Page 17 of Meet Me in the Blue

“I’m not gay.”

“Okay,” he said, stretching the word into two long, confused syllables.

“How you feel about Carter, I—”

“Felt. I’m not in love with him anymore.”

“Sure.” I smiled when he flipped me off. “I’ve never felt like that about anyone. Well… except…”

He raised his brows, something dawning in his bright blue eyes. “Except for Luka.”

“But it’s different because I… I don’t—”

“You don’t want to fuck him?”

“Jesus, Ron.”

“What?” He shrugged. “I’m right, though. Maybe you’re demi or ace, who knows. Christ, there’re so many labels now. Want to know what I think?”

I turned and grabbed two more beers out of the fridge, terrified of what he was about to say. Terrified he was right. Terrified the hole in my chest would never be filled, because I didn’t think Luka could ever love me the way I needed him to.

“Fuck the labels. There are all types of love, Rook.”

My throat tightened as I faced him again, the cold glass of the beer bottles stinging my hands as I gripped them with all my might.

“You love Luka. You love him like I loved Carter, and having, or not having sex with someone doesn’t define that. Not for me and not for you.”

Behind the rush of white noise inside my head I heard the doorbell ring.

Ron clapped me on the shoulder again. I hadn’t even realized he’d moved from the stool. “Let yourself be happy, whatever that means foryou.”

I thought of Luka. Of all the years. The path between our houses. The blue hour. The fort. Rock giants and skinned knees. I thought of him, and maybe he couldn’t love me the way I needed him to, but he did,loveme. And all the pain inside me intensified, crested like an ocean wave in a storm, but from up here I could see everything, and I decided happiness was forgiveness.

LUKA

THE HOUSE WAS QUIETexcept for the sound of rain outside and the soft crackle and pops of the wood as it burned inside the fireplace. Nora was in the kitchen with my mom whispering about some recipe they were thinking of making tonight, while I sat in the living room watching my dad sleep. The mechanical bed hospice had provided was out of place among the childhood pictures hanging on the wall, and the giant sectional sofa that was worn with family and years of a life well lived. Shadows crept across the floor, the sun had set a few hours ago, but the disappointment in my chest lingered. I’d thought lunch with Rook had gone well today, and I hadn’t been able to stop myself from hoping he’d meet me at our spot tonight. I hadn’t asked him to come. But then again, I hadn’t ever had to ask before. Rook used to know when I needed him. He didn’t anymore.

“Why the sad face?” My dad reached out and tapped my knee. He looked small. His frail frame was lost under a quilt my mother had made him last Christmas. She’d sent me one, too, with a note that said something about a little piece of home. At the time I’d thought it was her usual passive aggression, now I wished I would have thanked her more for all that she had done for me. For my dad. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” I rubbed the back of my neck, not meeting his eyes. I shook my head, my forced smile faltering. “No… Dad… everything is sort of fucked.”

His chuckle caught me off guard. “Son.”

“How can you laugh? You’re—”

“Dying.”

“Sick.”

“I’m dying, Luka. Let’s call it what it is. I have been. For a while. It’s just closer now.” He squeezed my knee. It barely felt like anything. No grip. No strength. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Why are you sorry? I… I should have come home when you were diagnosed. Like Nora did. I should have—”

“Nora was lucky, she has a career that moves with her. You… you were still finding your way.” He coughed and I felt it inside my own lungs. “I was fighting this… I had a handle on it. But—”

“The treatment stopped working.”

He exhaled and wiped his forehead. Staring at the sweat on the tips of his fingers, he said, “We tried everything. And I feel good about that. Stage four liver cancer, kid. I got more years than most.”

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