Chapter 33
Today is the day. The biggest performance of our lives.
I’m fairly certain I am going to puke my brains out with nerves.
I pace the back room alone, trying to calm myself as every worst-case scenario plays through my head: I forget the lyrics. I trip onstage and bust my nose. Worse, I trip onstage and flash my ass to the crowd at an unflattering angle.
This show is different, bigger than anything we’ve done, and I feel that fact echo through my bones as I pray we don’t screw it up.
A realization hits me as I begin another lap of the room, and I stop in my tracks, heartbeat picking up for a different reason.
In the mix of all these nerves is … excitement.
For the first time in a long time, I recognize that anticipation to perform, that rush of wonder at what could happen when we step on the stage.
Sure, maybe people are still coming to see a spectacle and not a performance, but maybe I don’t care about their reasons for being here. I know my own.
I feel ready.
A small knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn as Darcy pokes her head in.
“All right, Cubby love?” she says, smile slowly growing as she looks at me.
“Yeah,” I answer honestly. “I am.”
Her grin solidifies, and my belly swoops at the intimate curl of it, all for me.
She slides into the room, shutting the door behind her.
She crosses to me, and I reach for her in my new automatic response when we’re alone, one hand to her waist, the other to her cheek, lips sealing against hers in a kiss, a cascade of happiness shimmering through me.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” she asks, breaking away.
My heart drops at the serious edge to her tone. “’Course.”
With a deep breath, she squares her shoulders, grabbing my hand and leading us to the small couch in the corner of the room.
“I know you still haven’t got your phone sorted so you aren’t on social media or whatever, but I have something I want to show you.
” She takes out her phone, tapping it against my knee.
“Is this going to be bad for my detox?” I ask, aiming for sarcasm as dread trickles down my throat.
Darcy rolls her eyes. “Trust me, no one wants you to relapse less than me. I’ll have to drop your phone out of an airplane next time.”
“I’m sure that’s covered by Apple Care.”
“Will you shut up and look at what I’m trying to show you?”
I take the phone, touching the screen before it falls asleep. It’s open to Darcy’s Instagram, a preview of a drafted post. Darcy clicks on the picture, increasing its size, and I recognize it immediately.
It’s from the parade yesterday. She’s wearing a magenta crop top with a high-waisted yellow skirt, her left foot cutely popped behind her to show off her light blue sneakers.
Overhead, she holds a flag with matching colors that billows in the wind.
The colors are bright but nothing compared to the dazzle of Darcy’s smile.
It’s broad and open, a laugh perched on the edge of those full lips, her eyes crinkled at the corners, and I can see the emotions held there—joy, fear, longing, love—as she looked at the camera. Looked at me when I snapped the photo.
I tear my eyes from the screen, giving Darcy a questioning look.
A few tears roll down her cheeks as she smiles. “Read the caption,” she whispers, tapping her phone again. “I want to post this.”
I scroll, so many questions building in my head it takes me a second to focus.
Happy Pride!
I’ve always considered myself an ally. Prided (pun intended) myself on it. I thought: of course I love and respect the rights of people to love who they want to love, to live their fullest lives identifying however feels most true.
While I knew as an unshakable fact that I love others who are gay, bisexual, pan, trans, and everything in between, I couldn’t face the idea of loving myself for belonging to the LGBTQ+ community as more than an ally.
You see, not all families are safe. Not all people are accepting.
And the fear of facing that has kept me from admitting the truth to myself.
My fear was so great and huge and awful, I used to think it was stronger than love.
But yesterday, surrounded by people who stared that fear down, and claimed their identity with full-throated delight, made me realize the truth.
Pride is, and always has been, a protest, a commitment to being your truest self regardless of the bigotry, the risk of hate and violence, from others. I’m ready to make that commitment.
I’m pansexual.
I’ve been attracted to men.
I’ve been attracted to gender-fluid folks.
I’m madly in love with a woman.
I’m done hiding in the shadows and dimming all this love I have to give. So, hi! Happy Pride! Thanks for waiting as I found my self.
I read it over and over, tears streaming down my cheeks and plunking on the screen and my lap. Darcy clears her throat, and I turn to her. Her cheeks are flushed, and she bites her lip as she reaches for her phone.
“A bit cheesy, I know, but—”
I cut her off, throwing my arms around her like I can envelop her completely, fuse her into my chest right next to my heart. Frantically, wildly, I search for her mouth, hands cradling her jaw as I kiss her with everything I have.
With a sigh of relief that dances across my lips, courses through my nervous system, Darcy kisses me back, her fingers threading into my hair.
“Does this mean…” I mumble against her lips, nipping at the spot.
“I’m done hiding,” Darcy says. She pulls back, meeting my eyes, color high on her cheeks. “I’m done living in fear and shame. I’m done wasting another second pretending I don’t feel everything for you.”
“What changed?” My voice cracks, and she brushes my tears away with the tips of her fingers.
“Being here, seeing these people so happy, so deeply content being themselves … I want that.” There’s a palpable force in her voice despite its wobble.
“I want that with you. I want it more than I feel fear about my parents or hurt at already knowing how they’ll react.
Lying about who I am is a slow, torturous death. I’m ready to live.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, gripping her wrists, searching her face. “Are you ready to tell your parents?”
“No turning back now,” she says with a nervous laugh. “I’m ready to tell them if they want to know. But I also realize it’s not really any of their business. I’m happy, and that’s all that matters. I’m not living my life by some litmus test of their approval anymore.”
“Darcy,” I say, pulling her to me again.
We kiss, her pulse quick and furious as a hummingbird’s wings under my palm where it rests at her throat.
We kiss like they’re apologies for lost times and being stupid.
We kiss like they’re welcome homes, finally arriving where we belong. We kiss like two fools in love.
As lost as I am to Darcy’s touch, a sound cuts through our golden haze. A knock precedes the door swinging open by half a second. A sharp intake of breath sounds like a record scratch in the heated silence.
We bounce apart, the back of my head hitting the wall. I blink, trying to focus my swimming vision, finally registering the source of the sound right as Darcy whispers, “Harry.”
He’s there, in the doorway, mouth open, hand poised on the handle.
“Sorry,” he blurts out, blinking rapidly, color rising on his cheeks. “Sorry. I … I … I came to get you for sound check. I—”
I stand, hands shaking as I raise them in front of me like I’m trying to soothe a spooked horse.
“Harry,” I say, my voice a cracked plea. For what, I don’t know. For him not to hate me, probably. I slowly lower my arm, heart lurching at the confusion etched on his face as he looks at me. “I think we need to talk.”