Page 23 of Grief & Glitter

Ryan watched me carefully. “Are you sure?”

“No.” That startled a laugh out of him. “But I think so.”

He nodded. “Okay. Just not around the team because Tufty is your new hockey nickname.”

I kicked him under the table, and we ate in silence until I couldn’t hold back my laughter.

Yesterday, I saw Dr. Ellison. I told her about Ethan’s anniversary, though there wasn’t much about that day she didn’t already know. I told her about sitting in the arena with Sable, about the game, about getting hit hard enough to end up on my back with my skates in the air. She found that considerably funnier than I thought a mental health professional should.

Then I told her about Ryan, and that took up most of the session. I told her we’d been spending time together. That we texted. That we ate together. That I’d asked him to the fundraiser and, after making a complete mess of it, had eventually managed to establish that I was asking him on an actual date.

She asked me how that made me feel.

I hated that question and told her so. She asked it again.

“Lighter,” I eventually said. It was the only word I could find.

Ryan made me feel lighter. He didn’t fix anything. Ethan was gone. Noah hated me. Dad and I talked around everything that mattered. And worse, I still woke up each morning this week with the black dog sitting on my chest before I even opened my eyes. None of that had changed. But when Ryan texted me something stupid, I forgot about hockey and smiled. When I saw him at the rink, I looked for the glitter around his eyes. When he sat across me, eating noodles and talking about makeup or clothes or some reality show I’d never watched, the noise in my head quieted.

I wanted to spend time with Ryan, wanted his texts, his noodles, and his opinions on my suits. I was attracted to someone for the first time since… forever, I suppose.

I’d always noticed men, but hockey had come first, followed closely by grief, guilt, depression, and surviving. Dating had never made the list of things I needed to figure out. There had been women, not many, a couple of dates, sex a few times, nothing that lasted long enough to become anything. Men had been different, something I noticed and then ignored.

Until Ryan.

I didn’t need a label before the fundraiser. I didn’t need to decide whether I was gay or bi or somewhere else entirely. I had a date with Ryan. For now, that was enough.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out.

RYAN: Important question.

I waited.

RYAN: Oxblood suit. White shirt. Are you emotionally prepared for me to make you wear a pocket square?

I stared at the message, typed “yes,” deleted it, and tried again.

GIDEON: I trust you. Do whatever you want with me.

I hit send.

Three seconds later, my phone buzzed twice.

RYAN: Gids.

RYAN: PLEASE reread what you just sent me.

I did.

Fuck.

I could practically hear him laughing from the other side of Rochester.

GIDEON: You know what I mean.

The three dots appeared immediately.

RYAN: I absolutely do, Tufty.