Harlyn
I'm on a high for the rest of the day. The rest of the week, actually. Every time Finley texts or we see each other in person, my knees go just a little bit wobbly, and I'm sure I grin my head off. We meet for lunch after our morning classes, and I do my best to recount my thoughts about him the last few weeks without blushing or stuttering too much. He smiles shyly the whole time, switching between staring at me in complete awe and staring at his lap.
And we talk about logistics. As I am still completely terrified of whatever this new thing is going on in my life, we agree to no public displays of affection for now. And it seems to go without saying that we won't be doing anything in front of Max or Elly, although that limits our choices as far as spending time together. Max literally lives at my house, and they have almost identical schedules, with the exception of a couple lectures and seminars. But over the next few days, we manage to meet up on campus a couple times and he comes to McDonald's once for my lunch break.
So far, no more kissing or hand holding, which is, to put it mildly, killing me. Because now that I can, it's all I want to do. Not even just kissing. I just want to hug him and hold his hand and...hold him. But the thought of doing it in front of people is terrifying. So, I resist. And resort to flirting over text - which makes him adorably flustered - any chance I get.
"Are we looking for anything specific?" I ask, thumbing through a rack of clothes at Elly's favorite charity shop.
"Not really. Just browsing," Elly says from the other side of the rack. She's holding up a black dress and looking it up and down.
"Cool." A glass case of coins catches my eye, and I drift over to look at them. As I'm scrutinizing one, my phone vibrates. A text from Finley.
Finley:
Tower of London = Intoxicating.
I turn farther from Elly so she can't see my smile.
Me:
Not as intoxicating as you. But go on.
Finley:
Stop. You're making me blush in front of max. He's already suspicious.
My grin falls, and I look at Elly. She's deep in another rack of clothes. I want to tell Elly first. That would be ideal. But...I still have no idea how to do it. I don't know how to form the words when I don't even know what words to use. I've been trying, really trying. But my mind seems to freeze up every time I think too hard. I need to have a conversation with Finley about this. As if he can sense my worry, Finley texts again.
Finley:
Noy like that. I just mean he knows I like you. He always teases me when we text. It's harder to tell him it's nothing now that it's something.
It's supposed to make me feel better. But it makes me feel worse. Not only am I keeping this from my best friend, I'm asking him to keep something from his best friend.
Me:
I'm sorry.
I pocket my phone without waiting for a response. Elly appears next to me with a black shimmery shirt.
"What do you think?" she asks.
"Um, it's nice," I say.
Elly rolls her eyes. "That is so helpful, Harley. Truly." She scrutinizes the top again.
"Yes, well, I've always been hopeless with clothes," I remind her. "I don't know why you bring me shopping anymore."
"Because I miss you," she says, flashing me a look. "It's been even worse this term."
I duck my head. "I know."
"It's both of us. We've been busy," she says, laying a hand on my arm. "I didn't mean it to make you feel bad." I look up at her. "I just meant that even though you are abysmal at fashion, I want to spend time with you. So here we are."
"Ok," I say, smiling sadly.
"Now." She holds up the top. "I'm going out to a party with Max tonight. Does this work? Or should I stick with something from my closet?"
I frown. "Wait, you're going to a party tonight? With Max?"
"Yeah." She lays the shirt over her chest. "He just asked what I was up to tonight and asked to come along. Is that ok?"
"Of course. You don't need my permission," I say. "I was just surprised."
"Well, he's a sweet guy. And fun. I'm excited to show him off a bit." She grins. "Plus, this is the first time my other hallmates have invited me to a party they're going to. It's a big step."
"El, that's great," I say.
She smiles a bit shyly. "I know. Now that I think about it, I don't think this is the shirt for that." She wanders over to hang it back up. I check my phone again.
Finley:
Don't apologize. I shouldn't have brought it up.
Me:
It's fine. Really. I just feel bad I'm making you keep this from him.
Finley:
Harlyn I don't mind. This is something you get to decide. Not me.
I hover my thumbs over my phone. He's right, of course. But that doesn't erase the feeling that I'm completely failing at this whole dating thing. Again. Thankfully, I don't have to answer, because he texts again.
Finley:
Do you want to come over tonight?
My stomach does a weird half excited half nervous flip. We would be alone. Actually alone. I mean, besides his host mom. But alone. I could kiss him and hug him and not be completely self conscious of people watching or Max suddenly appearing out of the woodwork for no reason. But we would also be alone for the first time since Tuesday morning. And that's...nerve wracking. I'm not sure why. It's Finley. And honestly, the desire to be with him wins out over the nerves by a long shot.
Me:
Sure. When do you get back?
Finley:
We're waiting for the train now. And then I'll walk home. 7:30?
Me:
Sounds good.
Finley:
I hate to make you walk that far.
Me:
It's fine. I don't care if you're at the end of it.
Finley:
Seriously. Stop flirting so hard.
But I'm not going to stop. I have to make sure he knows how in this I am, even while I figure out this new part of me.
"Harlyn?" Elly calls from the door. "Are you ready?"
We emerge into the chilly air. The snow has finally melted, but it's still March. And Elly still buttons her coat right up to her chin.
"So, you're going to drink at this party, I assume?" I say gently.
She looks at me curiously. "Um. Probably. Why?"
"I just..." I trail off.
"Spit it out, babes. Nothing you can't say to me," she says.
"I know. I just don't want to upset you."
She stops and turns to me, giving me a playful look. "That never stopped you before."
I shove my hands in my pockets. "Well, the last time we went drinking - the last few times actually - you've...drank a lot." The last time was Club Chemistry. She got "throwing up drunk" - which rarely happened to Elly - and Polly and Francesca walked her home. I've wanted to bring it up, but I haven't known how.
"Did I?" she asks, scuffing her toe on the sidewalk. "I'm sorry."
I take her shoulders, so she'll look at me. "I'm not looking for an apology, El. I just want to make sure you're ok. Like you said, we've been busy. I want to make sure you know you can still tell me anything."
"I know. I'm alright. I promise," she says. A slow smile stretches her lips. "That still goes for you, too, Harley. You know that right?"
I smile, trying to make sure it's genuine and not too sad. "I know."
"Good," she says, jerking her head forward to emphasize the word. "Now, shall we eat before I have to get back?"
***
A squat woman answers the door when I get to Finley's. "Oh, hello. What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to see Finley. I'm a...friend of his," I say.
Her face clears of confusion. "Oh, you must be Harlyn. He mentioned you were coming around. Come in. Come in."
I step into the kitchen and start sliding off my shoes. "And you must be Amelia."
Looking around the room, all I can think about is the last time I stood in here, telling Finley I liked him, discussing what that meant, waiting with bated breath until he told me liked me back. The touch of his fingers on my face...
"Oh, yes. Where are my manners?" She holds out her hand, and I shake it. "Amelia Norman. Pleasure to meet another of Finley's friends."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, too." I can't help but smile. "I can see why Finley brags about you so much."
She grins and waves a hand at me. "Oh, he's too sweet. Putting up with an old woman."
"Well, he is too sweet," I agree. "But I think he's spot on about you."
Finley appears in the doorway, a bit out of breath. "Talking about me?"
Amelia smiles. "Bragging about you, dear. And this one is flattering me after only knowing me for five seconds."
"Well, he is an excellent judge of character," Finley says, grinning at me.
"In you, of course," Amelia says. She wanders over and squeezes Finley's forearm. "I'll leave the two of you alone to go do whatever you young men do. I'm going to finish my Churchill biography. I'm tantalizingly close." With that, she wanders into a room across from the kitchen and closes the door behind her. And we're alone. And I'm less than five feet from Finley. And I don't have to look over my shoulder.
"Do whatever you young men do," I whisper, smiling. "What will that be, then?"
Finley grins, lunging forward to grab my hand and pull me upstairs. It's my first time past the kitchen, and I try to take it all in. But it's dark, so all I see is flashes - the window on the landing, the bathroom. And then we're in Finley's room. He closes the door behind me. And finally, his arms are around my waist, and he's kissing me. And all of my worries fall away. All I can think about is his lips on mine, his hands on my back. And his hair. I could run my hands through it forever.
"What was that for?" I ask when he pulls back, still holding his face in my hands.
"Just doing what young men do," he answers. He pulls my hands down and leads me across the room. It's bigger than mine, but there's not much more in it. A bed. A wardrobe. A dresser. A desk with papers and his laptop scattered across it.
"What are you working on?" I ask, peeking at his screen.
He closes the computer. "My blog post about today. I just started it. It's not ready yet."
"I don't get to see the first draft?" I pout.
"No," he says firmly. "No one sees the first draft but me." I stick out my bottom lip. "Stop that. You've been flirting with me all day, and now you're trying to wear me down. It won't work."
"The flirting?" I ask, hanging my coat on his desk chair.
"No, the flirting has already worked," he says, climbing onto his bed and sitting against the wall. "Couldn't you tell by how quickly I kissed you once we were alone?"
I sit gingerly on the edge of the chair, not sure if I should sit with him on the bed. "I did notice, yes."
He smiles, and I search his face. There's awkwardness there, too, and I let my shoulders relax a little. We're both nervous.
"Was that...ok?" he asks, fingers tugging on his shirt sleeve.
"Of course, it was," I say.
He squints at me. "Then why are you so far away?" I'm glad to hear teasing in his tone, but I don't know how to answer.
"I...don't know how to do this," I admit. "Here, anyway. This is the first time we've done this. Like this."
He smiles. "I know. It's...weird. Good weird. New." There's a pause. "Jared and I never did anything like this. Going to my house was out of the question, and he never wanted me to go to his. We went out mostly."
"And all my girlfriends were in school. It was never like this," I say. He bites the inside of his cheek. "Does me talking about them bother you?"
"No." He says it too quickly. "Not...really. Just new." He smiles and lets out a rush of air. "There's a lot of new lately."
"Don't I know it," I say.
He takes a deep breath before patting the bed beside him. Cautiously, I join him, sitting crisscross against his pillows so my knees just barely touch his thigh. He slides his hand into mine. This is better.
"You've been down today. What's up?"
"How did you know I've been down?" I ask.
He stares at me searchingly. "Well, between the flirty texts, you were only giving one or two word answers. Very unlike you."
"You know me too well already," I tease. He doesn't say anything, so I take a deep breath. "I'm just trying to figure out myself. And it's hard."
"Could you tell me what you've got so far?" I squeeze my eyes closed. "You don't have to."
"No, I want to," I say. "God, you have no idea how much I want to. But it's like...the words get stuck in my head, and my mouth won't say them."
"I understand that."
"I highly doubt it," I say. I try not to grumble, but I do, so I add, "You just...always say what you're thinking. You're able to work yourself out and...put it in words. I'm not a writer. I'm not like that."
"Harlyn." His hand leaves mine and moves to my cheek, prompting me to open my eyes. "It wasn't always that way. I've always been...introspective. And I've always loved words. But you should have seen me in my first few therapy sessions. Eliza had to pry things out of me. But it got easier."
I cover his hand with mine. "I hope so. Because I really do want to talk about all of this. Need to, actually."
"You were just fine talking to me about me the other day, your crush on me, how it started. All of that."
"But that was you. I can talk all day about you. Us." I pull his hand down so I can play with his fingers in my lap.
"Well, start with that then," he says. "Has there ever been anyone else? Like me?"
"There's no one else like you, Finley."
He rolls his eyes. "I mean, have you ever liked other boys? I know you've said you couldn't think of any, but...have any cropped up in your memories?" I search my mind again. It freezes, stops working, just as it has every time I've tried to think about this. I clench my eyes closed again. "Take your time."
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. There's something there, poking at the back of my brain, but I can't quite grasp it. Finley strokes the back of my hand. It takes a moment, a long agonizing moment, and then a face floats into my mind. "Larson."
"Hm?"
I open my eyes again, willing the words to actually make it out of my mouth. "Larson Keen. He was in primary school with me. We were young. I don't think I really knew what a crush was then. But thinking about it now. I guess it was." Our eyes meet. "A short one. An eight year old's crush."
"But something," he says. He searches my eyes again. "You know, even if you hadn't ever liked a boy before me or you don't ever like a boy after me, that doesn't mean you're not gay. Or bi. Or whatever you come to identify with. It's a spectrum. Everyone's still figuring it out."
I move positions, curling up in a ball and lying my head in Finley's lap. "Are you still figuring it out?"
"Mm. Sometimes," he says, his fingers immediately finding my curls. "Not really with what I am. I'm pretty definitely gay. But with other things. What it means to be gay. What stereotypes there are. Which ones I fall into. Which ones I don't."
"Oh, yes. I get that, too. Like earlier, Elly took me shopping," I say. "And she asked for my opinion. She always does. And I just said it looked fine. I've always been hopeless when it comes to clothes. I mean, I get by fine. But I'm not an expert or anything. Isn't that a - a gay stereotype?"
"Well, yes. But it doesn't mean you're not gay. Or not gay enough." He shakes his head, staring at the opposite wall, unblinking. "There's no one way to be gay. No two ways. Everyone is different. Straight people are all different. People are all different." He looks down at me. "You get to decide who you are. Not anyone else."
I quirk an eyebrow at him. "You should listen to your own advice, mate."
He sighs dramatically. "I know. But giving it is so much easier than taking it," he moans. I laugh. He rests his hand on my chest, and the weight and warmth are comforting. "What else has been on your mind today?"
"Oh, lots of things. Telling Elly. How to tell Elly. You finally being able to tell Max. I'm -"
"Don't you dare say 'I'm sorry,' Harlyn Evans," he interrupts. "It's what I was telling you earlier. You get to decide. No one else. The time will come. That's all that matters."
"What if the time never comes?" I ask. "What if I'm never ready?"
He sets his face in determination. "Then all of this will be our secret."
"I won't keep it a secret forever," I say, a tiny bit terrified at the prospect of asking him to do that. That he would do that. Of course, I never would. "But thank you."
"You're welcome." He smiles again.
"And thank you for...this." His eyebrows furrow in question. "For giving me a safe place to think. To speak. For just...being here. I guess. It's nice to have that." I pause. "I mean, I do have that. With Elly. And Mum. And Dad. But this is different. You get it. At least a little."
"Get what? Being gay?" he teases.
"Yes," I laugh. "But you also understand figuring yourself out in a way that I don't think I could talk about with Elly or Mum or Dad. Not now anyway. You're pretty special." I wink at him.
He blushes. "You're not too bad yourself."
We sit there in silence for a while before deciding to watch a movie. Finley sets one up on his computer, and we sit side by side, Finley's head on my shoulder and his hand in mine. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I haven't thought about Larson Keen in years. At the time, I thought we were just really good friends. But putting it together with how I feel sitting here with Finley...a lot lines up.
He gets up to turn off his laptop as the credits start rolling.
"Finley?"
He stretches his arms above his head. "Hm?"
"How did you know?" I ask.
He squints at me, sitting in his desk chair. "How did I know...what?"
Where did I mean for that sentence to go? "Well, first, how did you know that you were gay?"
"Oh, well..." He takes a deep breath. "I'd like to say I always knew. But how was I supposed to know as an eight year old what a crush was." He smiles at me. "In hindsight, I kind of always knew. But it wasn't until I was thirteen that I learned what being gay meant and that it was normal. Normal enough to have a word. My dad had a co-worker who was gay and married a guy. He was telling my mom about it. And I kind of latched onto that. It explained a lot. That I wasn't having crushes on everyone at school like Max and Holly were. I mean, I was. But I didn't talk about it, because it was always on other guys. And since then..." He shrugs.
"Hm."
"And second?"
"How did you know that you liked me?" I ask, and he bows his head to hide a smile. "I mean, I told you all about me, but you haven't told me about you."
"Well," he sighs. "I thought you were cute the first time I met you." I gape at him, and he laughs, finally coming back to join me on the bed. "Don't look so shocked. You make a great first impression."
"Oh, yeah," I drawl. "After I thought you were a girl. And I came home smelling like grease. So impressive."
He giggles, settling on his knees between my legs. "It was very impressive. And after that...I mean, it was all downhill. I denied it for a long time. I've crushed on straight guys before, and it always ended in disappointment when they got a girlfriend. So, I tried to ignore it. But that didn't work either. And it's not healthy. So, I admitted it. And it got harder and harder to be around you, thinking I'd never be able to do something like this." He leans forward and kisses me softly.
"What past Finley must think of us now," I joke as he pulls back.
"Oh, he is bouncing off the walls in excitement and hasn't slept in three days," he says.
"How did you know that I liked you? I mean, you said you...hoped. What made you hope?" I ask.
"Well, a couple things. One, Max insisted over and over that there was obviously something there." I laugh. "And then you laid your head on me when we were playing in the snow."
I rub my hand over the back of my neck. I forgot about that.
"Yeah, I couldn't really resist that day."
He smirks at me. "And then, when we were watching the Oscars at Elly's, you let me lay on your shoulder. And then you fell asleep on mine. Like...practically cuddled me." I blush harder. "I still brushed it all off, because I didn't want to get my hopes up, but...I did notice."
"I, uh, wasn't all that subtle, was I?" Before Finley can say anything else, my phone rings. I frown at the caller ID. "Um, it's Max."
"Oh..." He furrows his eyebrows and awkwardly maneuvers over my leg.
"Hello?" I answer.
"Harlyn!" Max exclaims. "M'Sorry to call so late, but like...Elly and I are at this party and...I don't know if I can get her home. Or if I can get home. We've -" he lets out a high pitched giggle "- had a bit to drink and, uh, I don't think it would be good to walk home like this."
I'm already off the bed, grabbing my coat from the back of the desk chair. "Ok, we'll be there. Where are you?"
"We?" he asks.
I swear under my breath and lock eyes with Finley. He shrugs. "Erm, me and Finley. Where are you?" I hope he skirts past the first part and actually gives me a place, but of course, he latches on.
"You and Finley are together? It's like midnight, dude," he says, sounding far too excited.
"Yeah, we got together to study for that history class we have together, and ended up watching a movie," I lie. Finley is holding his breath.
"Lame," Max says, drawing out the word with so much frustration I almost laugh. "I don't believe you, but whatever. I'll text you the address."
"Alright, mate. Stay there. Watch after Elly."