Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
It was extremely jarring.
“Five years,” I repeated dully.
“Yeah, we were together for a year, more or less. I liked him a lot, but he was a nurse and I was always on the road and…our lives never meshed well.” He picked up his empty glass and laughed. “I can’t believe I’m telling you my life story. What the fuck is in this stuff?”
“Uh…alcohol.”
“Right.” He squinted. “You’re still looking at me funny. Don’t tell me you have a problem with me being bi.”
My chuckle was a bit stiff, but it was the best I could do. “No, of course not.”
“But…”
I stood to grab a new bottle of soda water and a fresh lime, refilling our glasses before taking my seat again. I didn’t want another drink and he probably didn’t either, but I wasn’t sure what to do with my misplaced angst.
“But the truth is…I’m fighting a childish urge to pour the rest of this bottle over your head. Do you have any idea how fucking hard it was to be a queer kid in Elmwood? The only queer kid in town.”
Court furrowed his brow. “I—what?”
“You heard me. It was miserable. My mother tried to assure me I was a rare diamond on a beach of basic rocks, but it definitely didn’t feel that way.”
“What are you talking about? You had friends.”
“I had Stacy. She was and is my superstar bestie. If it hadn’t been for her, I would have spent every day alone at recess and lunch from kindergarten through at least third grade. I was so shy I could hardly form full sentences and when I finally got the courage to speak up, I was always a little too…me. I didn’t run, I skipped. I didn’t want to play hockey, I wanted to figure skate. Boys in our grade were pricks to me. Danny Grossman used to put sticky notes on my back with stupid sayings like ‘Kick me’ or ‘Kiss me.’ I got shoved in lockers, tripped into bushes, and my lunch was stolen on the regular by assholes like your friend, Kyle.”
His shocked expression was almost comical. “I had no idea.”
“I know. You were one of the good ones, and I have fond memories of you, It just…wasn’t easy, and it would have been nice not to be the town freak. Of course, I’m being totally unreasonable, and I should just shut the fuck up.” I lifted my glass and pointed knowingly. “I’m blaming the gin.”
Court didn’t smile the way I hoped he might. His frown lines deepened as his gaze drifted to the floor. “I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have been a help to you in those days. I wasn’t very evolved in my sexual discovery, if that makes sense. I thought the script was the same for everyone…even if our interests were different. Didn’t you?”
“Absolutely fucking not. In fact, I was positive I couldn’t have what everyone assumed they were entitled to. No picket fence, no dashing husband, no darling dog, and no PTA chairperson job at my children’s school for me. I think that’s why I embraced my emo side with gusto in high school. If I was going to stand out in a crowd, I wanted to look vaguely menacing, which is borderline hysterical, ’cause really…are purple nail polish and black eyeliner the armor of a badass?”
“Maybe not, but a black Christmas tree is,” Court replied earnestly.
This time when our eyes met, we both chuckled.
“It is, huh?”
“Totally badass,” he agreed. “Hey…for the record, you’re right about a couple of things. I thought I’d be married with kids by now too. But to be clear, my sexuality isn’t the reason I’m not a husband or a dad. I just haven’t met the right person and I haven’t…done enough. I have nothing to offer anyone—guy or girl. No job security, no big bank account. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done okay. I guess I thought I’d have more by now.”
I scoffed. “Oh, honey, I don’t think the right person is supposed to care about the size of your bank account.”
“Maybe not.”
“Definitely not. I dated a trust-fund baby when I was at NYU. His name was Tristan and when we first met, I thought he was so fun and witty, and hot in an artist-type way—longish hair, cheekbones for days, full lips, and a wardrobe of sweeping coats that swished elegantly when he walked into a room. But sadly, he was under the impression that unlimited access to whatever the fuck he wanted via his dad’s fancy American Express card hid his not-so-fun traits. He talked over people, never admitted he was wrong, wore too much cologne, and came way too soon. In short, he was not all that and a bag of chips.”
Court hooted merrily. “Ouch. How long were you with him?”
“Eight months. And I’d like to return four of those months, please,” I snarked. “I think I’ve amassed a good year of my life I’d like back on bad dates. No kidding. I dated a stockbroker who talked about his mother for two hours straight, a lawyer who chewed with his mouth open, and a guy who listed the calories of every item on both of our plates before we ate.”