Page 81 of The Sun and Her Star

She narrows her eyes at me. “You betternotwant to fuck me.”

“I don’t,” I say quickly.

“Well, jeez, take it easy on a girl’s ego,” she says with mock affront.

I laugh. “You’re funny. And it’s not you. It’s me. I love one woman. I always have. I can’t be with anyone else. I’ve tried. Failed. I also need a relationship for contract reasons, so … here I am.”

“So, you’renotgay?” she asks in shock.

“Who told you I was?”

“No one. I just assumed. The men who need beards usually are. Well, I’m sorry someone broke your heart, dick,andbrain. And it sounds like you’ll probably never get over her. But we can have fun anyway.”

“Thanks. I feel better now.” I laugh again, and it feels good.

“I’m here to please.” She picks up her glass and holds it up and nods at mine.

I obey.

“Here’s to hiding from love until we’re brave enough to fucking fight for it. And to helping each other get brave enough.”

“Or how about, to not having a broken dick, heart, and brain?”

“You have to want more for your life than that,” she says.

“I used to,” I say honestly.

“Well, I’ve told you my story, you need to tell me yours.”

“Um, I don’t know. I haven’t told anyone …”

“We’re going to have to trust each other. And I hope tofuckwe can be friends because if you’re an asshole, I think this is going to be the longest year of our lives.”

“Fine. Where do you want me to start?”

“Oh. If you’re letting me decide, then I want you to start from the very beginning. Tell me who you are, Graham S. Davis,” she says, her smile falling away. “I really want to know.”

So, I start from the very beginning, and I tell her everything.

Except for the one thing I hope I never have to tell anyone.

YEAR 5 Side A

Graham

“Oh my fucking God,” I groan when the curtains are drawn back, and sunlight floods my room. I fall back on my pillow and fling my forearm over my eyes.

“Graham, you better watch your language, young man. You may be some sort of demigod to the rest of the world, but I amstillyour mother. Now sit up,” she snaps.

I obey. When she uses that tone, I never argue with her. “I’m sorry, Mama. What time is it?” I ask, sitting up and looking around my bedroom. It looks like a tornado hit.

I groan as flashes of yesterday start to come back to me. I look back at my mother and force myself to meet her very disappointed gaze.

“I’m surprised you managed to fall asleep after the way you were carrying on last night,” she says. I open my mouth to speak.

“Ah ah ah … don’t say another word. You saidplentyyesterday, and now, it’s time for you to listen.” Her voice brooks no argument.

Before yesterday, I would have bristled at being spoken to like that. I’m GrahamFuckingDavis. No one would dare talk to me like that.

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