4. CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FOUR
TRAVIS
“You’re not... You... What? ” Brenden stammers.
And what the hell is wrong with me?
Did that really just come out of my mouth?
It’s the truth, but still.
He didn’t need to know that.
No one in this town knows about my sexuality.
Especially my dad.
For a moment, I panic.
But if there’s one person in this town I trust not to blab things, it’s Brenden.
“Are you serious?” he asks, when I say nothing to clarify for him.
I glance around us.
Two little old ladies are playing a card game at another table, but they’re too far away to overhear.
A handful of workers are setting something up out on the lawn, also too far away and probably too busy to eavesdrop.
“Look, why don’t we talk about this later?” I say, avoiding Brenden’s curious eyes.
They’re a bright ocean blue, and I could easily sink into their depths if I’m not careful.
“Somewhere more private?”
“But—”
“I’ve got to get back in the kitchen before Addison comes out to yell at me.” I’m deflecting, but it’s a fair concern.
“I already pressed her buttons by suggesting a cherry-apricot muffin would be better than her strawberry rhubarb.”
Brenden’s gaze finally falls away from me as he looks down at the plate with the two muffins.
The one I made, which he was eating, and Addison’s, which remains untouched.
“Is that what that was?” He actually picks up my muffin this time and takes a large bite out of it.
The strangled moan he lets out a second later goes straight to my dick.
“Damn, that’s orgasmic.”
Uh, yeah.
Kind of got that impression.
My cheeks heat.
I swear Brenden Sanderson is the only man on Earth who can make me blush.
And he’s not even doing it on purpose.
“Who knew you could get creative in a kitchen,” he muses.
“Why do you only serve blueberry and that nasty bran kind at the diner?”
“Because people go there for simple food. Like I’ve told you many times, lots of regulars eat the bran muffins. But people come here for a different experience. They want the fancy shit.”
He laughs.
“So eloquent.”
I grunt in response, making him laugh some more.
And I love that sound.
Then his expression turns serious, and he’s staring at me again like he’s trying to peer into my soul.
Like he’s remembering the bomb I just dropped on him.
I shift in my seat, scratching at the scuff on my jaw.
It’s a bit of a nervous tic, so I force myself to stop.
“Anyway, uh... I meant it about being...” My words keep getting stuck, so I clear my throat.
I’m a grown ass man.
It shouldn’t be so hard to say.
I’m gay.
It’s not a new thing for me.
I flash back to my life in Boston, those years in college and right afterward when I was mostly out and living the life I wanted.
Before I gave it all up to move back here.
This isn’t the time or place for this conversation though.
One of the workers strolls up the porch steps and stops to ask Brenden a question, proving my point.
After he walks away, Brenden turns back to me expectantly.
“We both need to get back to work,” I remind him.
He smiles.
“You don’t technically work here.”
“Tell that to Addison.” I stand, grabbing the plate of muffins and handing it to him once he stands too.
“And try her muffin.”
Taking a small bite of it, he hums thoughtfully.
“It’s really good. Not as good as yours though.” The little tease winks at me.
I have to tell my dick to calm down again.
I usually have more self-control around him.
All these years of friendship have gotten me used to his silly charm.
Not immune.
Just used to it.
He seems to hesitate in walking back inside, and I know I’ve left this giant weird thing hanging between us.
He’s normally a big talker.
We can hold entire conversations where I say one word to his twenty.
It says a lot more now, the fact that he’s holding back.
Lowering my voice and wondering if I’ve lost my mind, I tell him, “Look, if you’re really considering the, uh, the fake boyfriend thing—which I think is a terrible idea, by the way—then we can talk about it later.”
His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline.
“Tonight?”
“Sure. I’ll come to your place?”
When he nods in agreement, I’m afraid I’ve already sealed my fate.
What am I getting myself into?
As he leans in to give me a hug, I pat his back sort of awkwardly.
“Thank you,” he says, pulling back.
Then—“ Achoo! ” He sneezes all over my chest and immediately looks mortified.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry! I’m not sick, I swear! It’s these fucking allergies. I’m so gross, I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay,” I assure him, though I’m afraid to look down at my shirt, because it probably is gross.
“You’re fine. You’re human, you know.”
“Nope. Not allowed to be.” He laughs like it’s a joke, but something in his tone makes me wonder if he actually believes that, at least a little.
I gesture toward the door to head inside, and he steps through, mumbling, “Freaking spring.”
Making my way back to the inn’s kitchen, I mentally prepare myself to do whatever Brenden asks of me.
As if I don’t already.
Faking being his boyfriend may be in a wildly different league than helping out here or shoveling his driveway for him, but oh well.
Between his minor meltdown and his slightly red nose from the allergies, he was looking so miserable it made me want to wrap him up in a blanket and keep him protected at all costs.
I swear I don’t have a savior complex or anything.
For the most part, I keep my head down and worry about myself.
If you let yourself get involved in other people’s problems in this town, it could never end.
But for some reason, I can’t resist when it comes to Brenden.
If I stopped long enough to analyze it, I might have to admit my feelings for him go a lot deeper than friendship.
Not that I’ve been pining for him all this time.
Or if I have, it’s only in the way you might pine after something that you know deep down couldn’t be meant for you.
Brenden is all light and joy and openness, while I’m.
.
.
closed off, hiding in the shadows with a hint of bitterness.
Addison huffs when I enter the kitchen, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
The fact that I’m not an employee and am only here as a favor doesn’t seem to matter.
I can’t figure her out.
She seems like she could be really cool.
Or maybe was really cool, in another life.
But she’s guarded, always a little on edge, moves through the day like she’s not sure how she found herself here.
Considering that’s pretty much how I live my life, I should probably be able to understand her better.
She snaps some instructions at me, and I only cut her slack because I know she’s under a lot of stress with this corporate thing coming up.
I’d be stressed too if I had to cater to a huge group of corporate tools.
I worked a corporate job—I know how those people can be.
But when she asks me to crush the strawberries so she can make a batch of muffins large enough for the retreat in a couple days, I can’t help but reiterate my cherry-apricot suggestion that she ignored the first time.
“You remember I’m the head chef, right?” she says, ponytail swinging lightly as she turns to glare at me.
“I think I know what I’m doing.”
“Not saying you don’t,” I tell her.
And then—although I don’t know what makes me do it—I brag, “But Brenden liked my muffin better.”
The way I metaphorically puff up my chest is immature, and really, why do I even care?
This is her kitchen and her event to plan for.
I have no real stake here.
Except, secretly, I can’t help but be proud about Brenden’s intense praise for my baking skills.
And I can’t help remembering the obscene noise he made.
If I can get him to sound like that just with food, I wonder what noises I could have him making in another context.
.
.
Nope.
I abruptly cut off that train of thought before it can get rolling.
“No way am I just going to take your word for it,” Addison says.
What are we talking about?
Muffins.
Right.
I’m about to drop it and let her go on thinking her unoriginal muffin choice is superior, but then Brenden chooses that moment to come strolling into the kitchen, looking much peppier than he did earlier.
He heads right for the coffee machine and starts to pour himself a cup.
Mid-pour, he glances up, notices me and Addison both staring at him, and freezes.
“Uh...” He shoots us a concerned look.
And since I’ve apparently turned into a gorilla, I literally puff up my chest this time as I say, “She doesn’t believe you liked my muffin better. Will you tell her?”
“Oh, well , I...” His panicked eyes dart between me and Addison.
I immediately feel like a jerk for putting him in an awkward position.
Who I am to him, really?
We’re friends, sure.
But Brenden has a hundred friends.
Addison, on the other hand, is arguably the most important person to his business, after himself.
He shouldn’t piss her off.
Before I can find a way to take my words back, though, he starts babbling.
“I didn’t say I liked it better! I may have said, ‘Damn, that’s orgasmic.’” He turns quickly to Addison.
“But yours was orgasmic too! Plenty of orgasms to be had here! Oh god, shut up, shut up, shut up.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Are you aware we can still hear you?”
“Of course, I am! Only a crazy person would talk out loud to themselves and forget that people can hear them!” Face red, he spins on his heels and rushes out of the kitchen, half-full coffee cup in hand.
“Anyway, gotta go! Lots of important things to do, running an inn and all that, ya know.”
Right as he makes it to the doorway, Addison calls out, “Wait! You need to pick which muffin we should bake for the retreat!”
Backing up, he uses his ass to nudge the swinging door and says, “Why don’t you go with both? They’re both delicious. Both of your muffins bring all the boys to the yard! Bye!”
Addison cocks her head at me like, What the hell was that?
But I just chuckle.
Because that was Brenden Sanderson.
Ridiculousness is part of his charm.
When the evening comes, I show up at Brenden’s house with two large pizzas from Ricci’s.
He’s bought me plenty of pizza over the years as a thank you for things I’ve done for him, so I know all of his and May’s favorite toppings.
What I don’t know is whether I should even be here right now.
Yes, I want to help him however I can.
But this whole fake dating thing sounds like something out of a cheesy movie.
People don’t do this in real life, right?
And he’ll be expecting me to explain what I told him earlier.
About me being.
.
.
not straight.
I’m not ashamed of who I am.
I never have been.
It’s just something I’ve gotten used to not talking about.
Hiding.
I’ve gotten used to hiding it.
And that’s something I’m a little ashamed of.
But it is what it is.
When I knock on the door, it takes a minute for it to open, and then May’s standing there, hair up in a sloppy bun seemingly held together by the pen speared through it.
She’s peering down at the notebook she’s holding, with a pencil between her teeth.
“Come on, you’re on vacation,” I say.
She jumps a little as she looks up at me.
Like she forgot she answered the door and there would be a person on the other side of it.
Taking the pencil out of her mouth, she eyes me curiously.
“This is for extra credit. I didn’t know you were coming over. Did something break?”
I jut my chin at the boxes I’m balancing on my hand.
“I brought pizza. Are you hungry?”
She either doesn’t notice that I didn’t explain my reason for being here, or she doesn’t actually care, because she says, “Heck, yeah!” Then she tosses her notebook on top of the pizza boxes and takes them from me, striding off toward the kitchen.
I step inside, shutting and locking the door behind me.
Brenden never locks it, and while I know this town is one of the safest you’ll find, I also know we live in a pretty messed up world.
I’ve had this argument with him multiple times.
Brenden’s in the kitchen, putting a few dishes away one-handed because his other hand is holding an oversized mug of coffee.
“Oh, hi!” he says, a slightly anxious edge to his voice despite his warm smile.
“I was just cleaning up a bit.”
“You didn’t have to clean up for me,” I tell him.
“It wasn’t really for you.”
“Is he why you vacuumed?” May asks, setting the pizza boxes on the counter.
A flush creeps up Brenden’s neck as he says, “Excuse me, don’t act like this house is always a disaster. I vacuum all the time.”
The reproachful look she gives him almost makes me laugh.
“You wait for me to get so sick of the crumbs in the carpet that I vacuum.”
He glares at her, then turns back to me.
“She’s lying. I absolutely vacuum. I’m a fully functioning adult who totally has his shit together.”
“I know you are,” I placate him, still fighting not to laugh.
Why is he trying to impress me?
We’ve grown close enough over the years that I know he can be a bit messy and forgetful sometimes.
He’s great at his job and being a parent—it’s all the less important stuff that he’s not as concerned about.
And I don’t judge him for that.
May is already opening up the first pizza box and reaching for a slice.
The cheese stretches off the end as she picks it up, so she tears it with her fingers, and then she takes a large, extra cheesy bite.
Brenden hands her a plate and a few paper towels.
“Hey, kid. Would you mind taking your pizza up to your room? Travis and I kind of need to talk about something.”
She looks confused for a second, followed by minorly suspicious.
But then she grabs two more slices and spins on her heels, strolling out of the kitchen.
Once Brenden and I are alone, my heart starts beating faster.
Guess it’s time to talk.
He passes me a plate and gestures to the round table in the corner of the room, in front of the window.
I grab a couple slices of pizza before taking my plate over there.
The magnolia tree in his backyard has bloomed, and focusing on the yellow flowers soothes my nerves a bit.
“So,” he says, taking the chair closer to me, rather than opposite.
I appreciate the seating arrangement, because it makes it appear less like this will be an interrogation.
But my god, is he really going to make me watch him drink coffee with pizza?
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I don’t know if my stomach can take it, especially when it’s already tied in knots.
He finds my gaze and holds it.
“You don’t have to explain yourself or your sexuality to me. But I’d be lying if I said your reveal earlier didn’t shock and confuse me.”
Slowly chewing a bite of pizza, I wonder what about it was so shocking.
Granted, he had no way of knowing, but is it really that hard to believe I could be into men?
Shit, I don’t come off as grossly homophobic or something, do I?
It would kill me if he thought of me like that, though I assume he wouldn’t be friends with me if he did.
He should know I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him being gay.
There’s nothing wrong with him at all.
I think he’s kind of perfect.
Of course, he doesn’t need to know that last part.
I wipe my fingers on a paper towel, stalling for a couple more seconds to figure out what I want to say.
“I don’t mind explaining,” I tell him.
“It’s just a little strange to be talking about it with someone I’m not...”
Going to hook up with.
It’s only relevant when I’m at a bar in some other town trying to get laid.
Not that I do a ton of that.
But I’m certainly not celibate.
Brenden’s earnest eyes bore into me.
“Are you...”
“I’m gay.”
“Oh.” He nods a few times like he’s processing.
“But nobody around here knows?”
“No.”
“Your dad?”
“ No ,” I say with more emphasis, and understanding slowly dawns on his face.
Folding my paper towel, I use it to sop up some of the grease on my pizza.
If I ate like Brenden does every day, I’d need to go running a lot more than a couple times a week.
He must have great genes to be able to eat nothing but garbage and not exercise and still stay slim.
The men in my family have a history of high cholesterol.
It eventually killed my grandfather, and my dad’s doctor is constantly harassing him about getting his under better control, so I try to watch myself.
Lord knows I can’t control my dad, but I can at least take care of my own health.
I realize I’m stalling, and Brenden’s letting me, not pushing me like he usually does.
I almost wish he would push, because it might make it easier if he just forced this all out of me, rather than letting me get around to it on my own.
“I figured out who I was when I was in high school,” I tell him, still fussing with my food.
“Back then, there was only one out gay kid in town. Andrew Rowland.”
“Oh, Andrew’s awesome,” he interrupts.
“I go to trivia with him in Stoneridge sometimes.”
“Yeah, he’s cool. But...”
His face falls in concern.
“Did he get bullied?”
“No. It was almost the opposite. Everyone treated him like some sort of celebrity. Like they wanted him to be the poster boy for how progressive Mayweather was becoming.” I shake my head, remembering how ludicrous it seemed.
Frowning, Brenden sips his coffee.
“But things have progressed here. Drew is far from the only queer person in town anymore. They wouldn’t make a big deal like that if you came out now.”
“I know, but it’s not...” I trail off, scratching at my jaw.
“That’s not the only reason I haven’t.”
He’s watching me closely, and I can tell it’s taking all his self-control not to blurt out the question.
This isn’t easy for me to talk about, but I’ve kept it inside for so long, that suddenly I almost want to tell him.
It’s just that he knows my dad, obviously, and I sort of feel like I’m about to betray the man somehow.
This will probably change Brenden’s view of him.
“My dad wasn’t one of the people celebrating that Andrew was gay. He’d roll his eyes whenever they wrote something about him in the paper. ‘Queer Teen Makes National Honors’ Society’ and stuff like that.”
To my surprise, Brenden lets out a short laugh.
“Are you telling me you didn’ t roll your eyes at that?”
Yeah, he’s got me there, but that’s not the point.
“Sure, I did. But you need to understand, it was a lot for me to deal with back then. I realized I was probably gay, because checking out the girls in their cheerleader uniforms did absolutely nothing for me, but one glimpse of Ryan Hansen’s thighs in the locker room had me running away to hide my erection. The idea of being gay didn’t bother me. I just didn’t want to become another spectacle for this crazy town. Then I started noticing my dad’s attitude toward queerness. It wasn’t exactly the ideal environment for coming out. And, of course, I hadn’t actually done anything with a guy yet, so a part of me was still questioning myself.”
When I finish this little speech, my words seem to linger in the brief silence that follows.
I consider me and Brenden close, but I realize my idea of closeness is probably different than most people’s.
I’ve never shared things this personal with him before.
Picking at the crust of his pizza, he finally says, “I understand questioning yourself. And even once you know, it shouldn’t be a requirement for anyone to come out. But I want to say something about your dad.”
He hesitates here, looking at me with imploring eyes and waiting for my nod before he continues.
“I’ve been as out as can be from the day I moved to town, and your dad has never been anything but nice and friendly to me. It doesn’t seem like he treats me any differently than he treats anyone else.”
It’s true.
My dad thinks he’s great.
Honestly, sometimes I think he gets along with Brenden better than he gets along with me.
“I’m not saying he’s completely homophobic or anything.” At least, I can hope not.
“But what if it’s different for him when it’s his own son?”
He nudges my forearm with his elbow.
“I think there might be only one way to find out.”
But is it worth it?
“You don’t get it,” I tell him.
“It wasn’t only the stuff with Andrew. My dad loves watching sports, right? So when I was younger, I used to like watching them with him. But eventually, I started to notice how he’d get all macho and aggressive about it. When he’d get angry because his team was losing, he’d say all this shit. I don’t remember everything now, but there was one time I heard him refer to some guys that weren’t playing so hot as a bunch of... well, you know.”
Brenden winces.
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. Yikes. So.”
“So...?” he prompts.
So I kept my mouth shut, because I was scared of hearing my dad call me a slur.
When I don’t voice my thought out loud, he elbows me gently again.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re trusting me with all this, and I hope you know I’m here to listen to anything you want to say. But you can also tell me to stop prying. You don’t owe me anything.”
That’s the thing though.
I don’t feel like I owe the truth about my sexuality to anyone.
But something about Brenden makes me want to open up to him.
Want to try, at least.
It’s just difficult for me, since I’m so used to not opening up to anyone.
When you spend so long shoving things down inside you, it can take a lot of strength to yank them back up.
He waits a moment as I try to gather that strength, and when all I can give him is a probably hopeless look, he smiles sympathetically.
Then he downs the rest of his coffee, pushes his mug to the side, and stands.
“I forgot to offer you a drink.”
Going to the fridge, he bends over to reach into it, and I might deserve a medal for not staring at his ass.
When he straightens and spins back around, he’s clutching two beer bottles by the necks between his slender fingers.
He sets them on the counter while he rummages through a drawer, and I see the labels.
Sam Adams Cold Snap.
He’s not much of a beer drinker, so it’s a surprise he even has any in his house, but the fact that he has this means he must have gone to a liquor store outside of town.
Because the only place to buy beer in Mayweather is the grocery store, and they don’t often stock seasonal varieties of anything, unless it’s pumpkin spice crap in the fall.
I can’t help but wonder if he went out and bought this specifically for me, though I shouldn’t read too much into the idea.
He’s always friendly and accommodating.
That’s the entire basis of his career, isn’t it?
He finally finds a bottle opener, then struggles to pop the cap off the first bottle.
I almost get up to help, but I remain in my seat, because I know he’s capable.
He looks proud of himself when he gets it, and then he does the second one more easily.
Returning to the table with a beer in each hand, he passes one to me, and I thank him as he sits back down.
“So you never came out to your dad,” he states, succinctly summing up my story.
I take a long pull from my beer before responding.
“Nope. Maybe that makes me a coward, but it didn’t seem worth it, taking the risk of losing him if he reacted badly. I held it in until I went off to college in Boston, and once I was there, I got the chance to explore my preferences. Then I graduated, got a good job in the city, and didn’t plan to move back home. I dated a few guys, but none of my relationships ever got serious enough that I needed to bring them here and introduce them. So it just... never came up.”
And then I moved back here to run the diner, knowing I’d have to sacrifice that piece of myself.
Though, at the time, sex and dating were the last things on my mind.
I was upset about losing my grandfather and focused on not tanking the business he put his whole life into.
It wasn’t until quite a few years later that putting myself back in the closet started to feel like a sacrifice.
But by then, it seemed almost too late to come out to my dad.
Or I was still just a coward.
Still am .
Brenden’s waiting for more, so I tell him, “It’s not some tragedy. Sometimes I still wonder how my dad would take it, if he’d surprise me. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not interested in dating anyone anyway. And he doesn’t need to know who I have sex with if it’s just sex.”
His cheeks darken again.
I didn’t say anything scandalous, but I know I’ve never talked about my sex life with him before.
Whereas he doesn’t hold back in either gushing or whining to me about the guys he dates.
His relationships never manage to last long though.
Right when he seems to be getting serious with someone, it falls apart.
And I can’t for the life of me figure out why.
I mean, who wouldn’t want to be with this man?
Since nobody seems to appreciate him the way he should be appreciated, maybe he’d be better off giving up on dating and simply enjoying the hookup thing like I do.
As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I almost growl.
I don’t want to picture a bunch of random, undeserving men getting their hands all over him.
He pushes his empty plate away, making me realize I’ve barely touched my pizza.
But I’m not hungry.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says.
“The uh, sex thing. But also not wanting to come out. Like I said, there’s no rule that you have to.” He pauses, twirling the edge of his beer bottle on the table.
“For what it’s worth, though, I don’t think a crappy, ignorant comment your dad made that long ago necessarily has any bearing on how he would feel or what he would say now. If you did tell him.”
“Believe me, I’ve considered that. But I’m pretty comfortable with my life. And what he doesn’t know about me can’t hurt him.” And what I don’t know about him can’t hurt me .
The last thing I want is confirmation that he’s not the kind of guy I hope he is.
Brenden reaches out and wraps his hand over mine where I’ve got my bottle in an iron grip.
Okay, this is new.
His warm touch encourages my muscles to loosen.
“I’m not judging your choice. And I know you don’t normally do feelings and stuff, so I’m gonna drop it. But you said we could talk about you pretending to be my boyfriend, and I don’t see how that’s possible if you’re in the closet.”
When I make the mistake of gazing down at his hand, he takes it away.
“If you don’t want your dad to know you’re gay, then this is risky,” he continues.
“I know he’s out of town right now, and we’d only be pretending in front of May’s grandparents, but still. What if someone else here finds out? You know how quickly Mayweather rumors spread. There’s no way people wouldn’t tell your dad.”
He's right. But I don’t see how anyone would find out. It’s not like I plan to make out with him in the middle of the town gazebo. Shit, I wouldn’t do something like that even if I was out. Public displays are absolutely not my thing.
And yet, the thought of making out with Brenden sends a flash of heat through me. But I shake it off and attempt to think this through.
My dad’s out of town. He’s stuck on crutches for weeks because of his accident. It would’ve been difficult for me to take care of him and keep a constant eye on him to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid when I work so much. Plus his bedroom is on the second floor of his house, and I live in the tiny apartment above the diner. So the easiest solution was for him to go stay with my aunt who’s retired and lives in a one-story house forty-five minutes away.
Honestly, that distance is the only reason I’m even letting myself consider going along with Brenden’s plan.
“We’d have to be careful,” I warn him. “But if we only need to act like a couple around them and May, it should be okay.”
His eyes fly wide. “Oh my god. May! Just slap me and call me stupid.”
“Huh?”
“I’m such an idiot! I need another piece of pizza.”
I have no idea how that’s going to help anything. But I offer him my untouched slice, which he doesn’t hesitate to take, even though there’s plenty left in the boxes on the counter. “Why are you an idiot?”
“I’ve been so busy freaking out, I didn’t stop to consider how May factors into this. I’d obviously have to tell her what we’re doing. She’ll think I’ve lost my mind!”
“ I think you may have lost your mind,” I say. Because I’m willing to help him with this plan if it’s what he really wants to do, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s a particularly good plan.
He squints his eyes like he’s trying to glare, but it gives off more of a disgruntled puppy vibe than a threatening one. Then he sighs and picks at the pizza, pulling off some of the cheese. “I probably have. But I dunno. It’s like... I wonder if maybe they’re right? Maybe I am doing a shitty job here. Am I the worst parent in the world because I’m considering asking my kid to lie to her grandparents for me?”
The anguished look he gives me breaks my heart.
How can he even think he’s a shitty parent? I’ve seen the way he’s raised May all these years. Every kid deserves parents that dedicated to them. If one day May has something important to tell her dad about herself, I’m sure she won’t be scared to do it.
“You’re doing the best job a parent could,” I tell him. “You and May have an incredible relationship. Just talk to her. She’ll either agree to go along with this, or she’ll tell you she’s not comfortable with it. And if she says that, then I know you won’t do it, because you always put her first.”
He takes a bite and chews slowly. As I watch him, taking in his features—the black-framed glasses, his defined jawline, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows, plump bottom lip glistening with grease and just about begging to be bit—it hits me that even though this is probably a bad idea, I almost want to do it. Some crazy, selfish part of me wants to know what it would feel like, pretending to be his boyfriend.
I bet it would feel good.
Even if it could never be real, because Brenden has a playful energy that would only get zapped out if he was foolish enough to fall for a guy like me.
When his tongue darts out to swipe at the grease on his lip, my eyes track the movement hungrily. “All right,” he finally says. “I’m gonna ask her.”
Well, okay then. I expect him to get up and do it right now, but he doesn’t. Instead we both stay here, finishing our beers.
This day has been a lot. While I’m not used to sharing my feelings with someone, what I am used to is pushing the idea of coming out to my dad to the back of my mind. I haven’t even considered it in so long. I don’t particularly want to consider it now, but Brenden’s quiet presence feels like a safe space, so my mind begins to wander.
It’s true my dad doesn’t seem to have a problem with any of the queer people in town. And it’s been so long since I heard him use the f-slur, that sometimes I almost question my memory and the stuff I heard from him back when I was young.
But then again, there’s also the fact that he’s constantly hounding me, asking when I’m going to find someone and get married. Never mind that my mom left him—and me—when I was little, and he’s been bitter about it for the last twenty-five years. Even though he never bothered to try again, he still pushes all that heteronormative crap on me. At least he hasn’t talked about wanting grandkids.
I haven’t been in a relationship in so long, and I haven’t missed it. But if I had the option to date someone here without hiding it, do I think that’s something I might want at some point?
I don’t really know.
All I know is that if I end up pretending to date Brenden for a week, my dad can’t find out about it. Maybe I could come out to him someday, but I’m not ready to make the decision now. And there’s no point in coming out for a fake relationship anyway.