Page 74 of Only You

“I’ve gotta go,” I said, nodding toward the stairs. “Friends are waiting.”

Millar gave me a hug, and I was surprised by how fierce it was. “I’m proud of you,” Millar said before letting me go.

“I’m proud of you too.”

Upstairs, I was greeted with a chorus of conflicting nicknames—“Puker!” “Heartbreaker!” “Sweetie!”—and within minutes I was surrounded by friends. Questions flew. Rumors had been spread. I was with Daniel, I wasn’t with Daniel, we were just screwing, we were in love. I held back the news about Bobby because the night was too festive to bring everyone down, but I set them straight on what was real and what wasn’t.

Daniel and I were together.

Yes, I was happy about it.

They were happy, too. Renée threw her arms around me, kissed my cheeks, and whispered, “I knew you’d do the right thing. I knew you’d see what was right in front of you the whole time.”

I rolled my eyes, but her praise warmed me.

When Minty and Jennifer returned from the dance floor below, her friend Bernie in tow, the night was just getting started. By two in the morning, I had agreed to a drink or two, and I was on the dance floor. Friends on all sides, queer men all around, music pumping through my veins.

I had it all.

I had parents who loved me. A job that was rewarding and easy. A photography mentor who saw something in me. Darkroom access. A file of letters from my dead uncle’s lover. Friends who supported me.

I had Daniel. Who was at home asleep and hopefully dreaming about me, the way I would dream about him in bed tonight.

Minty wrapped his arms around me and together we moved to the beat. Adam and Atlanta seemed far, far away.

College was off to a fantastic start.

Part X

Mid-September 1991

Chapter Fifteen

‡

It was amazinghow quickly life could move on if you let it.

For the next two weeks, school and my new job at the library were good distractions from the lingering sadness over our loss of Bobby. The fast-and-hard tumble into a relationship with Daniel had eclipsed the confused hurt that still pricked me sometimes over the way things had ended with Adam.

To say I was busy was an understatement.

In addition to spending all the free time I could find on the phone “taking things slow” with Daniel, I also had my job and my schoolwork. Professors weren’t like high school teachers. They didn’t consult each other about when assignments were going to be due, in order to make sure you weren’t overloaded. They just piled it all on. Which was good.

Classes were challenging but fun for the most part. Aside from Photography with Marta, my favorite class was turning out to be Psychology. While poor Donnie hadn’t gotten any better at not puking before each class, he ran a fascinating—if not to-syllabus—class.

Today, even though he was incurably terrified of public speaking, he was gritting through it, and lecturing us on Freud’s position on homosexuality. Namely that there was nothing shameful or wrong in same-sex love, and while Freud saw it as no advantage in life, many of the world’s greatest minds like Plato, Michelangelo, and da Vinci had all been gay.

Many of the other students in the room were uncomfortable with Freud’s take, but I was loving it. I glanced toward Minty to see how he was reacting to the lecture, but he was busy scribbling in his notebook—an ugly, squiggly ball of black pencil lead that grew larger and larger as the class went on.

I frowned. Minty had seemed off all morning, but he wasn’t talking, and I wasn’t asking. Sometimes, when it came to Minty, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know.

After class Jennifer asked us to meet up with her later for lunch and gossip—supplied by her, because I didn’t have anything I was willing to share. I was game, and while Minty still seemed crabby and distracted, he said he was in, too. Unsurprisingly, because while he wasn’t as much of a gossip hound as Bobby had been, he was still a big fan.

I stepped into Marta’s classroom, unprepared to find the walls covered with photos. A quick scan proved it to be student work, and when I located some of my own in amidst the chaos, I had a sinking feeling that I knew what was in store.

“Surprise!” Marta said, standing at the front of the room with her hands on the hips of her swishy skirts. Her silver jewelry sparkled in the sunlight sliding through the big windows. “It’s class critique day.”

A groan went around, and my stomach wrung itself into knots.

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