Page 132 of I Think They Love You

Denz has. But maybe not in the way Emmanuel’s asking.

Some mornings, while Bray snores beside him in bed, Denz scrolls through his phone. He studies apartments near Atlanta. He’s not thinking aboutproposing—though Nic’s been messaging him ideas like a possessed Cupid—but a future.

A next step for him and Bray.

Can he tell Emmanuel that? They’ve long passed the awkwardness of their first meeting, though Denz habitually moves his latte to a safe corner of the table any time they come here, just in case. He feels a familiar comfort with Emmanuel now. Too many virtual Scrabble nights and long conversations over coffee like this one. During the school year, he sees more of Emmanuel than his own family.

But is this the right time? Before he’s even talked to Bray?

Denz tears another section of croissant. “I don’t know.”

“There must be a million opportunities for you. You could get a job anywhere.” Emmanuel eyes him. “Where would you go?”

A beat. Denz shrugs. “Atlanta.”

“Atlanta?”

“Thing is—” Denz looks away from Emmanuel’s heavy, skeptical stare. “—my whole family’s there. Which, you know already. But, like. I’m so close to my sisters. And my nephew’s barely two. I don’t want to miss anything that happens in their lives.”

“What about creating yourownlife?”

“I can do that. There.” Denz is sweating. In February. Is this an interrogation? Is this what Bray felt like? “Atlanta’s great. The weather’s nice too.”

“The weather’s nice a lot of places, Denz.”

“Yeah, but…” Denz rips another soft layer of flaky dough. “It’s home.”

Emmanuel’s mouth twists into a frown. “What if that’s not where Bray wants to be?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Denz blinks, confused. Bray loves his dad. It’s been just the two of them since Elyse died. “You’re there. He’d never leave you.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Emmanuel says, smiling sadly, “I’d hate for him to leave. But I wouldn’t discourage him. I want the best for my son. Like my parents wanted for me when they came to America. To make sure I got all the best chances at a great life.”

“I want that too.”

Emmanuel rests a hand on his. “I know. You love him.”

A smile tries to inch up Denz’s mouth.

“And I want the best for you too,” Emmanuel says, leaning back. “Which is why I wanted to know your plans.”

Currently: he’s trying to survive his stupid Communication Strategies in Social Movements course, remember to throw away that expired pizza in his fridge, and avoid the impending diarrhea from this conversation.

“I’m working on them.”

Emmanuel nods thoughtfully. “Do me a favor: considerallyour options.”

Denz stares down at the shredded remains of his croissant.

“I will,” he says, distractedly reaching for a napkin to clean up his mess. Which of course means his hand bumps into his iced latte. The cup teeters, wobbles, two seconds from ruining his only clean pair of joggers.

“Whoa!”

Bray’s quick reflexes prevent Spillgate 2.0 from happening. He straightens the cup, then flops back into his seat. “Sorry. Drama solved. What’d I miss?”

Denz shares a cautious stare with Emmanuel. “Nothing,” he whispers.

“Cool.” Bray tosses an arm around Denz’s tight shoulders, hauling him closer. “Oh, Dad, did I tell you? Denz has been studying his word lists. He might finally beat you on our next Scrabble night.”

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