Page 37 of The Cyrano Situation
I set down my sandwich, carefully arranging my features into what I hope resembles supportive interest. "That's significant."
"Is it?" His eyes widen. "I mean, we've only been dating for about five weeks. Is that too soon?"
I take a sip of water, buying time. "There's no universal timeline for these things. Some families are more open to early introductions than others."
"His parents are visiting from Connecticut this weekend. They're staying at some fancy hotel downtown." Cyril fidgets with a napkin. "He says they're eager to meet me."
"Then they've heard about you," I observe, ignoring the twist in my stomach.
"Yeah, he says he's told them... quite a bit." A flush creeps up his neck. "We had this conversation last night about what we are to each other, and, well, we decided we're boyfriends. Officially."
The word hangs between us. Boyfriends. Official.
"That's wonderful," I say, and somehow my voice remains steady. "You seem happy."
"I am." He looks down, smiling. "It's strange how quickly it's happened. When you know, you know—right?"
When you know, you know. The cruelest platitude, because I do know. I've known since that rainy afternoon when he spilled coffee on my desk and apologized with such earnest dismay that something in me shifted permanently.
"So I've heard," I reply.
Cyril leans forward. "Jules said something last night that I can't stop thinking about. He said meeting me was like findinga book he didn't know he was looking for. One that makes him reconsider all the other books he'd read before."
Of course Jules would have the perfect literary metaphor at the ready. I imagine him delivering it, perhaps over wine, in that soft French accent, while Cyril looked at him with the expression I've memorized but never had directed at me.
"He has a way with words," I manage.
"He does." Cyril's smile fades slightly, replaced by a hesitant look. "Hart, can I ask you something... personal?"
Warning bells sound in my mind. "Of course."
He glances around the office like another coworker might jump out from behind the Ficus in the corner, then lowers his voice. "It's about sex."
The warning bells become sirens. "Oh?"
"Jules and I haven't yet... I mean, we've done some things, but not everything." His cheeks are flaming now. "And I think it might happen soon, and I'm nervous because it's been a while for me, and never with someone I cared about this much, and Jules is so experienced, and—"
"Cyril," I interrupt, because I need him to stop talking before I physically break apart. "Take a breath."
He inhales deeply, then exhales. "Sorry. I just—I trust your advice. And you're the only gay friend I can ask about this."
Gay friend. The designation both warms and wounds me.
"What specifically are you concerned about?" I ask, slipping into professor mode because it's the only way I can survive this conversation.
"Everything?" He laughs nervously. "But mostly... how do I know if I'm doing it right? What if I'm terrible and he's just too nice to say anything?"
I take another sip of water, wishing desperately it were something stronger. "Communication is key. Ask what he likes.Tell him what you like. And remember that awkwardness is part of the process, especially with someone new."
"But what if—"
"Cyril," I say gently, "sex isn't a performance to be graded. It's an extension of your connection with each other. Focus on that, not on some arbitrary standard of technique."
He nods slowly. "That... actually helps."
"Good." I force a smile. "Anything else?"
The next fifteen minutes are excruciating. I provide clinical, thoughtful advice about preparation, protection, and patience while a part of me dies with each question. I discuss positions and preferences with the detached tone of a medical professional, all while imagining Cyril with Jules in ways that tear at my insides.
