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“Fuck all of you,” Ryke says words that I feel but can’t articulate.
“If you don’t have anything constructive to add, I think you should leave,” Corbin tells him.
Lo shoots a withering glare his way. “You’re our goddamn publicist, not the king of the castle, so stop acting like you have authority to banish my brother into another room.”
Naomi abruptly stands. “I have an alternative.” She procures a paper from her folder and passes it to me. I graze over a long list of sexualities: bisexual, pansexual, polysexual among other terms. “Pick one,” she says.
As if it’s as easy as ordering an appetizer off a menu.
The room deadens, all eyes shifting to me. The paper is heavier than they may realize. My entire twenty-seven years of existence I’ve wedged myself into parameters that other people construct—to blend in, to appease men and women alike.
To me, these terms are just another parameter—and I’ve never enjoyed stepping into this box, to pretend to be someone else when what I feel is so simple, so rudimentary. I admire other people who can identify with these words, but it’s not what I feel.
I’m attracted to people, to the all-encompassing passion of the soul, of the body and the mind.
And I shouldn’t have to be labeled to make sense. My sexuality shouldn’t be of priority to anyone but me. If I’d only slept with women, no one would care, but they’ve learned differently, and now they’re bothered, incensed—confused, doubtful.
So to appease them, I have to step into that cramped box. To make sense to them, I have to declare something I don’t feel.
I know who I fucking am, but very few people truly know me. Now I have to choose which Connor Cobalt millions of people will see.
The fake one: I’ll give myself a label. I will be what they need me to be. In doing so, I make good with my father-in-law and eliminate doubt that shadows my love for Rose and her love for me.
The real one: I never say one way or the other. The public will be left to wonder. I destroy relationships with Greg and Samantha, possibly damage my friendship with Lo. My love for Rose and her love for me may always be questioned.
My nineteen-year-old self wouldn’t have flinched at this ultimatum. I would’ve faked my way through the rest of my life, through the rest of my days, and I would’ve lost that last shred of humanity I’d let Rose keep safe for all those years.
Be real, Richard.
I placate people. I appease them. What happens when I stop, for a moment, to live in the comfort of my own skin? I may lose everything. But what if this is the sacrifice I have to make for Jane? What if I’m supposed to abandon who I am, to live a lie, so that she may live in peace?
The variables, the costs, the benefits, the lingering what ifs lead me to confusion—to a head-on collision with fear.
I rub my forehead that begins to perspire.
“It shouldn’t be this hard,” Samantha says.
“Have you ever had to declare to the world that you’re straight?” I ask her. “Has anyone looked at you differently for it?”
Her lips tighten.
“No, I didn’t think so.” I fold the paper into fourths, everyone watching me keenly. “Heterosexuality is the norm. Maybe when you have to stand at a podium, with cameras at your face, and say one word that will change the way people perceive you—you’d understand that this isn’t easy, not even for me.”
Rose squeezes my hand in support, and when I look at her, I detect the pride glowing beneath her yellow-green irises. She says she’d stand by me no matter what I’d choose, but Rose champions every part of me that makes me me.
This is no exception.
“Then tell everyone that you’re straight,” Samantha says, “and no one will look at you differently.”
“Mother,” Rose sneers.
“Don’t chastise me, Rose. I’m saying what everyone is thinking. I understand that we all have our secrets, but there are some that shouldn’t be mentioned aloud.” I’ve changed in her eyes, and she’d probably cast me back into a closet if she could, plug her ears and reverse time, so that I’m the person she needs me to be all over again.
This is who I’ve always been, even if she couldn’t see it.
Ryke steps towards the furniture, his gaze darkened, and Daisy clasps his wrist, to keep him stationary. “Yeah, he shouldn’t tell the fucking truth because you can’t handle it? He shouldn’t be himself because it makes you squirm?”
This subject rouses him more than others. He hasn’t ever needed to be an advocate for me before, but it’s nice to see that he would. I’m grateful for it.
“Enough,” Greg says. “I think we’ve all voiced our opinions, and Connor has the final say-so.”
I pass the paper to Naomi. “You’ll write the formal letter, stating that I love Rose—all that we’ve discussed here—but you’ll leave out any acknowledgement of whether or not I’ve slept with the three men. I need time to decide what I want to say before we hold a press conference.”
Corbin lets out an exasperated sigh. “Silence admits guilt.”
“You can tease the press conference so people know I plan on speaking.”
He checks his calendar. “We’ll schedule it for April 10th.”
That’s in one week. “Mid-May,” I rebut. I need time. “You don’t realize but these guys are holding non-disclosure agreements, and if I claim that I’m heterosexual and they show them to anyone, I’ve just moronically trapped myself. So I need time to sort out my legal affairs.” I can’t sue them for breaking the NDA, not unless I want to admit that I’ve slept with them. It’s complicated.
Corbin looks to Greg, and my father-in-law nods in acceptance of this open-ended conclusion.
Naomi closes her folder, and Corbin clears his throat, “One last thing…” He spins his pen between two fingers and then points it at Lo. “We need to clear this up.” He motions to me, then back to Lo.
“And what’s that?” Lo grits his teeth.
Corbin glances at his notes. “You were videotaped kissing in Mexico last year—”
“It was a dare.” Lo’s voice is a serrated edge. “Everyone knows this.”
“In March during St. Patrick’s Day, you were photographed pinching his bare ass—”’
“He’s my friend.”
“During Princesses of Philly, you two often made remarks about ‘blow jobs’ and ‘masturbating’
and ‘coming’ with each other, not with your respective girlfriends.”
Lo sits on the very edge of his seat, pointing a threatening finger at Corbin. “And no one gave a shit back then, so stop trying to turn it into a problem now.”
“I represent the mass majority of people outside this house, and they’ve already begun analyzing your friendship. If we don’t squash this soon, they’ll start claiming that you’re sleeping with him and that Lily, your wife, is actually with Ryke, your brother, that your son isn’t really yours. All I’m trying to do is minimize the ramifications.”
Lo stares faraway at the ground, eyes daggered like why? How could this even happen?
It happened because there’s a stigma that I can’t even shake.
“My suggestion,” Corbin says, “is that you two never cross paths in public. Don’t talk. Don’t touch. Don’t tweet each other. Don’t so much as look in the other’s direction. It’s probably best if Connor does the same with Ryke.”
My stomach is unexpectedly in knots. I remove my suit jacket, uncomfortably hot all of a sudden.
“People view your friendship differently now, Loren, and you don’t want them to get the wrong impression.”
According to the Calloway’s publicist, I’m not allowed to have straight male friends. Our jokes aren’t held at the same standards any longer. Everything I ever say to Lo and Ryke will be riddled with questioning and doubt. Are you attracted to them? Do you want to sleep with them?
No.
But who will even believe me now?
Ryke rakes his hands through his hair, disheveling the thick strands. He’s so incensed that he leaves the room, banging the door to the kitchen. I hear him say something like nothing has fucking changed. And yet, it all has.
Daisy and Nutty, their white husky, race after him.
“Lo,” I breathe.
He raises his head barely to meet my expression, and I see how reddened his eyes have become. I’ve seen him at his lowest point in life. I’ve watched him get sober and watched him relapse. I’ve carried him, barely alive, in my arms. He’s seen me shed tears after the birth of my daughter. I’ve seen him smile after the birth of his son. We’ve been through two weddings, five of his birthdays, even more holidays and trips around the world.
