No Sex with Max. How Hard Can It Be? #2
"Everly, no phones at the table," Mom says absently, but she doesn't actually make her put it away. Everly keeps texting.
"I want to talk to you about something," I try again.
Mom looks at me. Finally. "Okay."
Here it is. The moment I've been dreading for months. Years, maybe. My parents have never been openly homophobic; they've never been openly anything about it, but I'm as scared as every other gay kid sitting across from their parents, about to say the words that might change everything.
"Um, well." My throat is dry. "I've known for a long time, and this is… well, it's hard to talk to you about it, but I…"
I look around the table. Everly is still on her phone, thumbs flying. Dad has pulled his out too, doom-scrolling. Mom is looking at me, but her eyes are already drifting to the placemat. Like she's waiting for me to finish so she can get back to the real conversation.
"I wanted to tell you all that I'm…" Deep breath. "I'm dating someone."
"That's nice, Leo," Mom says vaguely.
"That's not… I mean, it is, but that's not all I wanted to tell you."
She's looking at me like I'm wasting her time. Dad and Everly don't even look up. My heart is hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears. There's probably a 50% chance I'll pass out. Higher. 67%. My vision is doing a weird tunnel thing.
"I'm dating a guy." The words come out in a rush. "I'm gay."
Silence. Well, not silence. Everly's phone buzzes again. Dad scrolls. The overhead light buzzes. But no one reacts. Dad and Everly don't even look up from their phones. Mom… blinks.
"Alright," she says finally. "Well, be safe. Do we need to talk to you about condoms again?"
My face burns. My whole body burns. I hunch down in my chair, trying to make myself smaller. "No, we aren't… we just started dating. I mean, no, you don't need to talk about that. I remember about…" The last word comes out as a whisper. "Condoms."
"Alright then." Mom turns to Everly. "So is Mackenzie still dating that Rubens boy? The one from down the block?"
And just like that, it's over. I sit there for the rest of dinner, not eating, not talking, while they carry on conversations around me. Like, I didn't rip my chest open and show them the scariest part of myself. Like it didn't matter at all.
No yelling. No disappointment. No questions about who I'm dating, whether I'm happy, or whether I've been struggling with this.
Nothing.
I should be relieved. This is better than so many alternatives. Kids get kicked out. Disowned. Worse. But somehow, this feels worse than hatred. Hatred would mean they cared enough to have an opinion. This is… nothing. I'm nothing to them.
I excuse myself as soon as I can and go to my room and don't cry, because what's the point? There's nothing to cry about. Nothing happened.
The room comes back slowly. Del's sketchbook on his bed, Luca's duvet, the lamp casting warm light. I'm back here, not there. I make a conscious effort to drop my shoulders, they're up around my ears, tension singing through my neck and back.
Del's leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching me steadily. Luca has gone very still beside him, jaw tight, eyes soft.
"That was it," I say. "I ripped myself open at that table, and my mom asked about condoms and moved on."
Luca moves first, shifting across the bed to wrap his arms around me.
Then Del, with his ridiculously long arms, comes in from the other side and somehow surrounds both of us.
I'm being hugged from two directions, and the careful control I've been holding onto…
breaks. A tear escapes. I swipe at it quickly.
"I know it could have been a thousand times worse," I say, voice thick. "They could have kicked me out, or—"
"No." Luca cuts me off. "You don't have to minimize anything. Just because they let you live with them after doesn't mean what they did wasn't horrible. Because it sure as hell was."
"Neglect is still neglect," Del agrees quietly. "Doesn't matter that it was passive." More tears. I wipe at them with the back of my hand, and Del reaches over to his nightstand and grabs a tissue box.
"Thanks," I mumble, taking one. "That's why Max is so important.
" I have to pause to blow my nose in an undignified way.
"He… came up to me and decided we were going to be friends.
No one had ever done that before. He looked at me and saw something worth knowing, and he...
claimed me." I laugh wetly. "He's my person.
My favorite person. I can't risk that. And I don't think...
" Another tear. "I don't think he feels the same way about me. "
Del and Luca exchange a look over my head.
"What?" I ask. "Why do you keep doing that?"
"Doing what?" Luca asks innocently.
"The look. You keep looking at each other."
"It's nothing," Del says, but his voice is weird. "Keep going."
I eye them suspiciously but continue. "You know the situation.
" I crumple the tissue in my fist. "Twice.
First time because he wanted someone safe, second time because Jaren didn't work out and I was convenient.
" I pause. "It sounds worse every time I say it out loud.
I can't keep having sex with him when I feel like this, and he doesn't." My voice is steady now. "I just can't."
"That makes sense," Del says carefully. "If it's hurting you, you need to protect yourself."
“I can't break up with my best friend." I almost laugh at the absurdity of the phrase. "But I can stop sleeping with him. And things will go back to normal. We'll be… us. Like before."
Del opens his mouth to say something, then stops.
I look at him. "You're doing the thing."
"Nothing."
"Del."
"I just—" He glances at Luca, catches himself, looks back at me. "I believe you're going to try."
"That's not what you were going to say."
"It's what I'm saying now."
"Max and I were friends for years before any of this happened. We can be friends again." I sound like I'm trying to convince myself. Probably because I am. "I have to… not have sex with him. How hard can that be?"
Del makes a noise that might be a suppressed laugh.
"Shut up," I mutter. "I can do this. I have to do this." Because the alternative… losing Max entirely, isn't an option. I'd rather have him as a friend and spend the rest of my life wanting more than not having him at all. There's a 100% chance this is going to hurt.
“Right,” Del says. Then, after a pause: “Stupid question.”
“What?”
"You said, ‘How hard can that be.' About not sleeping with Max."
"Yeah."
"Leo." Del's voice is careful. "He walks around the house in those robot pajama pants. He makes pancakes when anyone's sad. He does that thing where he explains your own field back to you and somehow makes it make more sense—"
"Del. I know."
A long pause.
"How hard can it be,” Del repeats quietly, more to himself. Like he's doing the math.