Tripp sighs, then reaches over and links his fingers through mine. “I have a question.”
“Yeah?”
“Why aren’t you who they think you are?”
“Well … I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t been through all the nastiness, and can I really claim being queer, when other than with you I’m straight? Do you actually count?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and when I finally force myself to look at him, his expression is … strange. “Why don’t I count?”
“Because …” Fuck, I don’t even know. “You’re you. You’re not … I don’t …” I force a long inhale while I try to work out what I’m saying. “You’re not a guy to me. You’re Tripp.”
“But I am a guy.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t matter to me. Everything we’re doing, I couldn’t do it with someone else. I don’t want to.” Even having sex with women, while enjoyable, has never felt the way it does with Tripp. Things with us are intense, and I think our connection has something to do with that. I’m worried if our relationship fails that I’ll never have that again.
“Do you really still think of yourself as straight?”
His question throws me. “Well, aren’t I? It’s not like I can suddenly claim gay just because I love getting naked with you.”
Tripp starts to laugh. “Actually, that’s exactly what it means. Well, kind of. You’re not gay, but I don’t think you’re straight either. Straight guys usually don’t like dick, whether that dick is attached to their best friend or not.”
“What about brojobs?”
“Some straight guys experiment, sure, but they know deep down it isn’t right. Is that what you’re telling me? That being with me isn’t right?”
“Of course not.” I scowl. “I’ve never … you’re my best friend. I l—” I almost say I love you, but for some reason, the words stick in my throat. We’ve never been shy about saying it to each other—I used to say it all the time when we’d end a call or I’d leave his apartment, so why is it so hard to get out now? The word is heavy on my tongue, and when I look at Tripp, it feels heavier too. I can’t say it. So I clear my throat and give him the realest answer I can. “It feels right. And if it feels this right and I’m not gay or straight, then I’m lost. How wouldn’t I know it about myself? I’m dumb, but am I really that dumb? Does this mean I’m bi? I don’t feel bi.”
“I can’t give you the answers, but from what you’re saying … maybe you can look up pansexuality.”
I side-eye him. “Did you just make that up?”
He shoves me playfully. “Of course not. Seriously, look it up. And before you ask me, no, it has nothing to do with pots and pans.”
That’s exactly what I was going to ask.
“But before you look into it, we’re going to meet the team. I want you to see what queer people being out really means. It’s not trolls on social media who can spew hate and then walk away from their keyboard and forget it. It’s people like them. Kids who see us living our lives, being happy, in successful careers, and it shows them they can be anything. It gives them hope. I would have killed to have that when I was younger, and I know you never experienced it, but maybe they can help you understand. No one has the same journey, Dex. It’s okay if you haven’t figured it out yet. That doesn’t mean you’re not valid.”
It’s that sentence that does it.
That doesn’t mean you’re not valid.
I’m hit with the weirdest prickling behind my nose like maybe I want to cry, but over what? It doesn’t make sense. I cling tighter to Tripp’s hand for a second before we let go and pull on our skates, me trying to swallow all the emotion down, but with those six words, something has relaxed inside me. Like maybe I can do this. Because maybe I’m not faking it at all.
We head down to the ice.
The coach of the kids’ team spots us and skates over to the entrance.
“Tripp, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
He gives his bashful grin. “I’m sure you’ve seen we’ve been under a bit of pressure lately.”
“I have.” He nods to me. “Nice to finally meet you, Dexter Mitchale.”
“Just Dex, please.” I shake his hand, and he introduces himself as William, but my attention strays back to Tripp. “You come here a lot?”
“Not as much as I did when I first moved here, but it’s a good place to escape sometimes.”
“You never told me.”
“It’s personal.” He shrugs.
“Is that the Mitchell brothers?”
I look up to see a kid, maybe mid-teens, skating our way. I plaster the friendliest smile I can manage onto my face.