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“I’m trying, Merri. I really am.”
“I know. I can see it. You just really suck at it.”
Claude laughed. “I do. I really do.”
I pulled away, looking up at him.
“But you don’t always have to suck at it. For example, share one thing with me now.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What is your actual identity? I know you don’t like to think about it. But make me believe that this thing between us isn’t just in my head.”
Claude looked at me painfully.
“Please, Claude. If I mean anything to you…”
“You do,” he said, cutting me off.
“Then what?”
“I thought you could see it. I’m here.”
“But I need to hear it. From you,” I said, touching his chest. “So please, what are you?”
Claude thought about my question. Taking a deep breath, he said,
“Well, I’m not straight. I think that ship has sailed.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t think I’m gay,” he said apprehensively.
“What makes you think you’re not?”
“Women. Have you seen them?”
“I have. What’s your point?”
“Right. Gay. My point is that for most of my life, I liked women.”
“Have you ever been with a woman?” I asked, not knowing how I would feel hearing that he had.
“Have you?” he countered.
“You know I have.”
“And now you’re gay. So, what does having been with a woman prove?”
“Nothing, I guess. But it would at least tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Fine. I have been with women.”
I thought about that, letting it process.
“When?” I challenged when it had.
“During university.”
