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I wagged my finger back and forth and then set it back on top of his lips because I liked the way his stubble tickled against my skin when I was drunk. “Lies. When have you ever seen me do that?”
He pointed at the bowl of tuna salad with a single, finger-sized scoop missing.
“That’s circumstantial evidence at best.”
“I can smell it right now,” He mumbled through closed lips, his finger pointing at mine.
“That could be anything, and you know it,” I scoffed.
His tongue darted out and connected with my index finger. “There’s a chunk of white albacore on my tongue that begs to differ.”
I tilted my head toward the sky and groaned. “You’re impossible.” I yanked the box from his hand and took out the ring, sliding it on my finger. It didn’t make it past my knuckle, but I didn’t give a damn. He was back. He was in this, just as deeply as I was. I reached up, stroking his chin. “Yes. It’s a bit fast, even by my standards, but yes.”
Gray looked like he was going to be sick. “That’s not—I wasn’t asking you to marry me.”
I stared at him, trying to make the words fit together in my mind. It was like a broken puzzle he expected me to construct right at that very moment, and I resented him for it. He’d given me a ring. A hideous ring, but a ring, nonetheless. I looked down at the silver band fashioned with a pink, princess-cut gem. It was tiny. Much smaller than any of my fingers.
Then, clarity. The drunken haze shifted, allowing through rays of revelation.
“Oh,” I said. “Sarah.”
His fingers brushed against my palm, and for a second, I thought he was going to hold it. That he would take my hand in his and offer me this one final courtesy. His tightly-gripped hand, my consolation prize. Instead, he reached for the ring. When he pulled it away from me, it was like he was taking every bit of hope I had left in me. I wanted to shout at him. To look him dead in the eyes and say,“You can’t take it back. Please don’t take it back. It’s mine. It’s supposed to be you and me.”
“It’s not your ring. Please don’t make this harder. It’s already hard enough.”
“What?” My cheeks burned as I realized I’d spoken the sad, desperate words that had been swimming through my drunken mind.
He scooted back and pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. It was like he was shielding himself from me. “I’ve told you over and over, Kent. I can’t be what you’re wanting. I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”
“So you’re marrying her to … what? To prove a point? That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m proposing to her because I love her.” Nothing in his voice gave those words credence. They weren’t his. It was like he was reading from a script.
“You’re gay, Gray. This isn’t just about me. You’re roping a woman into this. She thinks you’re straight. How the hell is lying to her okay, but being with someone you actually love isn’t? Are you going to tell her, or are you just going to wait until the honeymoon and let her find out for herself when you can’t get it up?”
“She already knows.” He turned his gaze to the lake, staring at it as if it held some magical words that might pull him out of this hole he’d dug for himself. “She’s known since the beginning. We’ve been working through it together. She understands what I’m going through.” I had no idea what the hell that statement meant, and I didn’t care enough to ask for clarification. Instead, I said nothing. I just sat there like a heartbroken mess of a man. “Say something, Half-pint. Please?”
I dug my fingernails into my thighs. “You’re gay. There’s not enough prayer in the world to change that.” I grabbed the bottle and took another chug.
“Kent.” He let out a sigh. “I want to be your friend. I cherish our friendship—more than you know. I don’t want to lose what we’ve got.” He closed his eyes and squeezed his arms tighter around his knees. “If you can’t get past this, I don’t know where we go from here.”
“IfIcan’t get past this?” I shook my head because it was all I could think to do. He was threatening me. Taking away what he’d given willingly. Like it was all on me. Like I was the only active participant in whatever the hell game we’d been playing the past few months. He spoke in the background, but all that I heard were ducks splashing against the lake’s surface. Squirrels jolting up tree bark. The world passing me by while I held on for dear life. “I want to go home.”
His hand brushed against my knee and I forced a smile before standing up and reaching for my towel. I wrapped it around me, suddenly feeling like my entire body was on display.
“I really think I’d like to go home now,” I said again.
“We can talk about this. If it’ll help, we can talk it through.”
I shook my head again. Bending down, I started flinging opened containers of food into the duffle bag. The sooner we packed up, the sooner we could leave. “I’m fine. Promise. I’m happy for you.”
“You’re crying,” he said, reaching for my face like he was going to wipe my cheek.
“Happy tears.”
“Kent.” His voice came across as if he were scolding me. Like I’d just made another social blunder. This was killing me. I was losing him again, and it was killing me. And there he was, trying to make me feel even worse.
Well, fuck that.
