“Wow, you really are bi, aren’t you?” I hug him again. “Fuck, I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks.” He smiles. “And sorry I was being pushy about Pride. I actually didn’t come here with, you know, a bi agenda. I’m just still a little—like, this is a very recent line of inquiry for me. Hasn’t been, uh, put under peer review.”
“Okay!” I clasp my hands. “How about fewer nonsensical science metaphors and more finalizing the outfit for your very first Pride.”
“No, seriously—”
“Nope. It’s been decided. I’m your wingman now. And you know what? You need a hat.” I swipe down two beanies from the Pride display, holding up one in each hand. “Gentleman’s choice! Les Bisexuales or Queer Evan Hansen?”
“Did we really just go from Surly Breakup Arthur to Queer Wordplay Arthur in ten minutes?”
“Get yourself a man who can do both,” I say smugly, shoving the Evan Hansen hat into his hands.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ben
Saturday, June 27
It’s officially been over a week since I’ve heard from Arthur, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s the same old magic trick: the better things are with Mikey, the more he disappears.
But I can’t let my brain go there today. Arthur’s not allowed to rain on my rainbow parade. It’s my last New York Pride, and it already feels like a dream. Marching through the streets holding Mario’s hand. Our cheeks painted with rainbows that we drew on each other. I’m with Him shirts that Mario made for us with colorful arrows pointing at each other, which is great since people keep checking him out.
“You’ve got a lot of fans out here,” I say as we cross through a crowded Union Square.
“So do you, Alejo,” Mario says.
I’ve seen no proof of this, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not trying to attract anyone out here.
I’m just trying to be present during this parade: brushing shoulders with people who may have had a harder time coming out than I did; listening to Mario as he sings along to songs blasting from a drag queen’s speaker, like Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own” and Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Cut to the Feeling”; cheering as colorful confetti rains down from a rooftop; buying pronoun buttons from a vendor with blue lipstick; taking pictures of two Latinas with signs, one reading Yay I’m Gay!, the other Oh My, I’m Bi!; and joining the massive applause as a young teen grabs a megaphone and comes out as trans.
Why can’t every day be as beautiful as today?
I’ve been keeping my phone buried in my pocket because I don’t even care if Arthur texts me. I don’t want to miss one moment. The sun is on my face and I’m ready for my freckles to pop out like a little Pride constellation.
And as much fun as I’m having with the community, it’s hard not to laugh every time I see my favorite ally.
Dylan is wearing an ALLY AF shirt along with a rainbow headband, a rainbow peace-sign necklace, and rainbow wristbands. Basically, Dylan’s aesthetic is GAY AF. And because he loves the attention, he’s asking people to sign his shirt as a token for this day. None of us have told him that three different people have drawn dicks on his back.
“Everyone looks like they’re auditioning for a Lady Gaga video,” Dylan says.
Samantha twirls around in her high-waisted rainbow mesh dress. “Dylan!”
“It’s not an insult! You’re homophobic for thinking so.”
The sun is a little on the hot side, but I get the feeling that even if it were below zero, some people celebrating today would still be walking around in nothing but underwear. All the power to everyone just living so hard right now, even if this is the only weekend they feel comfortable dressing—or undressing?—like this.
“I’m going to miss this,” Mario says. “We just missed LA Pride, too.”
“Make the most out of today, then,” I say with a smile.
“Already am, Alejo.”
Samantha kisses Dylan on the cheek, and he suddenly announces, “I require a piss break.”
“Same,” Samantha says. “But not as crudely worded.”
“Form the Snake!” Dylan shouts.
He invented the Snake as a way to link us all together by hand so we can file through the crowds so “no man or Samantha gets left behind.” We snake through the parade until we find a café down the block from Pa’s Duane Reade, which you couldn’t pay me to go inside on my day off. Dylan and Samantha get on line, both of them looking like they’re dancing as they squirm.