The Understatement of the Year

“Rik?” he said, surprising me.

“Yeah?”

“Love you. Always have.”

I was so stunned that I couldn’t do anything for a moment except lie there and replay the sound of his words in my head. Then I laughed. “Fuck, G. You might even be worth the trouble.” I hugged him a little tighter. “You’re the second person to say that to me tonight, though. Your mom beat you to it.”

“You’ll have to let her down easy,” he said.

I grinned into my boyfriend’s neck, and then I held him while we both fell asleep.

“Does this mean tonight isn’t just a one time thing?”

Graham buried his face in my neck. “It’s always been you for me. Always.”

I was the most homophobic person alive. Because “homophobic” means “afraid of homosexuals.”

And I was pants-shitting terrified of myself.

As I lay back, I caught a glimpse of Rikker joking with Trevi. He never smiled like that when he looked at me. And why would he?

“You know what I want? Forty-eight hours in bed. You. Me. Maybe a couple of movies. Sleeping. Sex. Food, because eventually we’d get hungry. But no interruptions.”

I already knew that my refusal to come out had hurt Rikker. But until that moment, I don’t think I ever understood that it had hurt me, too. Because the cost of avoiding unfriendly eyes wasn’t nearly as great as the cost of forgoing even one of Rikker’s hugs.

“Bye, John,” Graham’s mom said.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said again. Then I slipped out the door, saving us all any additional awkwardness.

When it shut behind me, I heard her voice. “I just love that boy.”

“He’s taken,” Graham replied.

“Getting along together was never the problem with you and me,” he said. “We’re both easy. It’s just the rest of the world that’s hard.”

“I like a challenge.”

He smiled at me. “Just don’t be mad if I don’t see fireworks, or whatever.”

“Okay,” I laughed. “But I hope you do. Because… damn. Seriously. If you haven’t had your prostate pounded, you haven’t lived.”

“Now there’s a slogan.”

“I’m going to make bumper stickers.”

“It’s like… you want to be able to tell people you’re straight, for some reason. Like gay isn’t good enough for you. Like it’s second class. Which makes me second class.”