"You don't like what he does."
"No. I did not say that." I step back around the marble. "I didn’t say that. Do you understand?"
"Yeah." She takes a small step back, looking contrite, and I realize she's wearing small pearl earrings. Studs, I think they're called. That makes her seem even younger.
"I regret approaching you,” she tells me, frowning. “I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry. I didn't think of it as an invasion of your privacy, because you're here..." She waves around the atrium. "But this is your turf. A place that must feel comfortable, or hopefully will one day." She sighs. Then she looks me in the eye, and I can see her swallow. "I'm going to tell you something, okay?"
I nod slowly, stuck on mute by something in her eyes.
"I'm...trans. I’m a trans man."
Maybe I frown—I don't know—but I must do something with my face, because hers loses some of its color. "I know I don't look it." Her jaw hardens. "But I am. And I like this. I like that there's...people like this...in charge of a church. Because one day, my family will probably know—about me. And they care what a pastor like your Luke says. I get why you wouldn't want to do it, though."
Tears gleam in her eyes before she quickly wipes them. "I just wanted you to understand," she whispers. I see her swallow. "I've never told…anyone."
I stare at her, trying to imagine this pretty girl as a pretty boy and trying not to let that show on my face. "You can trust me," I say.
She—well, he—jerks his chin downward. "Thank you. I don't normally blurt things out. Especially not this."
"I understand.” It’s me. People just…tell me things. “But it's okay. You know that, right? There's nothing wrong with that. Or bad about it.”
"I can see why he likes you," he whispers, and his voice sounds raspy.
I give him what I hope is a sympathetic face. Then I retreat back behind the marble, feeling like I've got the coldest, hardest partner at some kind of weird ballroom dance. "What's the terms like?” I ask. “Do you know? What if Luke wants his Evermore network to show it first or something?"
"They could probably do a preview. Or an early screening."
"Who would be in charge of it? You know, like the showrunner or whatever."
"Me."
I look at him. "You, a boy who likes boys?"
He grins, so big that it makes my chest feel like something inside is swelling. "Yes."
"So...what's that called? There’s a name for it. Own voice?"
He beams. "Yes. Well, sort of. I could do it sensitively. That’s the point I’m making."
I clasp my hands, steepling the fingers, giving him an arched-brows look. "Why don't I take a card. Luke and I can talk about it."
"Really?"
"Maybe." I give him a small smile. "I'll see what I can do."
"You're both household names now, anyway. I felt like this could maybe bring more understanding. And give Luke a chance to shape the narrative he wants. Something I bet he needs right now more than ever."
4
Vance
“If they told you that they wanted us to keep it quiet and not get married, all that good shit, you can tell me. You know that, right?” I ask Sky.
He shifts, nuzzling his head against my lap. We’re lying on the bed inside the hull of the boat that’s docked at his aunt’s house. We came here after grabbing takeout—my idea, because I felt like he needed an escape.
“Yeah.” It’s a quiet murmur.
I run my hand through his hair.
This was what I was worried would happen. He’s been so damn nervous about going back to work—and other people clearly shared my fear that it would be tough, because when Pearl brought lunch down to me, she said his mom had called shortly before to see how things were going.
“We’re going to get married, V.” He shifts so he’s looking up at me. His eyes are sleepy and his smile is small, but he looks okay. “You’re getting on the good insurance and you’re getting on the deeds.”
“The what?” I laugh.
“The deeds to our houses.”
“Our houses.” I snort, and he walks his fingers up my arm. “Yes,” he says. “Our houses. You can pick one if you want to. It can just be yours.”
I can’t help another laugh, because it’s so insane. “Why would I want a house without you in it?”
“I can visit with you.”
I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady. “Why, though, Sky? Why would I need my own place?” I cup his face with my hand, which is sore from working with the grinder all day. When he doesn’t answer, I force a smile despite my tight throat.
“It’s insurance, isn’t it?” I say. “You’re offering me insurance. And why would you do that? When do people need insurance?” His eyes hold mine, and I see the sadness in them. “In case it doesn’t work out,” I say. “That’s the reason you need insurance.”