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“What is a situationship?”
“I’m not your dictionary.”
Huan gives me a flat look. “I’m not much older than you. Four years, three weeks apart.”
“Three weeks,” I say. “That makes your birthday?—”
“Right before this trip.”
“I didn’t know that. Did you do anything to celebrate?”
“I did.”
“Please, tell me more. I'm riveted.”
He glances into the corner. Knowing baseboards aren’t scintillating visual fodder, I study Huan and realize he’s shifting weight between his feet. As if he is uncomfortable—and with the flush in his cheeks—perhaps embarrassed? He’s holding something back. Interesting. Escape forgotten, I dig in—metaphorically—with my nails sensing imminent blackmail potential. Maybe this is worth it.
“This is exactly the knowledge I need to know as your pretend girlfriend,” I coax.
“Rachel isn’t going to demand information about my birthday.”
“She’s got chaotic curiosity.”
We engage in another staring contest. I win.
“Fine—I… invited my close friends over and made sausages for them.”
Before I can make any sort of clever pun, he adds, “Handmade chorizo, kielbasa, merguez. You can freeze them or gift them.”
My hand goes to my mouth. I can’t help it. “Do you and your friends pre-cook everything and bring it over, or is this a group cooking activity?”
“I don’t like anyone in the kitchen when I’m there.”
“So, massaging sausages is your alone activity?”
He covers his face, as if regretting this entire conversation.
Giggles break out of me. “I amsoenjoying this image of you in an apron, working with sausages and probably a sourdough starter. You do have one, don’t you? You must. Don’t disappoint me, Huan.”
He taps me on the arm like it will help me refocus. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk about."
My shoulders shake as I get myself under control again. “Fine. We should get out of here. I’m surprised no one has knocked on the door.” There are other bathrooms down the hallway, but still. “Tell me,” I say, sighing. “What do you want to talk about?”
He rubs his jaw. "What I want to know is… about you. But—it—it might betoxic masculinityagain. Just, I can’t think of a way around it, and I’ve been trying hard figuring out how to.”
He looks so uncomfortable that I wave my hand.Go ahead.
“You sure?” he wonders.
“Sure.”
“Alright. It’s… I’ve guarded you for a while, so I recognize how great you are at adapting to all kinds of situations. You say and do the right thing.” Huan reaches up to rub his temple a few times. “But—if it’s ever pretend, you don’t need to. Don’t zip on a suit tailored to what you think I need because ofmyfeelings or what isproper. Like if that piece of shit hurt you, and you are not over it, you don’t have to be okay or cool or funny. That’s… all I want to say.”
Zip on a suit, I think, mentally rocked back.That’s what I do.
He knows.
Outside is pretend, and the inside is real.
