Page 275 of What We Burn

“I’m not quiet,” I say. “I’m contemplative.”

“Milo Hart does not contemplate. Milo Hart announces, theorizes, and occasionally monologues.”

“I’m trying new methods of coping.”

“You’re brooding.” She takes a bite of the apple and chews. “You want to talk about it? Are you sad you can’t use your server room?”

“No. It’s not that. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Your mouth says nothing’s wrong, but your face says someone canceled your birthday.”

Holden stands against the fridge, methodically working his way through a bag of baby carrots with the attention of someone watching a mildly interesting documentary they didn’t choose.

“Okay, fine,” I say. “I’m not brooding. I’m . . .” I press the lid onto the pasta container. “I’m really happy for Eli and Micah. Like, genuinely, heart-swelling, tear-in-my-eye happy. What happened today was beautiful and overdue and I’m proud to have been the accidental architect of their emotional breakthrough.”

“An accidental architect?” Holden asks, which makes me realize that neither of them were here for the whole would-you-be-jealous-if-Micah-sucked-my-dick event, and I need to explain.

“Okay,” I say, holding up both hands. “Context is everything, and without context I sound insane. More insane. Whatever. We were in the living room. I was drinking depression tea. Eli was grading worksheets and Micah was pretending to read when he was actually just busy being tragically beautiful in silence. And I, as a brave and curious man committed to honesty, asked Eli his opinion on a certain curiosity I’ve been having.”

Sage lowers the apple slowly. “Oh no.”

Holden crunches a carrot. “Go on.”

“I asked if he’d be jealous if Micah sucked my dick.”

Sage chokes on her apple. Holden stops chewing.

I point at them. “See? This is why people keep secrets.”

“You sound insane with context too,” Sage says once she stops coughing.

“Rude. Accurate, but rude.” I reach for another bag and pull out a packet of dino pasta. I blink, looking up at Holden. He holds his carrot between his teeth and pulls a container from the cupboard, sliding it across the counter to me. It’s labeled PREHISTORIC—DO NOT MIX. My bitter heart warms just a little.

Holden snaps the carrot in his teeth, inspecting half of it between his fingers. “And his answer was?”

I point at him like he’s finally asking the right questions. “Thank you, detective. That’s what matters here. Not my courage or vulnerability. Not the fact that I was bravely exploring the outer reaches of my sexuality with honesty and grace.”

“Milo.”

“He said he wouldn’t be jealous,” I say, and even to my own ears my voice sounds flatter than I intend. I pour the dinos into the container. “Which, as it turns out, was false advertising.”

Sage’s expression shifts. Less amusement now. More focus. “Because he was jealous.”

“Oh, catastrophically.” I press the lid onto the now filled pasta container. “He had Micah kiss me as a field test, lasted approximately twelve seconds, and then dragged him upstairs by the front of his shirt like a tragically repressed husband who just discovered the concept of desire.”

Holden’s jaw ticks. Then, unexpectedly, one corner of his mouth lifts. “That does sound like Eli.”

“It was deeply romantic and a little terrifying. Very on brand.” I put the container in the pantry and immediately take it back out because I’m unsure whether I should put it next to the penne, the spaghetti, or the fusilli. This confusion about pasta placement feels metaphorically relevant.

I’m nothing but a dino-shaped pasta in a spaghetti and penne world.

Sage watches me with narrowed eyes. “You’re sulking because your hypothetical blow job became a relationship development for other people?”

“I’m not sulking.” I pause. “I’m experiencing a minor emotional aftershock.”

“Because you didn’t get the blow job,” Holden says. “That’s fair.”

I point at him. “Again, thank you. You see me.”