Page 128 of Catching Kyle
“Being true to what’s inside me,” he says. “Not what other people say or want me to be. And that’s a man who is attracted to other men. A man who loves you and wants to be with you for the rest of his life.”
I slump back in my chair and fold my arms tightly, shaking my head. Charles brings the last of the food out. Plates cover the table next to us, just waiting to be eaten. I hear the crackle of the fireplace, and I can make out the distant conversations from the main restaurant. But were cut off in here. Isolated.
“And what’s the rest of this life going to look like?” I ask. “Staying cooped up in your mansion? Eating in private rooms at restaurants so we’re not seen? Traveling to places where nobody would recognize us?” I pause for a beat. “Getting you a fake wife so you can live a double life and have everything you want? The semblance of straightness and your gay little fleshlight on the side?”
Kyle almost snarls. “You are so much more to me than a fucking fleshlight. You are everything to me.”
“Then fucking treat me like it,” I say. “Flaunt me around. Don’t just take me to meet your family in private. Take me to a football game. Put your arm around me.Kissme, for Christ’s sake. In front of anyone and everyone. Don’t just tellme you love me. I’m tired of your words. Show me that you love me. No matter who’s watching.”
He’s looking solemnly down at his hands clasped on the table. Then he meets my eyes. “And if I told you that that’s my plan?”
My heart skips a beat. “What?”
“I want you to come to the Championship Game,” he says.
“As a friend or boyfriend?” I ask. “Or are you still with your girlfriend Jessica that the media’s been talking about?” This is it, the determining answer.
He sucks on his lip and fidgets with the callouses on his palm. It looks like he wants to say something, but can’t. Or won’t.
“Answer me, Kyle.”
“Just come to the Championship Game, okay? Please. I have a plan. I promise I won’t disappoint you.”
I shake my head, feeling overheated inside my own body. I stand up, tears rushing to my eyes again. “So you are still with Jessica,” I say, almost laughing. “I can’t take your promises anymore. You’ve already disappointed me.”
I dart straight to our private room’s exit.
“Wait,” Kyle calls out.
I don’t know what possesses me with the strength to stop, because if it were solely up to me, I’d be in my car speeding to the highway by now.
I turn my body sideways to him, looking him in the eye.
He stands up and approaches me but gives a respectable distance. “I’ll email you the tickets,” he says. “Just please, please come to the Championship Game. It’s the only way I can show my love for you.”
I sigh, then glance up at him one last time. “You know, I got a literary agent,” I say.
Kyle’s face goes from solemn to beaming. “Babe, that is so wonderful.” He steps closer, but I gesture for him to stop.
“And after I talked with them, I wondered: maybe Kyle’s the secret ingredient to my writing. You were what inspired me to write more emotional connection between my characters, after all.
“But after today, I realize that I don’t need you. I’ve just needed myself. Because my whole life, I’ve pined after men who have never truly loved me back. And today, after this conversation, I think I’ve finally outgrown this habit.”
Kyle sighs, and his shoulders sink. “Please,” he says. “Give me this chance.”
I shake my head. “Goodbye, Kyle.” And then I exit through the private hallway, doing my best to compose myself.
Sometimes it’s the hardest things we do that end up for our best.
Chapter 43
Michael Cunningham
Isitatthehead of the circle in the Rucker’s cafe, surrounded by mostly women but also some men too. Today, I’m leading the discussion of VE Schwab’sThe Invisible Life of Addie Larue.The book was so highly requested and popular that folks from my queer book discussion wanted to join in. Our tiny café is filled way beyond capacity.
As the discussion pops off, great responses to my questions eliciting even more insightful comments from people who’ve never shared before, pride swells in my chest. When I first came here, I thought I didn’t belong. But since then, I’ve contributed sizably to our book clubs, bringing in more men, both queer and not, as well as queer women. And that’s not the only thing.
I’m an agented author! I agreed to start working with the agent who called me last week. And since Amani and I resolved our issues, our writing group started meeting regularly again. It feels like I have that writing community again just like I did in college. But this one is better because we’re all seeing success in our own way. I’m agented, Amani is preparing to put her first book up on Kindle Unlimited. Skye has been steadily gaining a following on Patreon with her trans romances, and the money she’s seeing is actually substantial. And Josue has finally garnered the courage to query his fantasy novel. We’re all successful, thriving, and helping each other. I didn’t think I would find a solid community so soon, but now I have one, and I’m on my way to gettingpublished. Everything is just as I wanted it. Yet I can’t help but feel a little bit sad.
