20. Jordan
Jordan
Orion is stomping around in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher loudly. He’s pissed at me, and he isn’t trying to hide it. I know it’s because I haven’t been myself since he came out, and I feel like complete shit about it.
“Can we talk?” I suggest.
“About what?” he replies without looking at me.
I gesture back and forth between us. “About whatever is happening here.”
His eyebrows shoot up and he blitzes me with a dark-brown flick of his eyes. “D’you mean how I told you something personal about myself, and you’ve been a total dick about it?”
“That’s not exactly how I’d put it, but yeah. Sure.”
He closes the dishwasher firmly and places both hands on the counter. It’s a completely neutral gesture that my brain reads as aggressive. It activates the exact parts of my prefrontal cortex that make me react impulsively.
It’s clear from the set of his jaw that Orion won’t be the one to take the conversation any further, so I have no choice but to do it myself.
“I don’t mind that you’re gay,” I start.
His eyebrows climb higher, and his lips press together in a clear “sure you do” expression that immediately irritates me.
“I don’t.”
His expression doesn’t change at all. If anything, it becomes exaggerated.
“I’m upset that you didn’t tell me, okay? I’m hurt that you’ve been going through something this major, and you didn’t feel comfortable talking to me about it.”
His brows drop and a flicker of confusion ripples in his eyes.
It takes me several seconds to decipher the look, and when I do, it’s so far from what I’m expecting that I’m positive I’ve got it wrong.
“This is something new for you, isn’t it?”
His Adam’s apple rides up in his throat, gets stuck halfway, and then jerks down quickly.
My jaw drops, and pieces of a large puzzle fall slowly into place. “Holy shit, Orion! How long have you known?”
The traces of annoyance on his face fade and are replaced with apprehension. “I don’t know exactly… It’s not really one of those things you can put a time and date on…”
Something tight winds itself around my temples and squeezes hard. “Well, guess then.”
A single shoulder rises halfheartedly, and his eyes skid off mine.
He’s quiet for so long that I figure he’s decided not to answer.
To be honest, I’d understand if he didn’t.
I’m being a massive dick right now. I know it, but I don’t know how to stop.
A lot of the emotion I’ve been feeling over the past few days has come to the surface at once, and it’s proving harder than it should be to contain.
I stare him down until he finally looks up. It’s a charged look from my side that I try to soften, though I’m not sure I’m successful. I am sure that from his side, Orion doesn’t try to soften his expression at all. His eyes are harder than I’ve ever seen them.
His chin dips, not in submission, but in challenge. The moment drags out until I regret asking the question.
His jaw works, flexing and relaxing until he’s finally ready to answer. “I’ve known since I was fifteen.”
His words land like a bolt of lightning that makes no sense. Like words that are wiped off a slate before I’ve had time to read them. It takes ages for them to morph into something I understand.
“Since you were fifteen,” I parrot, astounded. “Since you were fifteen?” My voice turns loud and unpleasant.
I’m hurt and upset, angry too, but most of all, I feel betrayed. There’ve been a million opportunities for him to tell me. He’s talked about girls as if he’s into them for years. Years. There’s no other way of looking at it. Orion hasn’t been honest with me.
“How could you have known something like this about yourself for so long and not told me?”
He flinches, and a bright-red flush travels up his neck and settles across his cheeks. There’s tension everywhere. In his shoulders. In his lips. In his fists. His entire body looks like it’s braced for an attack.
I step back, dimly aware that I’ve overstepped and acutely aware that in all the time I’ve known Orion, I’ve never seen him like this.
“Because this isn’t about you,” he spits, pausing for emphasis between each word. “This is about me. This is my fucking life. My fucking story. And I wasn’t ready to tell you.”
With that, he strides out of the kitchen, turns down the hall, and closes his bedroom door harder than he ever has in all the time I’ve known him.
The sound reverberates through the apartment and through me.
My mind clears instantly, and I start to panic when I realize with absolute certainty that I’ve fucked up big time.
Orion is right. This is about him, not me. He doesn’t owe me an explanation about his orientation because I’m his friend. I’m in the wrong, and I need to make this right. Urgently.
I’ll grovel if I have to.
I sprint after him and knock softly on his door.
“Orion. O. Oh—”
An exasperated sigh slithers from his side of the door to mine. “I don’t want to talk to you right now, Jordan.”
Okay. Fair.
No talking.
I can grovel without talking.
I rush to my room and return with a pad of paper and a Sharpie.
I’m sorry, I scrawl on a sheet. I fold the page in half and push it under Orion’s door. He doesn’t react, so I write another one quickly.
I’m wrong, and you’re right.
I push that through too and press my ear against the door to see if I can hear paper rustling on the other side. Nothing.
This is about you, and I’m making it about me because I’m an insecure asshole.
No response.
I pause, taking a breath and trying to slow my thoughts. I need to make sure I get this right because it’s too important to get wrong. I write as fast as I can and slide message after message under his door.
I’m scared you’re going to get all new friends and forget about me.
I know I’m needy AF when it comes to you, and I’m sorry about that too.
It’s just that I prefer you to other people.
I need you in my life, and I don’t want anything to take you away from me.
I’m sad you didn’t trust me with this (even though I can completely see why you didn’t because I’ve handled it like a giant douche).
I hear a slight crinkle of paper and stop writing, pressing my ear against the door again. There’s a soft thud that might be caused by him sitting on the floor near the door. I write a little faster.
I’m going to stop being a douche. I swear.
I want to know what’s going on in your life.
I want to know when anything major happens to you, so I can cheer you on.
Can you give me another chance?
Please, O.
If you come out, I’ll tell you how wrong I’ve been a bunch more times. I swear.
I’ll cook for a week.
I’ll put my cereal into the bowl first for as long as you want me to.
That gets me a long, loud sigh that sounds a little like it could morph into a scoff. I clamber to my feet, put my nose an inch from his door, and will him to open it. It works. The door swings open, and Orion stands in the doorway, surrounded by reams of paper.
He looks at the ceiling for a long time and then sighs again. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” I say, and I mean it. “Are you talking to anyone? Do you have a crush on someone? Have you been hooking up? Everything. I want to know everything because if it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”
His eyes flutter back into their normal position. “Fine.”
I’m so relieved that he doesn’t hate me that I give a squawk and do a weird little hop as we head to the living room. “Should I make popcorn?”
He makes a face. “No.”
“Should I get ice cream?”
He presses his lips together and exhales through his nose. “We’re not eating popcorn or ice cream about this, Jordan.”
“Hmm,” I say, stroking my chin thoughtfully. “Should we drink tequila about it then?”
He considers me for several beats before a flicker of humor smudges his features. “If you’re going to be like this, I think I might need to drink tequila about it.”
I hurry to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of glasses, salt, and a half-full bottle of tequila that Riley left here the last time he pregamed at our place.
We don’t have any lemons or limes, but we have a single orange in the fruit bowl.
I slice it into wedges and set everything out on the coffee table.
“Orange is going to suck with this,” Orion tells me.
“Citrus is citrus, bud.”
“It isn’t. It’s the acid-to-spirit balance that makes tequila and lemons or limes work. Oranges are too sweet, and too orange-y.”
“You’re about to be super wrong about this, O,” I say, licking the back of my hand and sprinkling a pinch of salt on it. I wait until Orion does the same before raising my glass to his, licking the salt, throwing the tequila back, and biting into a wedge of orange.
To be honest, it doesn’t hit quite like lemon or lime does, and now that I think of it, I’m not sure how long we’ve had that orange. Feels like a while since we bought oranges, and the bite I just took has a funny aftertaste.
I knock Orion’s wedge out of his hand before he bites into it. “It was delicious, but I don’t think you’ll like it,” I tell him.
He scoffs and knocks his drink back, holding his glass out for another shot.
Neither of us drains our glasses the second time.
We hold them in our hands and sip gingerly.
Orion spends a while turning his glass around slowly, eyeing it as though it’s one of the most interesting things he’s ever seen.
“So, what do you want to know?” he asks again.
I mean to tell him that I want to know everything about him again, but instead I blurt, “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Are you…? Are you, like, hooking up?”
He looks at his glass, and I can almost hear the cogs of his mind turning. He wants to tell me, but he’s worried about how I’ll react. I put my hand on his shoulder and apply pressure to let him know I’m done being an asshole.
He throws the rest of his tequila back, puts his glass down, and shrugs. “I mean, yeah, of course I hook up. I go on the apps when I’m horny like anyone else, and there’s a park I go to sometimes—”