“Oh, well, uh, thanks.”
“No problem,” I say, wiping down the counter. “So you were summoned? Is that how you put it?”
He winces. “Pretty much. I mean, it was good to see my sisters. I miss them a lot. And they’re both going through some stuff right now. Fallon’s a senior in high school, and she and my dad butt heads daily. And Emersyn? I’m not exactly sure what her deal is, but that girl is keeping secrets. Anyway, dinner erupted into a full-on verbal assault by my father. My mom looked on and cried, while Fallon just retreated to her room. And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, Em escaped, only to return half an hour later and act like she’d never been gone. I think I’m the only one who noticed.”
“Wow. Sounds like a rough night. I wish I had some liquor to add to that tea.”
He blushes scarlet. “Crap. I’m sorry. I did not mean to dump on you like that. It’s just…been a night, you know? And you’re easy to talk to.”
I get that a lot, but I think the key to being a good listener is just that: to listen. Half the time people don’t really want or need advice. They just want to be heard.
“I guess it’s the whole psych thing, right? Do you take classes in that kind of thing?”
I pause my task of refilling the pastry case. “Yeah, we do. It’s not called Listening 101 or anything, but a lot of my classes emphasize the importance of just being present and tuning in, rather than directly guiding someone toward a certain decision.”
He traces the rim of his mug with a long finger. “But that’s not what you want to do, is it? Be a counselor or therapist?”
“Not really, no. I love that kind of thing, but what I really want to do is teach.”
“You’re good at it.” The compliment slips out of his mouth before his head has fully processed it, at least that’s what I’m guessing, based on the look on his face.
“Thanks.” His words mean a lot, probably more than they should. “I know it’s not your favorite class, but—”
“It’s not that,” he says hurriedly. “It’s just out of my comfort zone. Like way out. Like all the way out. Like far, far away.”
“I can tell.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s valuable and important.” The look in his eyes is so earnest. It shakes loose something inside of me. “And everything you say makes sense. Like yesterday’s talk about the problem with the gender binary. I get that. It makes sense, you know, that there’s a spectrum.”
I nod. “It is a spectrum. But I know that’s hard for some people to see. We’re taught from such a young age that there are only two choices. This or that, you know? If you have a penis, you're a boy and boys like girls. And if you have a vulva, you’re a girl and girls like boys. That’s the narrative, right?”
He winces. “Uh, the narrative at my house was pretty much,Sex is bad unless you’re married and want a baby.”
Oof. That explains a lot.
Booker takes a sip of tea before looking back up at me. “This one time, at youth group, they showed us a movie where a guy and his girlfriend sneak into a barn to have sex. They get inside, there’s some, you know, kissing. Then all of a sudden, the barn bursts into flames. Actual flames. The message was pretty clear: if you have premarital sex, you’re going to burn in the fires of hell.”
“Damn,” I say, because words pretty much escape me.
* * *
Booker
“I know,” I continue, finding it easy to open up to Ian. “I clam up in class. I probably seem like this uptight…jerk. Like a prude, or whatever. And it’s not like I don’t know stuff. Well, some stuff. Whit’s my best friend. I live across the hall from Knox and Willa. And Ty and Phoebe aren’t much quieter. I’ve seen and heard a lot. I even had a girlfriend freshman year.And we did…stuff. I mean, not…but… And when we kissed or whatever, I felt…stuff.” It feels like my whole face is on fire, but I can’t stop talking. Something about Ian’s calm demeanor makes the words fall out of my mouth. “It was good, you know? Fine. But there’s never been that spark, I guess? I’ve never, like, needed to tear someone’s clothes off. Wow. That’s embarrassing to admit.”
He’s reaching across the counter and laying his hand on mine. The warmth is calming, but it’s more than that. His smaller, slender hand envelops mine and the sensation is…overwhelming. The tender skin of his palm is smooth, except for the bumpy ridge of a burn mark on the inside of his thumb. I want to run my fingers over the marred skin. I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want to lose this contact, no matter how superficial. Because, yeah, Ian’s holding my hand in a gesture of friendship. I’m holding on to his because it feels good to touch him. It’s nothing so erotic as a kiss, and yet it feels better, hotter, more meaningful than any kiss I ever gave Lexi.
“Please don’t be embarrassed,” Ian says gently. “It’s just me, and you know I would never judge anyone. It’s okay to feel what you feel, Booker.”
I wonder if he would still feel that way if he knew what I’m feeling right now. Because there’s no doubt about it. He’s holding my hand and my mind is running wild with images of all the other things his hand could do. His finger absently traces a circle on the top of my hand and, no joke, I feel a shiver go down my spine in the very best way. If someone had told me that my hand was an erogenous zone, I’d have laughed and said I don’t have any of those. And yet, when Ian’s around, my body is on high alert. And when he’s touching me, even in the most innocent manner, it’s intoxicating.
“Booker,” he says, drawing my attention back to our conversation, “just as there’s nothing to be ashamed about sexual feelings and desires, there’s also no shame in not feeling that pull, or wanting satisfaction in a different way. There’s a whole ACE spectrum, and if you see yourself—”
“That’s just it,” I interrupt, pulling my hand back like a kid who knows he’s not supposed to touch the cookie jar. “I don’t see myself anywhere on the spectrum. Not the ACE spectrum. Not any spectrum. I don’t exist in terms of sexuality.” I say to Ian, and, if I’m being honest, to myself. “I can’t. It’s not meant for me. It will mess everything up. I exist as a friend, a brother, a son. I exist on the ice, but even that has an expiration date. I don’t need sex. It’s just… easier this way. If I don’t want it, don’t crave it, don’t ever let myself think about it, then I can’t miss what I never had, right?”
“But you do exist. I see you. You exist in this realm however you want to. Sexuality isn't going to go away just because you ignore it, Booker.” His tone is kind, but the meaning of his words is clear.
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You vastly underestimate my ability to repress and ignore. And I learned from the best.” I take a final sip of my drink and stand. “Sorry I wasted your time. Thanks for the tea, but I probably shouldn’t have come.”
