyes. “I love him, but he’s weirdly possessive sometimes.”

This much was true. Sam had always guarded his things like he was a starved dog. It wasn’t like he’d ever gone without; it was just the way he was wired. And Mom and Dad never did much to curb this behavior. Mostly because Sam had been careful to paint his possessive nature in a more acceptable light. Sharing was caring, unless you were Sam, and then you were just “exercising healthy boundaries.” Who the fuck thought teaching this kid therapy speak was a good idea, anyway? That’s what I’d wondered.

It was another reason my crush on Damien was inconvenient and potentially destructive. Sam would shit a kitten if he figured out that I even so much as looked at his best friend with anything other than the vague kind of friendliness I’d offered up over the years.

Being friendly to Damien was allowed. Being friends would be fine, but with limits. And crushing on him would absolutely make Sam lose his shit.

Not that I could stop, even if I wanted to. Crushing on Damien felt like the first normal thing I’d done as a teenager. My friends had all lived through their first crushes. And their second crushes. Probably a hundred by now. In some ways, it felt like I was behind. Like my late discovery, or admission, of my sexuality had robbed me of experiences I should have had years ago, but was too busy wondering why I was fucking weird. Why Katie’s boobs never got my attention in the seventh grade. Why, when everyone else was mooning over Morgan Daniels and her new modelling gig, I’d been unable to drum up even the slightest bit of interest.

“What are you reading?”

“Skitter by Ezekiel Boone. It’s like… the apocalypse comes, but it’s spiders.”

A shudder tore through me. “That’s… no. No, thank you. Where did you even find a book like that?”

“The thrift store. You’ll find the craziest books of your life there.”

Another shudder rippled through me, and Damien actually grinned at me. “Are you afraid of spiders?”

“Afraid of? No. Disgusted by? Definitely.”

“I’m not sure those are different things.”

“They’re absolutely different.” I was no wimp, but a book about a spider apocalypse would be enough to give me nightmares. I kept that part to myself. “It’s Christmas. Shouldn’t you be reading A Christmas Carol or something?”

“Does my spider book bother you?”

He arched an eyebrow at me, and I hated how much I loved having his attention. I hated that this small interaction was the most fun I’d had in months. That just being around Damien made everything better and brighter.

“You’re delusional.” I stood up and headed for the kitchen, intending to get a snack, when I heard Damien shift. He rose, spider book in hand. My skin crawled at the sight of it as if the book itself was some kind of threat.

“Get that thing away from me,” I said, making Damien grin at me like he’d won a prize.

“You’re afraid of a book? That’s not very progressive of you.”

He took a step forward, and I took a step back.

“I’m not afraid of the book. It’s just… it came from the thrift store, so it probably smells like patchouli.”

Damien brought the book up to his nose and gave it a sniff. “It smells like a book.”