Chapter 7
D enver and I wander around the open-air market, browsing the stalls and people-watching. When they offered to show me around, I wanted to believe they were being nothing more than polite, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t still pleasantly surprised when they asked last night if I was free to come with them.
“Are you hungry?” they ask as we near a stall with various baked goods.
“I wouldn’t say no to a danish,” I reply.
They grin and head to the stall. Trailing behind them, I reach for my wallet, but Denver sets a hand on my arm.
“No, I’ve got it.”
“You don’t have to.”
They grab some money and hand it over to the woman manning the stall. “Please, I invited you, let me do this.”
Biting my lip, I pretend all the walking we’ve been doing is the reason for the flush I feel heating my cheeks. “Thank you.”
Denver rolls their eyes after taking their change and the bag of pastries from the woman. “It’s the least I would do for any other friend,” they tell me.
“Still, we’re not really friends yet. I mean, we just met.”
Denver leads me away from the busy bakery stall. “That’s the point of hanging out. So we can get to know one another.” In a break between stalls, we step out of the way of people, and Denver hands me a napkin and my danish. “I want to get to know you, Luka,” they implore. “This isn’t charity, or because I feel bad for you or whatever. It's because I liked meeting you, and want to be your friend.”
Hazel green eyes meet mine, and the intensity in them makes me want to take a step back, but I hold my ground, even if my breath catches in my throat for a moment. “Okay,” I say, just loud enough for them to hear.
“Okay?”
I nod in response. “Yeah. I want to get to know you better, too.”
Denver’s smile is as bright as the late summer sun. “Good. Now, eat up, you’re going to need energy to keep up with me for the rest of the day.”
I laugh but do as I’m told.
“I don’t know about you,” Denver says, hours later, as we sit in a little cafe we found after the market, “But I am exhausted.”
“I didn’t expect so much walking,” I bemoan. “I work a desk job, I’m not used to this exercise BS.”
They snort. “What is it that you do, anyway? I know you work with Ivy, but I wasn’t sure if you did the same job as her or not.”
“Same thing as Ivy. I'm a 911 dispatcher.”
“That’s a tough job.”
I shrug. “It can be sometimes. I don’t want to say I enjoy it, because when you’re on the other end of a life and death situation, there’s nothing enjoyable about that. But…I do like knowing I play a part in getting people the help they need.”
“I know what you mean. I’m an ER nurse over at the children’s hospital. It’s… It can be very emotional at times, but rewarding as well, when you know you’re helping someone who needs it.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you get into that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Shaking my head, I say, “It’s fine. I…don’t know how to respond, actually.” Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I tell them, “I sort of fell into it back in California. I mean, it was never my dream job—I don’t think it’s anyone’s. I needed a job, and someone I knew suggested I apply. I didn’t think I’d get it, but I passed all of the prerequisites, and so when I moved, it was a no-brainer to do it all over again here.”
“So what is your dream job?” Denver asks quietly.
Looking away from their inquisitive gaze, I fiddle with my silverware, unsure how to respond yet again. “I don’t know,” I finally say. “And I truly don’t.”
Meeting their eyes once again, I try to put into words the things I never dared to speak of. “I don’t know how much you know about Valery’s past, but they were dating my cousin for a while, and spending time with them sort of…gave me the confidence to be who I am.”
Denver gives me a small, encouraging smile. “They’re good at that.”
“Yeah.” Clearing my throat, I try to push back the old, overwhelming feelings of pain and longing that are building up in me. “They’re older than I am, and at the time, I didn’t know anyone who wasn’t cisgendered or, at least anyone who was open about it. My parents…they kept me and my siblings really close and sheltered. So, when Jordan started dating Valery, and they were so unapologetically them, it…it was like something clicked in my young brain.”
Denver sighs and leans in a little over the small table. “Let me guess, your parents weren’t too supportive when you came out?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Remember how Valery said my aunt would have been happy if they did end up married to Jordan?”
They nod. “Yeah, something about Val’s tits.”
I laugh. “Pretty much. My aunt is much like my parents—not very accepting. She isn’t as bad as my parents, but we all know that she’s still hoping Jordan’s queerness is just a phase. She was always surprisingly good about Valery’s pronouns, but we all knew it was because Val is feminine-presenting. She could pretend Jor was what she wanted him to be, because to everyone else, it looked like his relationship was.”
Denver rolls their eyes. “Once again, I am reminded that I got very lucky when so many don’t.”
“Your parents are cool then?”
“That’s an understatement. They named me Denver, for fuck’s sake. I have a brother named Paris, and a sister named Venice. My parents being ‘cool’ is both a blessing and the bane of my existence.”
I can’t feel jealous over that fact. Though I wished for family that was more understanding when I was younger and realizing that who they wanted me to be was far from the person I actually am, I don’t begrudge the things they taught me. Standing up for myself, and figuring out who I am without their overbearingness is intimidating, but in the few short months I’ve been here, I’ve already learned so much about myself.
Meeting Valery’s friends has helped with that, though sitting here with Denver gives me hope they won’t just be Valery’s friend, but mine as well.
“We got way off track,” Denver says. “Sorry about that.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I started it. You asked what I always wanted to do, and I don’t know because I was never given the chance to find out. I spent so much of my teen years fighting for the right to exist as who I am, it left little room to figure out everything else, such as a dream job. So, for now, I’m content where I am.”
Denver reaches across the table and grabs my hand, squeezing it gently in theirs. “That’s kind of sad, and I’m not saying that to make you feel bad about yourself. I just think everyone should be able to have a dream, whether it’s attainable or not is irrelevant.”
Even my throat grows warm when I blush, their words sinking deep inside and hitting the soft, vulnerable parts of my heart that I try to pretend aren’t there, because, what’s the point? My job pays the bills, and it may be more heartbreaking than glamorous most days, but I feel accomplished when a call ends on a happyish note. What more could I ask for? Yet, sitting here with Denver, their hand on mine, hazel eyes soft but not pitying, it makes me long for something… I just don’t know what that is exactly.
“Well, I guess if I figure something out, I’ll let you know. Deal?”
They give my hand another squeeze. “Deal.”