Page 30 of Pity Parade

I shrug slightly. “I guess. If that’s your type.”

Trent looks at me closely as though trying to diagnose an undisclosed retinal detachment on my part. “I’m pretty sure she’s everyone’s type.”

I don’t know what comes over me—okay fine, I do. I’m just not ready to accept the fact that I’m feeling jealous. “I went out with her once in Chicago.”

He seems very interested by my declaration. “How did it go?”

I cross my fingers behind my back like I’m seven years old, and that gesture alone can protect me from the monstrous lie I’m about to tell. Running the tip of my finger across my throat, I say, “I don’t want to gossip, but I think she had a bit of a …”

“Sore throat?” he guesses.

I shake my head.

“Rash?”

I tap on my Adam’s apple.

“No!” Trent rears back like I just sprouted horns.

“I can’t say for certain …” What I can be sure of is that I’m a total heel.

“You think she’s a dude?!” Several pairs of eyes turn to us, but no one seems to be concerned that I’m gossiping about one of the guests.

I look around to make sure we’re not being overheard, before answering, “Maybe. But that shouldn’t matter, right?”

“No, it shouldn’t,” he says uncomfortably before adding, “But it kind of does.”

At this point I’m probably in jeopardy of being struck down where I stand. I mean, I have gay friends and I even know a couple of trans people, and honestly, I could not care less what their orientation is. My motto has always been the same as Thomas Jefferson’s when he referenced the choices of others. “It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg …” In other words, live and let live. And yet here I am, purposely going out of my way to turn Trent’s interest away from Trina.

Trent stares at the object of both of our interests. “But she’s so feminine.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Do you think she’s had the surgery, or do you think she’s … you know …” He gestures at the area around his pants.

“Biologically a man?”

He swallows causing his Adam’s apple to visibly move up and down. “Yeah.”

Guilt finally forces me to say, “She might really be a woman.”

“Yeah, but you said … you know … I mean, you didn’t go out with her again because of …” He touches his throat again.

I really feel bad about this, so once again I say, “But I could have been wrong.”

“She’s tall for a woman,” Trent decides.

“She is.”

“Should we warn Nick?” he wants to know. “I mean, he should know, right?”

“I think that maybe we should let it go,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have even said anything to you.” I’m fully aware how contemptible my behavior has been.

I’m about to come to my senses and confess to Trent what I’ve done, when he announces, “I think I’m going to take off.”

“Oh, really?” Way not to sound disappointed, Heath.

“Yeah, I mean. You know … I’m into chicks, and if there’s even a chance that Trina isn’t one, I don’t want things to get awkward.”

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