Jack: I really like Ikram. And he likes me.
Nate: Yeah, yeah. I know.
Nate: Enjoy your date.
JACK
Ikram is amazing. I mean, the guy is handsome as hell—even as a child, when my friends were falling for Jasmine, I was all crazy for Aladdin—funny, interesting, and he speaks 6 languages fluently. One of them is French.Hot.
“How the hell do you know that many languages?” I ask, sipping from my wine glass.
He chuckles softly, and that sound alone makes me shiver. “My parents are Algerian, and I have five sisters and one brother. We moved to France when I was about six years old because my father was an Ambassador.” He pauses, and his smile drops slightly. “We moved a lot after, for his work. We had to adapt and learn every time, because my parents always said that, in a world like ours, where fear and racism is unfortunately omnipresent, people would always find ways to be unkind or blame us for something. Learning their culture and adapting to their ways helped us fit in. We were never completely excluded from some sort of racism or discrimination, but at least, we were able to understand when people were being racist and unfair towards us.”
I nod, listening to his story. I could say that I understand—being an adopted, gay, disabled man—how it feels to be rejected constantly. But I am still a white guy with blond hair and green eyes. Racism is not something I’ve been subjected to.
“Do you get along with your family?” I ask then.
“I am. It was a little rough when I first came out—I was sixteen—but my mother is an extraordinary woman,” he smiles. “When my dad wouldn’t talk to me for a few months, she tore him a new one. Saying she gave him some time to get used to the idea, and now it was time he accepted it. That she always knew that I was different, and whether I was out or not, I was still their son, and it didn’t change me. But we’re Muslim, and it took time for my father to really accept it. But as soon as he did, he was all in. Admitting proudly at the embassy that his son was gay by wearing a little Pride Flag pin on his suit jacket, marching the gay pride with me and one of my sisters, who admitted not longago that she was also queer, and we’ve never been happier.”
I smile, but jolt slightly when I feel the lone tear falling down my cheek.
It’s always a weird feeling hearing about other’s coming out stories. When it goes well, there’s this relief that those people didn’t go through the same situation I did—and still do, my father is definitely erasing every trace that I ever existed in his life—but also a deep sadness. About my situation, and how I wished it had happened differently. That my father would have eventually accepted it and supported me.
He grabs my hand over the candlelit table, lacing our fingers together, looking at me with the kindest deep brown eyes.
“I went through a tough time when I came out. I was dating this guy, he was older than me and turned out to be a massive manipulative asshole,” he says, his eyes turning dull. “He… Tried to force himself on me at some point and when I managed to push him away, he shamed me and blamed me, saying that I was making him unhappy.”
“I ended things, but he kept trying to come back into my life, making my depression worse. That’s when my parents stepped in and pulled me out of it.” His throat bobs, and I squeeze his hand in silent invitation to continue. “They got me psychological help and we pressed charges against him. It was a dark place for me, but it also ended up being what brought me closer to my family.”
“The way your family reacted sucks,” he admits, with a long sigh. “It’s the worst case scenario.” I close my eyes, trying to hold back more tears. Tears for what he’s been through, and my broken family. “But you know what’s amazing, though? Your sister, and her unconditional love. She chose you, when the rest of your family decided not to. And you. You’re amazing for fighting despite what happened. And you know what? If your family doesn’t want you, trust me when I say mine will.” He smiles, squeezing my hand kindly. “They are loud, and all our gatherings are a little chaotic but if you ever want to come with me to meet them, they’ll love you like one of their own.”
I chuckle wetly—crying on a first date, gross—and he leans forwards, wiping a couple of tears with his thumb.
I wasn’t expecting this date to become so emotional.
“Come on, let’s talk about happier things,” I say, forcing a smile, not pulling my hand away from his. “When did you move to L.A?”
“Ah,” he laughs, his thumb rubbing circles on the top of my hand. “It’s been… Almost five years. Evie and I were both living in Washington. We met in college and were not feeling good about our studies. She became a personal care worker because of the most random job post and loved it. They were looking to hire more people and expand so I applied. And it felt right, you know? The next year, my parents moved to L.A, so we followed and joined a company here.”
I nod. “You’re good at it.”
“I’ll make sure the person they replace me with is one of our best,” he says, eyes dropping to our hands still laced over the table.
“Replace you?”
He shrugs with a shy smile. “It’s unethical to work for someone you—well, if we date. And if I have to choose, I’d rather date you, so I’ll step away. But be assured that I’ll be breathing down the neck of whoever replaces me,” he adds with a mischievous smile.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I reassure him. “And Evie will still be here, anyway.”
“She will. And me too, just not as much and not as your help anymore.”
Is this official, then? I’m not sure how to do this. It’s been a while since I’ve been on an actual date. And not since my condition got worse. What if he thinks he’s ready for all this but realizes that it’s too much? That I’m too damaged? That, even though I’m feeling better, sex is still too complicated? And if it’s too much forhimafter what he went through? What if—
“You’re overthinking, aren’t you?”
“Hm?” I ask, trying to force a smile.
“It’s amazing how much Prue and you look alike, even though you aren’t blood related. You have the same weird expression when you’re lost in thoughts. And right now, you were clearly overthinking. Or freaking out. But nothing good.”
