“I didn’t mind,” I say. My voice isn’t firm. It’s like liquid. It evaporates.
He wraps his wounded hand, then turns around and faces me.
His eyes are firm like his voice was. They’re also hard, like metal. Like swords, slicing through the ropes that held what little dangling hope I had for him and me and that kiss.
“Don’t let me do that again,” he says.
I want him to do that again more than I want Thanksgiving dinner, but I don’t tell him that. I can’t speak, because his regret is caught in my throat.
He opens the bathroom door and leaves.
I’m still stuck to the wall.
What.
The.
Hell?
???
I’m no longer stuck to the bathroom wall.
Now I’m stuck to my chair, conveniently seated at the dinner table next to Miles.
Miles, whom I haven’t spoken to since he referred to himself or us or our kiss as “that.”
Don’t let me do “that” again.
I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to. I want “that” so much I don’t even want to eat, and he probably doesn’t realize how much I love Thanksgiving dinner. Which means I want “that” a lot, and “that” isn’t referring to the plate of food in front of me. “That” is Miles. Us. Me kissing Miles. Miles kissing me.
I’m suddenly very thirsty. I grab my glass and down half of my water in three huge gulps.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Miles?” my mother asks.
Yes, Mom. Keep asking him questions like that, since I’m too scared to do it myself.
Miles clears his throat. “No, ma’am,” he says.
Corbin laughs under his breath, which stirs up a cloud of disappointment in my chest. Apparently, Miles has the same view on relationships as Corbin does, and Corbin finds it amusing that my mother would assume he’s capable of commitment.
I suddenly find the kiss we shared earlier a lot less impactful.
“Well, aren’t you quite the catch, then,” she says. “Airline pilot, single, handsome, polite.”
Miles doesn’t respond. He smiles faintly and shovels a bite of potatoes into his mouth. He doesn’t want to talk about himself.
That’s too bad.
“Miles hasn’t had a girlfriend in a long time, Mom,” Corbin says, confirming my suspicion. “Doesn’t mean he’s single, though.”
My mom tilts her head in confusion. So do I. So does Miles.
“What do you mean?” she says. Her eyes immediately grow wide, though. “Oh! I’m so sorry. That’s what I get for being nosy.” She says the last part of her sentence like she just came to some realization that I still haven’t come to.
She’s apologizing to Miles now. She’s embarrassed.
Still confused.
“Am I missing something?” my dad asks.
My mother points her fork at Miles. “He’s gay, honey,” she says.
Um . . .
“Is not,” my dad says firmly, laughing at her assumption.
I’m shaking my head. Don’t shake your head, Tate.
“Miles isn’t gay,” I say defensively, looking at my mother.
Why did I say that out loud?
Now Corbin looks confused. He looks at Miles. A spoonful of potatoes is paused in midair in front of Miles, and his eyebrow is cocked. He’s staring at Corbin.
“Oh, shit,” Corbin says. “I didn’t know it was a secret. Dude, I’m so sorry.”
Miles lowers his spoonful of mashed potatoes to his plate, still eyeing Corbin with a perplexed look about him. “I’m not gay.”
Corbin nods. He holds up his palms and mouths, “I’m sorry,” like he didn’t mean to reveal such a big secret.
Miles shakes his head. “Corbin. I’m not gay. Never have been and pretty sure I never will be. What the hell, man?”
Corbin and Miles are staring at each other, and everyone else is watching Miles.
“B-but,” Corbin stutters. “You said . . . one time you told me . . .”
Miles drops his spoon and covers his mouth with his hand, stifling his loud laughter.
Oh, my God, Miles. Laugh.
Laugh, laugh, laugh. Please think this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened, because your laugh is also so much better than Thanksgiving dinner.
“What did I say to you that made you think I was gay?”
Corbin sits back in his chair. “I don’t remember, exactly. You said something about not being with a girl in more than three years. I just thought that was your way of telling me you were gay.”
Everyone is laughing now. Even me.
“That was more than three years ago! This whole time, you’ve thought I was gay?”
Corbin is still confused. “But . . .”
Tears. Miles has tears he’s laughing so hard.
It’s beautiful.
I feel bad for Corbin. He’s kind of embarrassed. I do like how Miles thinks it’s funny, though. I like that it didn’t embarrass him.
“Three years?” my dad says, still stuck on the same thought I’m still kind of stuck on.
“That was three years ago,” Corbin says, finally laughing along with Miles. “It’s probably been six by now.”
The table slowly grows quiet. This embarrasses Miles.
I keep thinking about that kiss in the bathroom earlier and how I know for a fact it hasn’t been six years since he’s been with a girl. A guy with a mouth as possessive as that one knows how to use it, and I’m sure it gets used a lot.
I don’t want to think about it.
I don’t want my family thinking about it.
“You’re bleeding again,” I say, looking down at the blood-soaked gauze that’s still wrapped around his hand. I turn to my mother. “Do you have any liquid bandage?”
“No,” she says. “That stuff scares me.”
I look at Miles. “After we eat, I’ll check it,” I say.
Miles nods but never looks at me. My mother asks me about work, and Miles is no longer the center of attention. I think he’s relieved about that.
???
I turn off my light and crawl into bed, not sure what to make of today. We never spoke again after dinner, even though I spent a good ten minutes redressing his wound in the living room.
We didn’t speak through the entire process. Our legs didn’t touch. His finger didn’t touch my knee. He didn’t even look up at me. He just watched his hand the entire time, focused on it like it would fall off if he looked away.
I don’t know what to think about Miles or that kiss. He’s obviously attracted to me, or he wouldn’t have kissed me. Sadly, that’s enough for me. I don’t even care if he likes me. I just want him to be attracted to me, because the liking can come later.
I close my eyes and try to fall asleep for the fifth time, but it’s pointless. I roll onto my side and face the door just in time to see the shadow of someone’s feet approach it. I watch the door, waiting for it to open, but the shadows disappear, and footsteps continue down the hall. I’m almost positive that was Miles but only because he’s the only person on my mind right now. I release a few controlled breaths in order to calm myself down enough to decide whether I want to follow him. I’m only on the third breath when I hop out of bed.