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I grab Theo’s wrist and brake. “Come on, it’s me. You don’t have to keep up the act about the birds . . . or bees . . . damn it, you don’t have to fake interest in girls anymore.”
“I’m not faking interest,” Theo says. “I’m pretty sure I’m bisexual.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew. I had crushes and stuff, though I guess I talked about that stuff more with Wade.”
Wade’s smile has vanished. He’s stone-faced now, which is actually great because I might flip out if he laughed at Theo and me about this. Getting caught by my dad while we’re buying condoms is one thing; feeling my relationship threatened is another.
“I figured those crushes were covers,” I say in the silence. I did the same thing he did; I thought girls were cool and everything, but I didn’t think I actually had the right heart to date them.
“Well, they weren’t.” Theo looks genuinely puzzled. “I’m sorry you got the truth mixed up. Why does it even matter? I’m dating you, Griff.”
I glance at Wade, but he’s glued to his phone. I don’t like that I didn’t know this essential truth about Theo. I know there’s more to him than I can ever capture and keep close to me, like his fleeting thoughts or his conversations with other people, but this is bigger. It’s so central to his heart, one of my favorite things about him—the way he loves me, the way he loves his parents and sister, the way he loves the squad, the way he loves discovering life’s mysteries and solving them.
This flips everything around, right?
I let go of his wrist. “It’s stupid, but it feels like more competition.” I feel like I’m going up against the entire world, that there’s no way I’m the absolute best fit for him on this planet. I at least thought I’d be able to see a new guy swooping in, but now I have to be suspicious of everyone. I have things I don’t want to know but have to know. “What’s your type? Girlwise.”
“I don’t know what kind of girls I like, Griffin, because I think my type is just good people, period.” His voice softens. “I’m sorry we never had a real conversation about this, but trust me that this isn’t something all that serious in my head. It’s not keeping me up at night because I’m happy with you, and I’m not counting on someone better coming along.” Theo grabs my hands. There’s no lightness to his voice, only conviction. “Please don’t feel threatened.”
He kisses my cheek.
I believe him, in this moment, but it’s what can happen in the future that chokes me a little. I’m not going to say anything, though. Being paranoid can’t possibly take me anywhere good.
I kiss his cheek.
“Was that supposed to be a fight?” Wade asks. He doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone, but I appreciate his being here to lighten the mood. “Not enough blood.”
We walk in silence for a bit.
“Griff?” Theo says finally.
“Yeah?”
“Two important things going forward.”
“What’s up?”
“One: We only order condoms online from here on out. Two: We’re definitely never using those condoms your father bought us.”
TODAY
Thursday, November 24th, 2016
I thought nothing could beat the weirdness of last year’s Thanksgiving. You were supposed to fly back to New York to bounce between our families’ dinners. It was our tradition. Instead, you stayed out in California and joined Jackson’s family for the night. Your parents were bummed, Denise was bummed, Wade was bummed, I was bummed; we were all really freaking bummed because it was the first time we were going to see you since August. But we didn’t give you shit for it because you said you really needed to concentrate on homework—specifically your animation, the one about the warrior fishermen catching dragon eggs in a volcano, which you ultimately abandoned anyway.
My entire Thanksgiving was spent at my aunt’s apartment, wondering if you were liking Jackson’s family, why you were becoming so obsessed with Jackson himself. It wasn’t a comfortable headspace. Suffocating, actually, but you were alive and still the endgame. I’d go back in time for those problems.
My aunt’s apartment is hell-hot like usual. “Happy Thanksgiving, Rosie.”
I’ll never forget the first time you met Rosie, confusing her for a slimmer version of my mother, who was heavier at the time, congratulating her on all her lost weight, which everyone found funny, even Mom. Rosie may be half a decade older than my mom, but she’s been consistently going to the gym, and I think I can even feel some abs coming in as we hug.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Griffin,” she says, squeezing me. She tries to look me in the eye but I completely detach, so she greets my parents, giving my mom a kiss. Their sisterhood has always made me want a sibling. Grieving would probably feel a little less lonely if I could turn to someone my own age, maybe a little older and wiser and scarred from battles I’m fighting for the first time. Maybe I wouldn’t have done the things I’ve done.
The kitchen smells like cornbread and gravy (for the mashed potatoes you obsessed over); there’s turkey, stuffing, mac’n’cheese I won’t ever touch, yellow rice, and then I’m hit with the sweetness of the cranberry sauce. I throw off my jacket, but the kitchen is still baking me alive because I’m in your hoodie, so I make my way out into the living room. My little cousins charge me, trying to climb my legs. I don’t have smiles for them. I can barely even get their names straight because I see them so rarely. They live upstate and their names all begin with R, an insane tradition that is eventually going to lead to kids named Rasputin or Raiden from Mortal Kombat. I soldier through the hugs and sympathies from my older cousins, but my grandma is the one who really wears me out.
“Griffin, come sit,” she requests, patting the air because there’s nowhere beside her I can actually sit. I crouch, letting her take my hand with both of hers.
