Page 62 of By the Book

“Wrong answer. You’re supposed to insist we go to the Cakery because I deserve it. And you’re supposed to buy me a sheet cake. The kind that serves thirty.”

“I don’t think they keep those lying around. They’re a special order.”

“Chocolate with vanilla frosting. No, vanilla with chocolate frosting. You know what? You’d better go halfsies.”

“You’re a very complicated human being,” he said. “You know that, right?”

In my best Fox voice, I said, “I am a writer. I contain multitudes.”

He ran his hand down my back, his fingers bumping along my spine. And then he said, “We can’t leave your parents here.”

“We could. We could abandon them. We could be negligent gay dads and leave them at—at a movie theater.”

“Do you want me to drive you home first and come back for them? Or—” But Bobby stopped, and his silence had a tense wariness I wasn’t familiar with.

When I twisted around, my dad was standing farther down the boardwalk. The streetlights were popping on, and they glinted off his glasses and put silver in his hair. His shoulders were stooped. He had, like a true dad, worn cargo pants. I was fairly sure one of those enormous pockets held a full-sized paperback, and the other one probably had the kind of pocketknife Boy Scouts dream of.

“I’ll let him know I’m going to drop you off first,” Bobby said, his arms dropping away from me.

“No,” I said.

The waves came in. The air, wet and chill, raised goosebumps on the back of my neck.

“Dash—” Bobby began.

“I’m tired of pretending everything’s okay. I’m going to talk to him. I’m going to be an adult.” And then I said, “Please don’t ever tell anyone I said that.”

For a boyfriend who had unflagging reserves of love and patience and, um, smooches, Bobby looked like even he might be close to finding his limits.

“I meant what I said.” I said it as much for myself as for Bobby. “I meant it, and I should have said it a long time ago. And I want to tell them the rest of it. How I feel. How they make me feel.”

“I understand,” Bobby said, “but maybe it would be better to have that conversation after you’ve cooled down.”

“No, if I don’t do it now—” I stopped and shook my head. “No. I’m going to talk to him.” Just in case things didn’t go the way I hoped, though, I said, “I want you to bury me with Keme’s Switch.”

Bobby sighed.

“And I want Indira to shave her head in mourning. And I want Fox to burn one of their corsets in my honor. And I definitely want you to stay single for the rest of your life. Like, don’t even think about trying to find happiness again. Oh, and I want Millie to take a vow of silence.”

“A vow of silence would be nice right about now,” he muttered.

“Bobby!”

“Wasn’t there something about quiet burbling?”

Outrage prevented me from making any words, so I settled for a squawk.

He chafed my arms and said, “I know you’re nervous. You don’t have to talk to him now. If you want to wait—”

I shook my head. I gave his hand a squeeze. And then, I moved down the boardwalk to meet my dad.

My steps rang out hollowly under me, sounding clipped and hard against the backdrop of the surf. The moisture in the air made the light refract, so that tiny rainbows bent and played around the streetlamps. The same rainbows streaked along my dad’s glasses. His hands hung at his sides. He was wearing, I saw with something like despair, hiking boots.

When I reached him, I didn’t say anything, and the surge of the waves came between us.

Then he said, “Can we talk?”

I nodded. And then I said, “I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

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