Chapter 18 #2
“Sometimes I think it’s expected of me. Because I am so skinny and tall, people see me like a little baby deer they have to save.
It’s easier to let men take what they need from me than starting to explain what I want from them,” I tell Ford, lowering my voice to a whisper although nobody’s listening.
“And what is that you want, then?”
“Nope, don’t make this about me now. What have you been thinking about?”
Another thunder, closer this time. The music is loud in the backyard and everyone seems unaware of the stronger winds and the darkening skies. Ford’s friends are grilling and passing food around, laughing, chatting.
The space between Ford and me is quieter, calmer.
“I’ve had thoughts about this guy,” Ford tells me.
I can’t wait, I don’t let him finish. “A guy?”
“You don’t know him. I just, it caught me by surprise and I have been feeling things. New things, scary things. You know me, I started thinking. And overthinking. How do you know what other boys like? How do you know if other boys like you? How’s the kissing?”
Ford pauses as the first drops of rain start falling.
Timidly at first and then stronger, hammering on the gazebo and the rooftop.
Grasping my wrist, Ford pushes me against the siding of the house and we fit our bodies under the roofline.
Around us, people start yelling and rushing into the house, grabbing plates and drinks in a hurry.
“I fucking knew it,” Ford mutters and it makes me smile.
I scoot closer to the side of the house as some people run under the gazebo where the DJ has stopped playing music and is draping a plastic cover over the console.
I spot Vicky and her friends trying to warm up, as if the rain has finally reminded them that it is, in fact, cold.
It is England. And a bathing suit is not warm enough, even in August.
The crowd is quieter for a while, or maybe the rain is swallowing every sound. I study Ford’s profile, his straight nose and the pensive umber eyes. He’s hunched forward and I wonder if he’s trying to make himself smaller, make himself disappear after the biggest confession he’s ever made.
I want to tell him something, anything that will make him stand up straighter, like he always does.
“Truth for one truth,” I tell him. “Sometimes I wish I liked girls. It would be so much easier, you know? My family would accept me better. And society as well.”
Ford is silent for a while and then he takes a long breath in, a long breath out. He stands up taller and he’s still shorter than I am. Yet he looks bigger.
“One truth. I wish I only liked girls, too.”
The storm turns into a gentle patter as people settle down around us. The DJ has started playing a soft tune and people have started dancing, swaying in unison in an attempt to warm up.
I reach for Ford’s hand and tap one finger on his wrist. He turns it gently, interlacing our fingers.
There’s many things I could say to make him feel like he’s loved, like he’s the same Ford he’s always been.
I could tell him I love him no matter who he loves, I could tell him he’ll always be Ashford Hale, my best friend. Until we die.
In the end, I don’t need to tell him anything. I don’t need to remind him who he is. I hold his hand as someone starts yelling from inside the house.
“Ice cream? Ice cream everyone!”
I watch as a group starts making rounds handing out ice creams. When they reach us with a pile of open boxes, Ford lets go of my hand and checks the options. Pursing his lips, Ford considers what the best flavour would be.
“No, thank you,” I decline, while Ford picks a chocolate ice cream cone.
Slowly he unwraps it and he starts licking around it, while I pretend I’m not looking.
“Will you want to experiment with this guy at some point?” I ask as casually as I can.
“Honestly I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about it.
Like, take this ice cream. I know I like chocolate, so it’s a safe choice.
But what if I had picked cherry? I don’t usually like the flavour in ice cream, it’s too prickly or whatever.
I would never choose it. Or strawberry. I love strawberries but I never eat strawberry flavoured stuff, it’s too artificial.
Too fake. So I go with what I know, chocolate.
What if I taste the right strawberry, the right cherry, and I end up loving it? The ice cream, I mean.”
I smile, thinking of cherries and strawberries, and thinking all the thoughts I’m not supposed to think around Ford. Biting the inside of my cheek, I keep my mouth shut and let him speak.
“I’m just saying. Just because I love chocolate, doesn’t mean it’s the only thing for me.”
“But you always pick chocolate,” I tell him. And I tell myself that Ford loves girls, he’s always loved girls. He may like boys too, but he will never like me.
Ford scoots closer to me then, as the rain picks up again. The wind is getting colder now, and it slams us against the wall of the house.
“I pick chocolate because you love it, too,” Ford says, licking his cone and handing it to me to do the same.
Ignoring the lump in my throat, I lean in and give the cone one lick. Then, I look up.
“Want a reminder how it feels to kiss a boy?”
Ford doesn’t even blink.
“I swear to God, if you push your whole tongue in my mouth.”
“Won’t. Promise.”
But as I close the distance between us, I know this promise is one I won’t be able to keep.