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Acted was the key word.
But I was tired of acting. I was tired of the charade. The lies. The denial.
Hiding who I was on the inside, making what I looked like on the outside my whole personality.
Wearing a skin that was not mine. And maybe never was.
I played the part I was given. By my parents, by Dahlia, even by my employer.
How could I teach my own children to be true to themselves if I wasn’t to myself?
I couldn’t. I didn’t want to fail them. I had failed Ronan. I had failed Dahlia. I had failed myself.
Many times I wondered if Ronan hadn’t been a part of my life, hadn’t awoken what was inside of me, at what point would I have discovered it on my own?
Would I have been miserable and just not known why? Would I have not been able to pinpoint the problem?
Dahlia also told me I needed therapy that day in the living room. I agreed. I did.
Right now, with the divorce and the child support, the move back to Pittsburgh and the new job, I just couldn’t afford it. Maybe after my benefits kicked in.
But she mentioned therapy because she thought it would convince me I wasn’t gay. That it would prove I had only been in love with Ronan and not because I was attracted to men in general.
It was possible she was right. That it wasn’t just any man I wanted. It was only one.
The one I fell in love with. The one I could never get over.
The one I had carried with me in my head and my heart for the last twelve years.
Moving into the same building where Ronan lived dropped an unexpected opportunity in my lap to be able to fix what I had broken all those years ago. But he had to be willing and open to it.
I wasn’t sure if he was.
He might not ever be.
It was worth a shot. If it failed like everything else, I could look back on it that I at least made an effort, instead of hiding.
Instead of ignoring.
I was taking that shot. Even if it wounded me beyond repair.
I didn’t have his number. I didn’t even know what unit he lived in. I had only one way to contact him.
My gaze landed on my phone.
I forced myself to walk slowly over to where it sat on the table next to the couch. If I didn’t, I’d sprint. I took those few moments to check myself. To make sure I was making the right decision.
I flip-flopped with every step I took.
Should I? Or shouldn’t I?
Was it too early for us? Or was it too late?
I focused on that phone and once I stood over it, I stared at it instead of snatching it up.
I counted to ten in my head. Then out loud to twenty.
I took one deep breath. Two.
Fuck it.
I swiped it off the table before I changed my mind, woke it from sleep mode and double-checked the time on my phone.
After opening the Grindr app, I scrolled through my messages until I found the string with Ronan. I hit Reply and typed out a short message. Can you meet me on the roof at ten?
I almost added a “please” but didn’t want to sound as desperate as I felt.
I also wanted privacy, so I wanted to wait until the door to the roof was locked and we wouldn’t be disturbed.
Plus, if I ended up groveling, I didn’t want anyone else to witness it. It would be bad enough that the two of us would.
Time ticked by slowly in my head as I waited for his response. Even if he saw it right away—and he might since by the looks of his “date” last week, he was very active on the app—he could purposely make me wait for his answer.
In truth, he might make me wait until only minutes away from ten o’clock. Almost two hours from now.
I wasn’t sure I could hang by the thin thread I was clutching until then.
Luckily, I didn’t have to wait. His answer came almost immediately.
You know what to do when you get up there.
Another message popped up before I could respond to his first one.
Otherwise, find someone else.
That was the rub. There was no one else. I could delete the app because no matter what happened between us tonight, tomorrow, months or years from now, now that I found Ronan, I doubted I’d ever use it again.
I only previously downloaded and used it out of desperation.
I hoped I had no reason to use it again because whatever he wanted from me, I’d give him.
Whatever he wanted from me, I wanted, too.
Even if he wanted to humiliate me, I’d let him.
I deserved it and owed him.
Any and all of it.
No matter what it was.
I opened my eyes as soon as I realized I had them squeezed shut. I typed out my reply. I’ll be waiting.
