There’s a million reasons why someone won’t come out. What might seem like no big deal to one person is the whole universe to another.
“True. There’s also shitty parents,” I say, thinking of Valentino’s.
“Maybe they would’ve been kicked out of their house. I got lucky.”
Parents not kicking you out of your home because you’re gay shouldn’t be luck. That should be the expectation when you bring a kid into this world. If you can’t do that, then fuck off, fuck off, fuck off. I’m done playing this shit where we got to be nice to people who hate on us for how we love. They’re the reasons why we got it so hard, why we lock away our feelings even though it means we’ll die without knowing the happiness that comes to others so easily.
“Did you ever have any boyfriends?” I ask, feeling sick with envy in my empty stomach.
“No, but I had a big crush back in March.”
“What was he like?”
Though I already suspect I know the answer: muscular, beautiful, pearly white smile.
“He’s another model.”
You don’t fucking say.
“We first met during this photo shoot a couple years ago. I was this student driver acting like I didn’t know how to drive, and George was posing as my instructor, though he actually doesn’t know how to drive. The casting people did not care. George played a really convincing and kind instructor.”
“Was he actually a piece of shit?”
It’s stupid and immature being so competitive with someone in his past, someone who isn’t spending Valentino’s End Day with him. But I’m stupid and immature when it comes to these things, back off.
“George was a good guy. We bumped into each other in an audition room and hung out that entire day. Then it started getting dark, and before I could go home he leaned in for a kiss.”
I want to fucking catapult myself off this bridge, I’m so jealous.
“I backed away,” Valentino says.
Okay, never mind, maybe I’ll take up flying instead.
“Why’d you back off?”
Valentino steals a glance my way. “I wanted my first kiss to be memorable.”
“I like that a lot,” I say. Some things are worth holding off for. “Do you believe in soul mates?”
His blue eyes stare out into the river, then the skylines. “I think so. I believe there are people you’re destined to meet, but it’s up to you to do the work. The work always seemed really intimidating and even impossible.”
“I feel that. I love being gay, but fuck, this shit is hard sometimes.”
“No kidding. It’s not even legal for us to get married.”
My heart stops—not really, but really, you know—and it only starts pumping again when I realize he’s speaking about the general us, not the Orion-ampersand-Valentino us.
“Is marriage something that’s been on your brain?” I ask.
“Absolutely. I was looking forward to meeting my man and proposing and planning the wedding and stressing out about vows. Scarlett would be my maid of honor, of course. I originally pictured my parents being there, but when I realized that wasn’t going to happen I thought I’d invite so many friends and friends of friends to fill the venue so I wouldn’t even notice they weren’t there. This is probably one of the saddest things about dying today: I’ll never know if this was going to change.”
“I wish we could know if your parents would’ve come around, it’s just—”