Page 79 of Shades of Henry
“I’m fat,” Lance said shortly. “Can’t you see it? I’m rolling in it. It’s gross.”
Henry looked back at the picture, thoroughly wounded for that happy little boy. “It’sadorable. Who told you that little boy was gross? They should be shot!”
Lance looked away. “No one had to tell me—”
“Oh yes they did,” Henry snapped. “Just like someone had to tell me that being gay was bad.” He looked at the picture again, absurdly hurt for the kid in the little school uniform, his eyes sparkling with the same wicked humor Henry had seen in Lance’s eyes every day for the past few months. “You’re beautiful.”
“Fat,” Lance whispered. “I heard it every day from my parents. When I hit high school and started working out, they were singing my praises. Of course, I knew it was to deal with the stress of the big gay secret, but God, that was addicting. The better I made my body, the better son I was. And then… then when I started at Johnnies, you know, you start reading reviews. And suddenly I was that little fat boy again. And the more ripped I was on camera, the more praise I got on the websites and….” His voice wavered, and Henry swallowed hard.
“You’re sitting on the other side of the table from me,” he said randomly. “I’ve never had this, where I needed to touch someone to reassure them. Why are you sitting on the wrong side of the table from me?”
Lance tilted his head. “It’s my fault that we’re not next to each other?”
Henry shook his head. “No. It’s your fault because you don’t look at this little kid and see that smile. And those eyes. And… and the guy I’ve been falling in love with for months. It’s your fault because you don’t look at your body and see how beautiful you are, and how much I… I depend on you. How smart you are.” His voice was wobbling off its axis, and he couldn’t seem to get it to spin right.
“I… I don’t know how to stop… stop hating food,” Lance said miserably. “I… I look at your french fries and I think about that fat little kid—”
Henry got up and moved to Lance’s side of the table, squeezing over on the bench. Deliberately he reached across the table and dragged his bratwurst and fries over. “I see fuel,” he said, making sure he had Lance’s complete attention.
“That’s very healthy of you,” Lance said dryly.
“I see a really beautiful guy letting his vegetables get cold.” Henry took a deliberate bite of a crispy french fry.
Lance let out a breath. “I see carbs,” he said. Henry could hear his swallow. “I love carbs.”
“But can you live with yourself if you eat them?”
“No.”
Henry pulled a mushroom off a kabob and dipped it in the balsamic glaze before popping it into his mouth. “That’s pretty good,” he said. “Here. Have one.”
Lance smiled briefly. “Okay.” He crunched the mushroom, and Henry could feel a part of him relax.
“I looked up bulimia, you know,” Henry said conversationally. “I’m gonna be a PI. Figured I’d sharpen my skills.”
“So what did WebMD tell you?” Lance asked, his voice as arid as Death Valley.
“It told me that it’s a long-term condition. That even if you never throw up another meal, you’re going to be playing Peter and Paul with your intake for the rest of your life. That stopping the purge cycle could lead to weight gain, but it’s still better for your heart. That every day you need to wake up, look in the mirror, and love who you see, and remind yourself that this person you love needs to eat to survive.”
Lance wiped at his face with his napkin. “WebMD didn’t tell you that,” he said, voice broken.
“Not all of it. I’m gonna be agoodPI. I looked a few more places.”
Lance breathed in hard through his nose, keeping his face averted, and Henry leaned his head on his shoulder. “Will it help if I tell you every morning that I love who I see?”
“Why wouldn’t that help?” Lance’s voice cracked.
“Will it help if I suggest you see a shrink when Randy goes? And that way, you can come back and tell everybody what it was like, so they won’t be so afraid?”
Lance breathed in again. “Well played.” Because Lance would go first so the guys in the apartment could break their own cycles, and Henry knew that about him.
“I’m glad you think so. Look at me, being all affectionate in public. Isn’t that cool, how I changed? Isn’t that proof that anybody can? Even practically perfect and healthy and well-adjusted people.”
That got a strangled laugh from Lance. “Why would I—”
“Face it, Galahad. You won’t be happy with yourself if you get all weird and emo about my job when I know you’re hurting yourself every day.”
Lance broke then, wrapping his arms around Henry and holding him so tightly Henry couldn’t even dream of them being apart. Then he buried his face against Henry’s cheek and wept softly, and Henry let him, not caring about stares, not caring that their food was getting cold. They were in the Lavender District for one thing—there were lots of same-sex couples, not just in the restaurant, but everywhere.
