Chapter sixteen
I was glad we were getting along again. I'd felt every hour of that tension between us.
It shouldn't matter, but it had. It was like a hollow area in my chest. Clearly I shouldn't be so dependent on his friendship, but I was, and it had hurt to be on the outs.
And to know I could fix it, if I was just brave enough.
But I hadn't fixed it. He had, by cooking me something nice, being so kind—expressing his concerns, then letting it go and just accepting me in all my fuckedupness.
But being close to him again felt so nice that my self-control was at a low tide mark. I hadn't even tried to resist sprawling out next to him on his bed tonight. In fact, I was halfway leaning on his shoulder right now.
I could tell him. Right now. I mean, it would interrupt the movie, but so what?
It was turning out to be tepid and brainless.
If we talked over it, it wouldn't really matter.
If nothing else, we had the privacy of the background noise.
Not that I suspected anyone would ever listen at the door.
It was just the idea. When I told him, it was for his ears—not everyone's. Not yet, anyway.
I moved away from him enough to crane my neck and look at him assessingly.
He noticed the look. "What?"
"Do you have a minute?"
"Sure." He started to sit up, instantly alert.
I motioned for him to relax and stay chill.
My hand brushed against his arm, and I gave it a little squeeze.
He had powerful arms. They were strong, and they felt like it to the touch.
Not that I went out of my way to feel his muscles all the time or anything, but we were together a lot, and he was a big hugger.
I spoke quietly. "I've been trying to figure out something, and I'm in my head about it a lot.
It's complicated and I don't really know what's true yet, except there are lots of feelings and shit.
Like if I'm right or wrong, you know? Either way, I feel dumb for not already having this figured out. "
I took a breath. He was staring at me, his eyes big and dark.
I just had to say it. "I think I might be bi, like you. And it's taken me this long to even think about it."
"Okay," said Arlie, his voice hoarse.
"It sort of makes sense of some things, but it's complicated. I feel dumb for not knowing. I think I was so fucked up from being bullied when I was a kid that I couldn't even think about this until recently."
"That's a lot to deal with," agreed Arlie. "I'm glad you told me. Maybe I'll have some good advice for you." We both thought about that for a moment. "Probably not, though."
"Probably not." I allowed myself a small smile. "My therapist said I should talk with you about it, but I didn't feel ready. Frankly, I still don't feel ready to talk about it a lot. But anyway, you shouldn't be worrying about this."
"I'm glad you're willing to figure it out. If I can help, let me know."
The simple words meant a lot, and I smiled at him, a bit watery.
I didn't want to cry. We both turned back to face the screen.
We hadn't missed enough to lose the plot—such as it was.
We both focused really hard on the screen for a while.
After a bit, his arm moved a little, and came around me, sort of a hug, sort of a hold.
We stayed like that for a while, and I let myself lean against him again.
I felt some of the tension leaving my body, like a sigh, like letting go. Maybe it really would be okay.
He didn't exactly seem shocked. Maybe when you were bi, it was less of a surprise when other people were.
Or maybe, like so many other people, he'd had an opinion about me from the beginning—except he'd done a better job of hiding it and not making me feel foolish for not fitting the stereotypical straight mode.
Really, what was the harm in that? Letting people be, I mean.
You could be gay as anything—and look and sound like it—and still need your own time and space to figure that out.
It wasn't a joke, or it shouldn't be. LGBT people weren't jokes even if they seemed oblivious and like they should know better.
Who was born knowing everything about themselves?
Sure, in an ideal world, it wouldn't be tough to figure out—and some young people certainly seemed to have crossed the finished line early, if there was a finished line—but we didn't live in an ideal world.
People's orientation and outing had real consequences, sometimes really bad ones.
It might be a joke for straight people—seeing someone act oblivious about their orientation—but it didn't make it any less serious or even dangerous for the actual people figuring it out.
I wasn't that scared kid anymore. But look how long it had taken me to get past it enough to actually face myself about this.
And it was still hard. Sure, some of that was my fault, but some of it was the way the world had been shaped where I grew up and the way people had treated me.
And the extreme shame I'd managed to soak up from my environment.
I bet my parents would say they weren't homophobic at all, but I'd gotten it even from them—subtle ways of looking down on or finding gay people funny, dismissive comments, and reminders of how I needed to hold up a masculinity I was barely growing into—and in a stereotypical way that didn't always fit me.
Now I was a grown man, pretty happy with myself and my life, despite a few detours from where I'd thought I'd be. And I still felt like shit about myself every time I even thought about this topic. What would it take to actually get brave enough to experiment?
There was some relief in telling Arlie and having him take it so calmly, even if it did make me wonder if he'd already had some ideas about me.
Maybe not. He was a pretty accepting guy.
He was probably just really chill about it.
Hell, his own journey hadn't been smooth either, since he'd needed my push to actually admit he wanted to date more guys.
"How are things with Mason, anyway? Do you think you might introduce him to the pack soon?"
Sure, it might be hard to have to share Arlie's attention with his boyfriend, but it would be a relief, too, to not have the secret hanging over our heads.
If Mason could mix and mingle with the pack, the relationship really might go somewhere.
And awkward or not, if Arlie could be happy, that was what I wanted.
Maybe watching them would even give me a clue on how to figure out my own life going forward.
It had felt like I was unlocking something when I saw them together—the warmth, the openness, the comfort of being who they were without shame.
Sure, it shouldn't have taken that long—they weren't the first LGBT people I'd ever known—but it had, for me.
"No, he won't be meeting the pack," said Arlie quietly. "We went on four dates, but that was all."
"What? I'm sorry. I thought you guys were serious."
Arlie seemed to be weighing his words. "Well, I was interested, but he said he needed someone who had a better idea of what he wants. I guess I'm still figuring some things out." He shrugged, looking awkward and sad.
"I'm sorry," I said. I felt like shit for asking, for bringing it up. And then for not asking sooner, because maybe he'd been sad this whole time and hadn't had anyone to talk to about it. "Are you okay?"
"I think so," said Arlie. "I guess I've got to be pretty upfront about the speed I'm capable of. The whole pack situation is kinda complicated, and I'm just...not some confident bi guy who knows exactly what he wants. I'm still figuring it out."
Him and me both, apparently.
"I wish he'd given you time," I said, leaning on his arm.
"I don't. I don't want to date someone where I'll never quite be on the same page, and always too slow.
I liked him. He was cute, and a good person, and he had a really nice smell.
But I think after the first couple of dates, he kind of looked down on me for not knowing exactly what I wanted yet. And that means we're not a good match."
That was a lot wiser than I'd ever been about Darby—seeing a fundamental incompatibility before wasting years of his life trying to measure up.
Maybe I did have things to learn from him.
Was this when I should ask if he had complicated feelings about me? I didn't think so. I wasn't sure there was ever a time when it would be appropriate for me to ask something that intensely personal.
He'd said he was still figuring some things out.
I'd said I was still figuring all of it out.
Well, that's just how things were. But it made it feel suddenly as if he wasn't off limits—not entirely, not forever.
Because he was single now, and he was still bi, and maybe I was too, and if we were both figuring things out, would I really be using him as an experiment?
I mean, if it wasn't just me, was it even an experiment, or just.. .dating?
Automatically, I tried to search for a reason to feel shame for thinking this way. It didn't come. I looked at Arlie. He looked back at me and smiled, and patted my arm. Then he went back to watching the TV.
Oh well.
Probably wasn't worth thinking about. I mean, I liked him so much, and we got along so well already. What if we dated and it didn't work out? It could spoil a perfectly happy friendship and maybe even affect our partnership. I didn't want to do anything that would risk that.
I didn't think I could ever really dislike Arlie, even if we dated and it didn't work out for whatever reason.
But there was no guarantee he wouldn't be able to dislike me.
Darby had liked me at first. Maybe the things he found bearable about me right now would become impossible barriers if we got closer.
I mean, you want different things in a boyfriend than a buddy.
We could be deeply incompatible sexually, which would make everything else more intense and complicated and maybe ruin our friendship.
Yeah. I shouldn't even think about it, right? I let myself lean against him, and tried not to think about any of that.