0.26 - Saturday 5:59 p.m.
Maverick Bale
I adjust the neckline of my sweater, wishing the night would get colder so I wouldn't feel so hot. My fingers shake as I text Rhys that I'm outside.
Why am I so nervous? I've asked myself this question all day. It's not like I haven't spent time with Rhys before, but this seems different. Not to mention that we're boyfriends now. Boyfriends. The word is always casually tossed around, but I don't think most of us really know what it means.
The door opens. Rhys steps out, grey button-down tucked into dark jeans. He looks up and smiles, a soft, unsure curl of his lips that takes my breath away. I didn't know that could still happen.
"Hey," Rhys says when I stay quiet.
"Ready?" I ask, and Rhys nods, and I let loose a breath in relief. We walk side by side to the sidewalk. "I ordered an Uber. It should get here in a few minutes."
Rhys nods. Silence falls. We haven't been this awkward since our brief fight. I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say.
"I...I─the Uber's here," I finish lamely, pointing to the small black Prius rolling up the street. Rhys jerks his head in a nod and we both start toward the door at the same time, and then stutter to a stop.
"You first," I say, stepping back with a smirk. Rhys flushes pink and flips me off.
The Uber ride flies by in silence, both of us staring out the window. Should I try to hold his hand? It's laying right beside his leg, but is it just me, or is the Uber driver glancing up to his rearview mirror a lot?
I should probably say something about where we're going, but the Uber pulls to a stop before I can speak. I get out, then wait for Rhys to follow. The Uber drives off, leaving us in front of a well-known Italian restaurant. It's not too formal, but nice enough that most families like to have dinner here for birthdays and other celebrations. At Hilltop it's a go-to for first dates.
I walk up to the front door, palms sweating. My whole face feels hot, and it's like my body has lost all coordination. Maybe this is a side effect from my concussion?
Rhys follows after me, quiet and tentative, taking unsure footsteps a pace after mine. I've reserved a table, so I just say my name at the reception desk. The hostess, a young woman with glasses and a bright smile, ushers us to a small booth in the corner of the restaurant. We take our seats and grab the menus. I pretend to look over the options even though I already know what I want to order. Rhys does the same.
I should probably start the conversation. I mean, I was the one who asked him out on a date, so I should put in the effort to make him feel comfortable. Fuck, I hate this dating shit.
"So—" I start, just as Rhys says, "How—"
We both laugh awkwardly. I take the opportunity to force Rhys to start the conversation. "You first," I say. Rhys blushes, and I think that maybe this won't be so bad.
"I was just wondering if you came out to your family," Rhys says. Oh. Rhys had texted me earlier telling me that he came out to everyone and that it was mostly fine, especially with his mom. That's basically code for, it's as good as it can be given that their son is gay. I didn't bother texting Rhys how it went with my family. I guess I never told him that I came out in the first place. No time like the present, right?
"Yeah, I did," I say.
"How did it go?" Rhys asks hesitantly, like he isn't sure if I want to be asked about it.
"Well, I didn't get kicked out..." I trail off, remembering how I told them.
My sister was on the sofa, scrolling through Instagram. My parents were starting to make dinner. I walked down the stairs, dressed ready for my date, when my mom saw me.
"Where are you going? Dinner is going to be ready soon," my mom had said, and when she saw my outfit, "Are you going on a date or something?"
"Yep," I replied. My parents had stopped what they were doing completely, standing straight to look at me. Even my sister had looked up from her phone, eyeing me in surprise.
"Really?" my mom asked, like she thought I might be joking, "With who?"
I shrugged her off, "Just some guy from school."
At first they looked at me blankly, but after a few moments, my mom started stuttering, asking me if I was joking, or if I was actually gay.
"Nope. Bisexual." I kept my answers short and casual, the complete opposite of how I felt, with my heart hammering in my chest and my mouth going dry. Now my parents looked confused.
"Bisexual?" my mom repeated, her head tilted to the side. She frowned. "I don't really believe in that. You're either straight or you're gay, Maverick."
"I had a friend in college who said he was bisexual. In the end, he was gay but he was just confused at first," my dad said, turning around and facing the stove, where he had placed a pan with a mix of vegetables. Even though he seemed flippant, his shoulders were stiff as he turned the stove on.
"Yeah, honey, I knew a girl like that too. Lesbian in the end. Just wait this out. You'll know—you'll figure it out," my mom said, waving me away. My parents exchanged a look, a knowing look that most kids know very well. It's the 'great, our child's going through a phase' look and 'we'll need to talk about this later' look. They continue making dinner, as if I hadn't said anything, like they didn't really care. Even my sister went back to her phone.
I didn't say goodbye, just left as quickly as possible, ordering an Uber to Rhys's house. Part of me had felt intensely angered, and I just wanted to go back inside and shout at my parents until they understood. But the other part—the more sensible part—knew deep down they would never understand and I'd just make things worse if I tried to defend myself.
I don't tell Rhys this. Instead I say, "They just don't really believe me, I guess."
"That sucks. I'm sorry," Rhys says.
"It's not your fault," I say. Rhys's lips flatten into a straight line, and I can tell he wants to say more. Before he can, a waiter comes up to our table, a middle-aged man that peers at us over a pair of thinly-wired glasses.
"Good afternoon gentlemen. My name is Greg and I'll be taking care of you tonight. Anything to drink to start off?"
"Water, please," I say.
"Me too," Rhys says right after.
The waiter leaves us and we sit in silence for a few long, awkward moments before Rhys speaks up again.
"So....how are we going to tell everyone?" Rhys asks. He's tracing random patterns on the table with his fingertip, steadily avoiding eye contact with me.
"At school maybe?" I ask. Rhys nods, but he looks troubled. "If you want to wait, we can," I suggest.
"No," Rhys says immediately, "no, I have to do this."
"Then we'll do it Monday. All of them at the same time," I say.
"No, not everyone," Rhys says, shaking his head. "We should tell one person first."
Somehow I know who he's talking about. "Okay, we'll do that tomorrow. And then we'll tell everyone else on Monday. Deal?"
"Deal," Rhys says. He sighs loudly, his shoulders relaxing. "I wonder how they're going to react." Rhys runs a hand through his hair, clearly stressed. I can feel the same anxiety in my breathing and by the slight trembling of my hands.
"Whatever happens, we'll go through it together," I say, knowing I sound like a cheesy sap and not caring one bit. Rhys hides his smile by ducking his head, but I still catch a rosy blush on his cheeks.
I want to reach out and grab his hand, but we aren't in the safety of our house. Rhys notices me eyeing his free hand that lays on the table. He pulls his hand away and into his lap. I look down at the table, ignoring the heat rising up my neck, when I feel something brush up against my calf.
My eyes meet Rhys's, but he doesn't show any sign of mischief. He's clearly trying to play footsie to make up for not holding hands. I move my foot, curling it behind Rhys's leg and nudging slightly.
The waiter appears suddenly and Rhys's leg retreats quickly. He places waters on the table and then takes our order. Soon the waiter is out of earshot, but the playful mood from before is gone. We both alternate taking sips of water and checking our phones. It's a horrible first date and we both know it.
"I'm sorry," I say. Rhys's eyes snap up to mine in surprise.
"About what?" Rhys asks.
"About the date," I reply, folding the napkin that should be on my lap as a distraction, "I told you I suck at all this boyfriend stuff."
Rhys shakes his head. "No, it's my fault. I'm just awkward and boring."
"Awkward? Maybe. But boring? Never."
Rhys flushes, not used to the bold compliment. "Well, it's not your fault. We're just not... we talk better when we're relaxed."
I let out a short laugh, glad Rhys said it before I did. "I agree. Maybe we eat quickly then head back to my house? I think we could find a way to...relax."
Rhys rolls his eyes, but a small smile creeps onto his lips. "Insatiable."
"Big word there, soccer boy."
"Shut up."
I smirk. "Make me."
***
Where the Uber ride to the restaurant was awkward, the ride going back to my house is tense with anticipation. Of course it's our luck that the Uber driver drives so slow and careful. There's an ocean of space between us, and if only we were at my house, so that I could cross it.
"Maybe you could crash at my house?" I ask, casually, looking out the window like I find the purpling sky more interesting than the answer to my question.
"I—well—sure," Rhys says, clearly flustered. I glance over as innocently as possible.
"Unless your parents want you home?" I ask, subtly tracking the blush that creeps up Rhys's neck.
"N-no. They don't. I can stay," Rhys says, a little too fast. I hide a smile with my wrist and turn to look out the window as the car descends into silence again.
We reach the house in the slowest two minutes of my life. The driver takes his sweet ass time rolling up alongside the curb, stopping, putting the car in park, and thanking us profusely, probably in hopes of a nice tip.
The windows of the house are dark, and the driveway was empty. No one home.
I can't help it. Once the Uber driver turns out of sight, I pull Rhys close and kiss him hard. He's taken by surprise, but quickly slides his fingers through my hair, his other hand gently pressed against my cheek.
"Come on," I say when we part, "let's go inside."
Rhys nods, and I link our fingers together, dragging him towards the door. I feel giddy, like the awful coming out earlier and the mess of a first date are very far away, like a distant dream. I unlock the door and walk into the dark hallway. When the door closes, I press Rhys up against the door, loving his sharp intake of breath and shuddering exhale when my hands slide under his shirt.
The kiss is searing, a hot slide of tongue and urgent fingers undoing my fly. Rhys is intoxicating, a shot of tequila, a drop in the world's fastest rollercoaster─
"Oh my god."
Static. My heart swells and threatens to burst in a world of pain. Rhys is perfectly still and barely breathing in my arms. I step away and turn around, wondering what could possibly prepare me for this.
My mother, dressed in pajamas, halfway down the stairs and staring straight at us.