Page 53 of 12 Gays of Christmas

“So, let me start by introducing myself again. My name is Gil Lauten. I’m twenty-two. A football player, a history nerd, and,” he says, pausing for a beat, “a virgin.”

DAY TWELVE: SUNDAY, THE NERDY SCIENCE GUY, AKA THE ROOMIE, AND CHRISTMAS EVE

DECEMBER 24

GIL

I lovedsailing with my dad. The wind catching my breath and tossing it away. The water a constant spray on my skin. The world felt exciting. Real. But then came the crash. Not literally. My dad was an expert boatman. But returning to the shore. The real world. My mom was always so practical. Sparse with words of affection and generous with words of criticism.

This moment…standing in front of my team. My friends. Confessing everything? It brings back that feeling of being alive. Of existing as I am and not how people see me.

Breathing is difficult as everyone stares at me with wide eyes and confused looks. My team. My friends. My failed dates. Why did I invite them all—well, not the eighties jerk—to witness this? It’s for Colin, I remind myself. And yet, I can’t look at him. What if I came out for nothing?

But it isn’t for nothing. I feel lighter. Free. No longer just a dumb jock who loves to party and get laid. This is me, standing naked in front of my team. My friends. And a bunch of people I don’t care anything about.

The shocked silence lasts one point two seconds before the muttering begins. I can’t tell what they’re saying because the blood rushing through my ears has me frozen. My mom’s voice sounds the loudest. “You can do anything, Gil, if you apply yourself.” My middle-grade science teacher. “Stop lugging that book around and pretending to be something you’re not.” Then Dad’s voice, drowning out the rest—the wind in my hair. The spray of water on my face—“You’re such an amazing kid. I’m so lucky to be your dad.”

“Gil. What the fuck are you doing?”

Colin. The past is gone, and the sounds of the party rush in. No longer just white noise. And I can hear the crowd.

“Dude. Respect.”

“Oh. Now I get it.” Kein.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Remi says, waving his arms at me.

A grin takes over my face. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. I find Colin at the edge of the group. There are probably less than twenty people left, but it seems as large as the crowd at a Taylor Swift concert. Colin’s eyes shine with concern. For me. I take a deep breath. “My birthday is…what time is it?”

“After midnight,” Steph yells and gives me a thumbs-up.

I laugh, and God, the giddiness is messing with me. Jumbling my thoughts. I also feel a little sick but mostly giddy because Colin is shaking his head, but it’s a fond shake, like when I do something annoying but cute, like when I forget to put away the game controllers or leave the television on all night. “My birthday is officially tomorrow. On Christmas. And my wish for the last two weeks—twelve days, but who’s counting?—and maybe the last two years or so has been to not be a twenty-three-year-old virgin.”

“Better get started,” someone yells—Ray, maybe.

“Your Christmas wish is sex? Dude, same.” That’s Wickett. Everyone laughs, and I notice Georgie scooting closer to him.

“So I went on some dates, and nothing seemed to click. And I realized, thanks to a certain guy who dresses all in black—”

“Johnny Cash?” That’s eighties music guy. Seriously, who invited him?

“Close,” I say. “He’s just as mysterious. Remington, take a bow.” I point at Remi and heads turn to look at him.

“Fuck off.” But he’s also fighting a smile.

I grin because I never thought I’d like the prickly jerk, but here we are. “Anyway, thanks to Remi, I realized I was wishing for the wrong thing. What I really wanted…needed…was someone to love me.”

I hear a few sighs. “Aww, that’s so sweet,” Darcy says, holding a hand over his heart.

“And that someone,” I say, reminding myself I can do this as I swallow past the lump in my throat, “that person…is me.”

More silence. This time, full of confusion. Or is that judgment of my cheesy statement?

“I don’t get it.” Ray. No surprise.

“I realized if I loved me. The real me. I won’t continue hiding certain parts of me—”

“I’d like to see certain parts of you—”

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