Chapter 20 Alex
The diner was nearly empty at eleven at night on a Saturday. I guess the late night rush hadn't started yet.
Just us in the back booth, the waitress doing a crossword behind the counter, and an old man at the far end nursing a cup of coffee.
I hadn't gone home after the mixer. Couldn't face my dorm room. Couldn't face the silence and the replay of Emily's face and the taste of Liam still on my mouth. So I'd texted Ethan from the parking lot, and he'd said Bluebird. Ten minutes.
He was already in our booth when I got there. Two coffees. Pancakes ordered without asking.
"So," he said, fork halfway to his mouth. "Emily saw you."
I nodded. Cut into my pancakes—terrible as always, dense and somehow both overcooked and undercooked. The consistency of a hockey puck that had been left in the rain.
"Yeah," I said. "She saw us."
"Kissing."
"Kissing."
Ethan set his fork down. "Okay. How do you feel?"
I looked up at him. "Kind of—relieved? That it's out… I'm out."
"Look at you." He leaned back. "One public kiss and suddenly you're evolving."
"It doesn't feel like evolving. It feels like I destroyed someone's life."
"You didn't destroy her life. You hurt her. There's a difference."
"Well… that isn't a good thing either."
"Better than Liam lying to her… she deserved honesty a long time ago. You both did."
We sat there for a second. The diner sounds around us—dishes clanking in the back, the hum of the old refrigerator case, the waitress's pen scratching at her crossword.
"I've never talked about this," I said finally. "With anyone. Like—actually talked about it."
"About Liam?"
"About guys." The word felt strange in my mouth. Not wrong—just unfamiliar. Like speaking a language I'd always understood but never been allowed to use. "About wanting—any of it."
Ethan's expression softened. Not pity. Something closer to patience—the kind that came from watching someone finally arrive at a door he'd been holding open for… years.
"Well," he said, "we've got terrible coffee, pancakes, and nowhere to be. Go."
"I don't even know where to start."
"Start with him." He took a bite of pancakes. "When did you know?"
"Summer before freshman year at the lake." I picked up my coffee—lukewarm, slightly burnt, perfect.
Ethan's eye's widened. "I knew it. I knew there was more history than just college. So what happened?"
"My dad made me work at the marina. And Liam was there. The first time I met him it was—" I stopped. Searched for the word. "Electric. I couldn't stop thinking about him."
"What was it like?" Ethan asked. "Being around him and realizing you wanted him?"
The question caught me off guard. Not because it was intrusive—because it was normal. The kind of question any friend would ask about any crush. And no one had ever asked me before.
"Terrifying," I said. "Because I'd never felt like that. About anyone. But Liam was—" I looked down at my coffee. "I don't know… I never actually wanted anyone before. Not like that."
"Oh, so he ruined you," Ethan said. "Got it."
I smirked. "He sure did. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about him since."
Ethan was smiling.
"What?"
"Nothing. Keep going."
"We kissed at a party," I said. "Late. Everyone was drunk and someone had built a bonfire and we were down by the water and he—" I stopped. Something warm moved through my chest at the memory. "He kissed me first. And I kissed him back. And it was—"
"Yeah?"
"Everything." The word came out rough. "It was everything I'd been missing my entire life and didn't know it."
Ethan's smile got wider.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"I can't help it. You've got this whole face happening right now." He gestured at me with his fork. "Very swoony. Very sixteen-year-old at their first dance."
"I was eighteen."
"The point stands."
I shook my head. But I was almost smiling, which felt impossible given what had happened two hours ago. That was the thing about Ethan—he made even the worst nights survivable.
"What happened after?" he asked.
I swallowed. "Then I found out he was going to Riverside and I panicked. And I just ended it."
"Why?"
"Because I was scared. Because my father would—" I stopped.
"Because I knew we were going to rival schools.
I didn't think it could work… and I didn't think I could come out.
Plus… I didn't have anyone to talk to." I looked at Ethan.
"If I'd had this—someone to sit with and just say it—maybe I wouldn't have run. "
He was quiet for a moment. Understanding in his expression.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"Anything."
"What's it like? Being out. Being gay like it's normal."
"It is normal. That's the whole point." He tapped his fork against the edge of his plate. "It's just—existing. Without performing all the time. Without translating everything through a filter."
"I don't know what that feels like."
"You're doing it right now." He leaned forward. "Alex—this, right here. Sitting in a diner talking about the guy you like. Being honest about wanting someone. That's what it feels like."
Something cracked open in my chest. Not pain, just like a window being pushed open after years of being painted shut.
Until that moment, I didn't know how much damage all the lies and pretending was really doing.
My whole chest warmed and opened—it was happening, it was finally happening. I was being… me.
"I wish I had said something to you sooner."
"Me too."
I nodded.
"So tell me more," Ethan said, picking up his fork. "What's he actually like? Besides being your rowing soulmate."
"He's—intense. Everything he does is a hundred percent. And he's got this edge. This anger that's always under the surface."
"Hot."
"Shut up."
"I'm not wrong though."
"He sees through bullshit," I continued. "Calls me on my shit. Doesn't let me hide behind the Harrington thing." I paused. "That's terrifying. But also—it feels good. Being seen like that."
"Have you told him you love him?"
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"Do you love him?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
"I don't know," I said finally. "I've never—I'm not sure I know what that feels like."
"Let me ask differently." Ethan's voice was gentle. "When you think about your future—about what you actually want, not what your father wants—is Liam in it?"
I didn't have to think about it.
"Yeah."
"Then you love him."
The words sat between us on the table next to the bad pancakes and the burnt coffee.
"That simple?" I asked.
"That simple."
I picked up my coffee. Drank. Set it down.
"I'm terrified," I said. "That I'll tell him and he'll leave again. Choose safe. Choose Emily."
"He kissed you back tonight," Ethan said. "In a hallway where anyone could see. That's not choosing safe."
"What if Emily tells everyone?"
"Then she tells everyone."
"Ethan—"
"If she does, you deal with it. Together." He held my gaze. "You can't control what she does. You can only control what you do."
"Which is?"
"Show up tomorrow. Row with him. Let him know you're not going anywhere." He paused. "And go slow. Don't push him to come out or make big decisions. Just be there."
I nodded.
"Guess what?" Ethan asked.
"What?"
"I submitted the film."
My chest tightened. "You did?"
"Yesterday. Right before the mixer." He grinned—that real, open grin that I'd missed during the weeks we weren't speaking.
"Look at us making moves."
Something warm spread through my chest. The film—his Berlin summer, the abandoned spaces, the artists who existed louder because the world told them not to. He'd finished it. Put it out there. Done the thing I'd told him to do.
We'd both crossed a line this week. Different lines, but the same direction.
"So tomorrow," Ethan said, "you get in that boat. You row with your guy. And you let everyone see what you two can do together."
"Thank you," I said. Voice rough. "For this. For listening. For letting me talk about him. About guys. About all of it."
"Anytime." Ethan picked up his fork. "That's what we do."
We finished our pancakes. Drank more terrible coffee. And for the first time in my life, I got to just talk—about the person I wanted, about being scared, about a future I was only beginning to imagine.
It felt like breathing after holding my breath for twenty years.
"Ready for tomorrow?" Ethan asked as we stood to leave.
I thought about it. The boat. Liam. My father in the stands. Everything that could go wrong.
"No," I said. "But I'm showing up anyway."
"That's all you can do."
We walked out into the October night. Cold and clear. Stars visible for once—the kind of sky that only happened when the temperature dropped enough to strip the haze away.
Tomorrow would be chaos.
But tonight I had someone who knew me—fully, honestly, without performance—and hadn't flinched.
And that changed everything.