“I miss you, Tariq.”
Which sounds hideously needy, and isn’t something I even mean.
He looks down at his coffee.
“I did think we were good together,” I tell him. “I really did. I thought we were a perfect match, but I guess maybe it was only me who thought that. Because if you thought that too, I think things wouldn’t have happened between you and Dylan. Is that … is that a fair thing to say?”
There’s a pause, then Tariq looks up at me again. “Dylan was there when … we started talking about stuff that I … you know, there are things that happened that you don’t know about, stuff that—”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Tariq sighs. “OK, like my parents were … accepting when I came out to them, but the same can’t be said for the rest of my family. You know, it hurt me, the stuff that was going on, and one day, I just started talking to Dylan about it, and he…”
“You could have talked to me!” I don’t mean to sound so hurt, but it’s hard, hearing him say this. Hearing him say there was stuff he talked to Dylan about instead of me.
“But, Nate, you weren’t out yourself. You were messed up about the whole thing. That’s not your fault, I don’t blame you for that, I know it’s hard, but right then I needed to talk to someone who had been there, done that, you know? And that was Dylan.”
My throat tightens and my heart squeezes.
“When we first got together, you were so nervous of it, so … skittish. And I totally get that. I really do. But all the secret stuff, all the undercover and no one must find out … I couldn’t keep living that lie. I needed someone who made me feel like it would be OK, Nate. I needed to feel safe and Dylan made me feel safe.”
I start to cry. I can’t help it. I feel like I’ve let him down. I never made him feel like it would OK. Like he could be happy. Like he was safe. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, wiping my eyes.
“I really liked you, Nate,” he says. The fact he doesn’t say “love” speaks volumes. “But I didn’t really know if you liked me.”
“Of course I did,” I say.
“You never told me.”
I stare at him, trying to remember, thinking it through.
“I didn’t know what was going on in your head half the time,” he says. “Keep it all to yourself, don’t you? Look … I’m not saying any of this to justify what I did. I hurt you, and I was wrong, and I’m sorry. And you’re right, we were good together. I think, maybe, we’re right for each other – just in some parallel universe where we collide at a slightly different time in our lives, or where our messed-up world doesn’t make life a billion times harder for gay teenagers.”
I wipe my eyes on the scabby piece of tissue I’ve got in my pocket. Maybe Tariq’s right. But then maybe … maybe he isn’t. And maybe … Jack is.
“No,” I say. “No, we’re not right for each other, not in this world, or a parallel one.”
Tariq stiffens slightly.
“I probably never did tell you how I thought I felt, but … know what? That’s me, isn’t it? I don’t… I find it hard to be that open about things, but I think you knew that, and still, you didn’t ask me instead. You didn’t even try to talk to me about it, when that was what I needed. But it’s OK, Tariq, because that’s who I am, and if that doesn’t work for you, genuinely, that’s OK, because I think it’s better for me to find someone who is OK with it, who is fine with me as me, rather than me as some fake version of myself I try to create just so I’m not alone. And I understand what you’re saying about your family, and I can’t begin to imagine how hard that must be for you, but if Dylan can help with that, then Dylan is right for you. And I’m not. We can’t just see each other’s highlights reel, Tariq, because the thing about a highlights reel is that it’s hard work. You gotta work hard to maintain that level of fakeness. It’s better to be with someone who sees the full thing, warts and all, but is happy with you anyway.”
Tariq takes a deep breath. “Wow. You got deep this summer.”
“I’ve always been deep, Tariq. You just never noticed.”
“Ouch.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Is he good in bed?”
Tariq laughs. “Shut up, Nate.”
“Well, enjoy your holiday. Bet you’ll get some good pics for Insta, so there’s that.”
“Still doing yours with Jack?”
I shrug. “Not sure there’s much point. I mean, you got the big one, didn’t you? You got Ibiza. Sundowners on the terrace and all that jazz?”
“Not really ‘jazz’, more ‘ambient chill’.”
“Ohh, funny.”
Tariq smiles at me. “So. You and Jack?”
My eyes widen.
“Always kinda inevitable,” he chuckles.
“I have no idea—”
“Oh, come on!”
“Literally, what are you taking about?”
“You and Jack,” Tariq says. He takes in my confused expression. “I mean, that’s what … you are, aren’t you?”
“Are what?”
“Together!” he nearly screams. “You and Jack! You’re a thing, an item, boyfriends!”
I spit out my coffee. How the hell has he got this idea?
“Oh,” Tariq says. “Or, not, then?”
“Correct,” I say. “Not, then.”
Tariq chews his lip a bit. “OK, it’s just… I guess your joint Instagram feed kinda gives that impression, that’s all.”
“Why, because it’s joint?”
“No, because of what’s posted.”
My eyes widen. “What’s posted? What do you mean?”
“I mean, you see it, right?”
“No, I don’t really do Instagram. I mean, I’ve seen bits, approved some of the pics—”
“Yeah, it’s not the pics.”
“Then what?”
Tariq picks up his phone and starts scrolling through our feed. “Picture of you asleep in some hotel bed, caption: Aw! Love this boy so much – look at him! Hashtag sleeping beauty.”
“That’s just Jack being Jack.”
“Picture of you soaking wet
