"So you're gay?"
My whole body stiffened as I rifled through my drawers. It was just after Dallas and I had swam together. We had laid out in the sun, not speaking, just reading our own respective literatures. I had finished the bottle of champagne and was feeling like I was walking on clouds. When I'd had enough of the beating sun, I declared I was going up to change.
Dallas decided to join me.
I replied without turning around. "Is that a problem?"
"No, no, of course not," he said and I sighed in relief. The very last thing I needed was to find out that the man I was forced to share a room with was disgusted by me. "I just didn't expect it is all."
I found some shorts and boxers, my usual garb, and grabbed my bath towel. I was going to walk out of the room when an unexpected hand grabbed my arm. My skin immediately littered with goosebumps as I turned to face him.
Those feverishly blue eyes bored into mine. "I don't want you to think it matters," he said. I opened my mouth to speak but couldn't even think with him looking at me like that. "We're cool?"
I just nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak in fear of my voice being gone. He let go of my arm and I walked straight out, locking myself in the bathroom so quick. I took a deep breath.
Don't overthink it. Do not. Overthinking it will make you crazy. Too late.
One of my many toxic traits was thinking that every man had the hots for me. I wouldn't verbalize it or even manifest it, but in my head I would take an innocent gesture–such as grabbing my arm and staring into my eyes, insisting you're a gay ally–as plain evidence that I bagged another straight man. It was stupid, reckless, and ultimately self-destructive in the long run. I couldn't help it.
He was gone when I got back into the room. That was probably for the best.
I brought my journal downstairs with me to fix something to eat. From the sound of it, the majority of my housemates were back. Grace's son was whining about not wanting to take a nap. Ashton, Frasier, and Chris were down in the kitchen.
"Bro, we're thinking of going bar hopping later," Chris said to me when I walked in with my head down. "You gotta come. It'll be like the old days when we had our fakes."
"I'm good," I said.
"Come on," he groaned. "You can't stay in the house the entire summer. We're in Florida, man. Just come out with us, have some drinks, and if you want to leave, I'll buy you an Uber."
I didn't really want to. Especially since I was still coming down from the champagne that I'd sucked down. I guessed if I played my cards right, I could squeeze in a nap before going. It wouldn't hurt going out every once in a while, I supposed.
My mind wasn't made up, though. "I don't know."
Dallas walked in with wet hair and clean clothes. I didn't look at him, much like I didn't spare Frasier one glance since walking in. I turned my back and started putting together a sandwich.
"Dallas, you wanna go bar-hopping tonight?"
With my back turned, I couldn't see anybody's reactions, but I was surprised when I heard him ask, "Is Thomas going?" My back straightened and I squeezed a little too hard on the mayo bottle.
"I'm trying to convince him," Chris grumbled.
"Who's Thomas?" Ashton asked obliviously.
"Meek," Frasier laughed. I wish he wouldn't say my name.
I completed my masterpiece of a sammie and turned around finally to find everyone looking at me. God damn it. With the pressure on, I always said yes. I sighed and held my journal closer to my chest. "Alright, fine," I said and started walking out the door. I was going to eat, nap, then I'd see how I felt.
"Then I'm in," I heard Dallas say just before I stepped out on the balcony.
Don't overthink it.
I enjoyed my lunch with the view of the ocean. With nobody outside with me, I wrote in my journal. It wasn't a very eventful week, but I mentioned the pool guy and Dallas and having to go out. My plan was to get very drunk and not even remember going. That could be easy enough, especially if Chris buys my drinks.
At one point I found myself distracted by the patterns of the waves straight ahead. It was bewildering to think that the ocean changes every day, but will always stay the same. The same shells and sand may deteriorate or get carried along in somebody's bikini bottoms, but it will still be the great Atlantic.
I wondered if the same could be said about people.
Erick has matured since high school, sure, and while he was somewhat of a player amongst the ladies back then, he was now a loyal, devoted husband and father. He was still Erick. I may have been more outgoing and sociable two years ago, but now I preferred solitude. Was I the same me? Or someone I didn't even know anymore . . .
"Heard you're coming out tonight."
I glanced over to find Erick walking out of the kitchen. I closed my journal and nodded solemnly. "Couldn't say no to Chris begging on his hands and knees," I joked, leaning back in my chair.
"It's just gonna be the boys," Erick grinned, taking a seat across from me. "The girls are gonna stay home with the kids and drink wine or something. Meaning it's gonna be fucking crazy. We could stop by that gay club, or whatever, just for you."
I snorted. I could name one person in this house that wouldn't be caught dead at a gay establishment. His name started with an F.
"We're not doing that," I said, shaking my head.
"Come on. You're the only single one on this trip. Take advantage! Get some ass–or, give some ass? I don't know what you do. Just do it," he said. I rolled my eyes at his antics. Then he smiled mischievously. "You think I don't know about how you used to sneak around about your hookups in college. But I knew. I knew everything."
I offered an unimpressed look. "You knew nothing."
"I knew some," he winked.
We sat out there for maybe an hour, just talking about the old days and the trouble we used to get into. There was something about reminiscing about the past while sitting at a beach house with no responsibilities that was just sort of serene. My plan of a nap was spoiled, but it didn't matter. With everything going on, I never got to just talk to my friends like that anymore.
Maybe that was why I couldn't tell if I'd changed or not. I was so caught up in my own shit: working, trying to get enough sleep at night, managing my bills. I was focused on the big picture, never allowing myself the pleasure of focusing on the little things.
"Do you think I've changed?"
Erick frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Like, compared to, I don't know, six years ago. Do you think I've changed?"
He looked over my face for a moment. I looked past him at the exploding sunset, pinks and purples cascading over the ocean.
"I think so," he finally settled with. "But for the better. I think you're more comfortable with yourself than you were back then. Maybe not in all the ways, but certainly up here." Erick pointed to his forehead.
I hummed, continuing to stare out at the ocean. Perhaps there was some truth to his words. My insecurities plagued me more often than not. But back then I was so in denial of who I was that I let it blind me. If I was confident in my looks, or my smarts, I could ignore the truth. But now that–my sexuality, the fate that kept me up at night–was simply how it was. Everything else was the problem now.
The truth was that I would never love myself. I would never look in the mirror and think, Wow. I wouldn't see myself how my friends did, or how my future husband would.
But at least I knew who I was. Sort of. Sometimes.
"Well, you've changed, too," I said, turning to making light on the subject as one of my many coping mechanisms. Erick cocked an eyebrow and I could tell he knew what was coming. "You've
got about fifty extra pounds of dad weight, brother."
We laughed and laughed until the sun went down. It was dark, which meant it was time to go. The night had only just begun.