“Would you?” When Yumi looks up at me, I see so many different versions of her. The full-faced, round-eyed girl who introduced herself to my fourth-grade class and taught me how to fold a paper airplane. My best friend, wearing pajamas and laughingwith my mom. Yumi, gasping and wiping the water from her face as she glances up to see her time on the scoreboard. Finding me in the crowd. Sitting on Taylor Norris’s backyard bench. Pillow forts on her floor, meteor showers over my car, her books in my locker, my dessert on her fork.
“Yes,” I breathe, both confession and contrition at once. “I would stay.”
“I wish you had.” Her eyes are still red-rimmed, but her voice is steadier.
I settle carefully on my own bed, mirroring her. The mattress gives beneath my weight, and I suddenly realize how tired I am—exhausted with every facet of my being. We stare at the carpet, silence bleeding out in the space between us.
“I don’t know where we go from here,” I say honestly.
In my peripheral vision, I watch Yumi shake her head. Then she laughs softly. “The airport, I think.”
I huff a laugh, smiling. “Boo,” I heckle quietly, cupping my hands around my mouth.
“I don’t know,” she muses, tipping over so her upper body is lying on the bed facing me. She looks so young like this. “Can we start again? Is that possible?”
I follow suit, dropping my head to the mattress. “I mean, we can try.”
“And what if it doesn’t work?”
I take a deep breath, my gaze floating to the ceiling. “Then I think we just…keep trying until it does.”
Chapter 23
Honeymoon
The worst part of beingin a fake gay relationship is that you can’t even use it to your advantage at the airport ticket counter. Out the window goPlease, my wife is pregnantandWe’re on our honeymoon, because you never really know how people will react to queerness.
So, we’re forced to play the reality TV card instead.
Teams, meet António Augusto Carvalho Monteiro at Quinta da Regaleira for your next clue.
Still holding the clue in my hand, I scan the ticket counters, looking for a very specific kind of person. What I’ve learned from years of anecdotal research is that college students are the demographic most likely to watch mindless international reality television (thank you,Love Island). And though contestants aren’t allowed to flat-out say the words “I’m onThe Adventureverse,” our matching outfits, enormous backpacks, and camera-wielding shadows communicate it well enough.
There. A freckled twentysomething with cat-eye glasses and a pin on her lanyard that saysUniversidad de Buenos Aires. Icatch Yumi’s eye and nod to our lifeline. As the prettier and more charming partner, this task falls squarely on her shoulders.
“Excuse me, can you help us?” Yumi asks, approaching the woman.
I hang back, watching her work. I don’t need to hear the conversation to recognize the moment Yumi says the magic words:“We’re in a competition for a million dollars.”
The ticket agent’s eyes widen in recognition, dart from Yumi to the camera to the crew. Yumi gestures to me, I wave awkwardly, and five minutes later, we’re walking away with four tickets to Lisbon on a flight that was supposedly fully booked.
“You’re welcome,” Yumi says, bumping my shoulder with hers.
I try not to think as I wrap an arm around her waist and lean my head into hers. “You’re a lifesaver, babe.”
She gives me a knowing look that I hope the camera interprets as flirty.
We head straight for our gate, though the flight doesn’t board for a few hours. Better early than late onThe Adventureverse, but knowing that doesn’t necessarily make the waiting less boring. We have so much more downtime than I expected—and I expecteda lot. We spend most of our time like this, sitting on uncomfortable airport benches or in taxi seats.
As time ticks closer to boarding, there’s still no sign of the remaining teams. At the two-hour mark, the hour mark, the twenty-minute mark, it’s just me and Yumi.
“I can’t believe this,” I whisper, fearful that theAdventureversegods might hear me.
“I know,” she whispers back, excitement in her voice. “We’re gonna—”
That’s the moment KC and Gabriel, Team Football, round the corner, fast food hamburgers in hand.
“Damn it,” Yumi says under her breath, dropping her forehead into her hand.
