“I’d also like to take this moment to profess my love,” Windsor says, putting his palm over his heart and lifting his chin. “It’s a royal proclamation.”
I snort, but it’s all nervous laughter, clapping my hand over my mouth.
The sound of scrambling comes from outside, and I glance over my shoulder to see Creed shoving Miranda out of the way. He comes in panting, two security guards grabbing onto his shoulders.
“Let him go; he’s harmless,” Windsor instructs, as the beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed Cabot boy huffs and puffs, looking between me and Dad a few times before he steps forward and shoves Zayd aside. Zayd sneers at him, but doesn’t say anything.
“I love your daughter, too,” he says, and I swear, if there was a single spot on my body that wasn’t red, it would be now.
“Guys,” I start, as Tristan turns away suddenly, closing his eyes. He’s the only one who’s not going to say it, isn’t he? “You don’t have to say that.”
“It’s the truth,” Creed says, pushing blond hair off his forehead. “It’s … I’ve felt this way for a while.” Miranda comes up to stand on my other side, giving me a sympathetic sort of look. At least Lizzie’s not here to witness the whole thing, right?
“Are you happy, Marnye?” Dad asks, and I nod once, briskly but determinedly.
I mean, I am, but I’m not. I need you here to walk me down the aisle one day, Charlie. Please, please, please stick around for that.
“I am.”
“Okay then. Okay. My daughter has … five boyfriends.” He curses under his breath and shakes his head. “I’ll be damned.”
He wanders out to the porch, pops the top of one of his fancy apple ciders, and looks out at the vineyard.
“Well, that wasn’t embarrassing at all,” I whisper as Miranda gives me a huge hug.
“Come on, you can help me unpack my things and Andrew can tell you allll about his coming out story …”
Andrew grabs the wine, a pair of glasses, and a soda that he tosses over to me.
The boys watch us walk out, but they know better than to follow.
I need a minute.
How the hell am I supposed to choose now?
Fuck you, love. Like, seriously, fuck you.“She bought you a rainbow jock strap?!” Zayd howls, rolling on his side with laughter as Andrew narrows his eyes in the lead singer’s direction. “That’s so cute, but so fucking misguided. I’m dying, I’m dying. No, I’m dead. I am hashtag-freaking-dead.”
“She’s at least trying,” Andrew says, his feet dangling in the pool. “My dad asked me not to hit on any of his business partners. Like, really? I almost snarkily asked him if he hits on every woman he sees, just because he’s straight, but … he kind of does. He’s such a piece of work.” Andrew sips his drink, and I realize he’s come a long, long way from the boy who denied his sexuality to everyone, including himself. The boy who took a forced engagement he didn’t want … and now is the proud owner of a rainbow jock strap.
“You know what my mom said when I told her I was a lesbian?” Miranda asks, and Creed rolls his eyes like he’s heard this story a thousand times. “She said thank god for that. Boys are so gross.”
“Isn’t that a sexist thing to say?” Creed retorts, and Miranda spins on him, standing wet and dripping behind her as she tries to sunbathe.
“First off, get the fuck out of my sun. Second, no. Don’t you understand that when women say all men are trash, it’s not hate speech, it’s just an anti-patriarchal movement that has more to do with the bullshit system rather than each individual dude on a personal level?”
“Uh, what?” Creed asks, but then Miranda just grabs him by the ankle and slides into the pool, dragging her twin with her. They splash me, and I laugh as water cools my overheated skin.
“I’m really glad you came out,” I tell Andrew, curling my fingers around the edge of the pool as I glance his way. He smiles back at me, and shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
“If it weren’t for you, I might not have ever done it.” He turns away and looks out toward the hills behind the house. These are covered in vineyards, too, but the grass is a dry brown-yellow color rather than the bright green that borders the front of the property.
“I can’t take any credit for that,” I tell him, but he just shakes his head.
“You stand up for what you want, regardless of how the odds are stacked against you. That’s something.”
I look away, but I don’t feel comfortable with the praise. I find my attention on Zack, sitting nearby in swim shorts and nothing else. He’s got a copy of that book, Groupie, and I’m pretty sure he stole it off my dorm room shelf. I’m okay with that, too. I’m glad somebody else is reading it, too. The main character’s dad … he gets cancer and dies.
