Page 16 of The Cyrano Situation
Relief and something darker, more complicated, twisted through me. I handed the phone to Cyril. "He's a good guy."
Cyril read the message, his expression softening. "He is, isn't he?" He looked up at me, eyes bright. "What do I say now?"
"Thank him for understanding," I suggested. "Tell him you'd like to work toward meeting eventually, but for now, you're enjoying the conversation."
As Cyril typed, I watched his face—the careful concentration, the small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. My chest ached with a feeling I didn't like and wasn't ready to name. I was helping my friend connect with someone who seemed genuinely kind and patient. I should be happy for him.
I was happy for him. And also...not. Not entirely.
"Sent," Cyril announced, setting his phone down. "Thank you, Hart. Seriously, I would be lost without you."
"That's what friends are for," I said, the word "friends" suddenly feeling inadequate in a way it never had before.
"Do you think..." he started, then hesitated. "Do you think I'll ever be able to meet him without freaking out?"
The question hung between us, heavy with implications. If I was a better person, I'd offer unqualified encouragement. Instead, I found myself choosing my words carefully.
"I think when you're ready, you'll know. And if Jules is as good a guy as he seems, he'll wait until you are."
Cyril nodded slowly. "But what if I'm never ready? What if this is as brave as I get?"
"Then you'll have made a good friend through text," I said gently. "But I don't think that's true. I've seen you push past your comfort zone before."
"Only because you were there," he said quietly.
Our eyes met, and something electric passed between us. Or was I imaging it? I looked away first.
"I'll always be there if you need me," I promised, the words feeling both true and somehow like a trap I was setting for myself.
His phone buzzed again, breaking the tension. This time, Cyril checked it himself.
"He's asking about what I'm reading right now," he reported, relief evident in his voice. Safe territory.
"Tell him about that Japanese mystery you wouldn't shut up about last week," I suggested, settling back into the couch. "The one with the impossible locked-room scenario."
"'The Tokyo Zodiac Murders'?" Cyril perked up. "It's brilliant. The solution is so unexpected but makes perfect sense once revealed."
"There you go," I said, smiling at his enthusiasm. "Just talk about that like you would with me."
"But with your help on the wording," he clarified.
"Sure." I nodded, ignoring the tiny stab of... what? Jealousy? Resentment? No, that wasn't fair. This was the arrangement we'd agreed to. "Of course."
For the next hour, we crafted messages together, Cyril providing the substance while I helped shape them into clear, engaging text. It was a strange intimacy, being the conduit between Cyril and his potential boyfriend. I was simultaneously essential and invisible.
As the evening wore on, Cyril grew more relaxed, his panic about the almost-coffee date receding. When Jules eventuallytexted that he needed to call it a night, Cyril set down his phone with a contented sigh.
"That went well, right? He didn't seem disappointed about the coffee thing?"
"Not at all," I assured him. "If anything, I think he respects you more for being upfront."
Cyril leaned his head back against the couch, turning to face me. "Again, I don't know what I'd do without you, Hart. Seriously."
"You'd manage," I said, though I wasn't entirely sure that was true—at least not with Jules.
"No, I wouldn't," he insisted. "You make me better. You always have."
The sincerity in his voice made something inside me crack open. I stood up abruptly, gathering the empty takeout containers. "It's getting late. I should head out."
