Page 6 of Perfect Blend

I adopted as casual a tone as I could manage. “That reporter I told you about will be here soon.” Not that I was counting down the minutes or anything.

It was intimidating enough that our festival was going to be the subject of a story for a national website, but the reporter being the guy I’d had a massive crush on in high school? That was a lot on top of an already hectic week. Worth the stress though.

I was so proud of how much we’d expanded the festival. I’d worked hard for years to help grow what was initially some rainbow flags scattered throughout town into an inclusive and robust week of Pride events every June.

Portland was Oregon’s main Pride destination, with a large and established weekend festival that had been running for decades. There was no way to compete with it—not that we wanted to. In terms of small-town Oregon celebrations, I hoped Dahlia Springs had the best in the state, if not the Pacific Northwest. If there was one thing this town knew how to do, it was throwing a festival and making people feel welcome.

“Since when are you nervous about talking to reporters? You did a Portland TV news circuit last year.”

I glared at Izzy, which only made them smile wider. Their septum piercing with a rainbow bead dangling in it shifted with the tug on their cheeks. They stared at me until I caved.

I kept my attention on the espresso machine as I made my second caramel macchiato attempt. “We-went-to-high-school-together.”

“Gonna need you to take it slower, boss.”

I huffed. “Mikey—the reporter—and I went to high school together.”

“Mikey, huh? A guy your age who still goes by that?”

Izzy was a decade younger than me, barely out of college, and loved to remind me of that fact every chance they got.

I shrugged. “It suits him.” At least, it had in high school. His social media accounts still said Mikey, so I figured he hadn’t stopped going by the nickname. I remembered the sheen in his eyes when he’d done a class presentation about how his grandfather, who’d recently passed, had been the most influential person in his life. He talked about how his grandfather always called him Mikey, so he planned to use the nickname forever. I couldn’t imagine him going by anything else. He wasn’t a Mike or a Michael.

“Ah.”

I finished the coffee and handed it to the customer, then fully turned toward Izzy. “What do you mean, ‘ah’?”

“You had a thing for him.”

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.Thatdid it for you.” They stuck their finger in my face and waved it in circles.

“Okay, fine. Mikey was cool. He was a neat guy.”

Izzy snorted as they moved to greet a new customer approaching the counter.

Coolwas an epic understatement. Mikey had been outgoing, friendly, the kind of person you wanted to be around because they had a specialsomethingabout them you couldn’t quite place but didn’t want to miss. For a while, I’d thought my feelings were about wanting to be like him. The person who could crack jokes in class and get laughedwith, notat. Someone confident enough to talk to any student from any clique.

Eventually, I’d realized I wasn’t imagining myself as him—making friends, people wanting to sit with me at lunch—I pictured beingwithhim. Basking in his shine day after day, right by his side. That had been one hell of a gay realization.

We’d been friendly enough for my eternal flame to hold steady, but I’d been way too shy to try to becomeactualfriends. There was that one blissful semester where we’d sat next to each other in history and another when we’d been paired for a drama class project. I’d jerked off after school for weeks, damn near rubbing myself raw.

I’d relived any words he spoke in my general direction or the barest whisper of interaction in painstaking detail that only a lovesick teenager could manage. Then I’d gone to school one day and heard from a friend who heard from someone else that Mikey was moving to Washington the summer before senior year. Mikey had confirmed the devastating news in class that afternoon, and I’d cried myself to sleep that night.

I’d regretted every single time I’d chickened out before initiating a conversation with him and trying to become friends. The kind who would keep in touch after an interstate move. He’d had enough friends and hadn’t needed an awkward nerd tanking his social capital. And, anyway, trying to make friendship happen with weeks left in the school year would’ve been creepy. At least, thanks to him, I’d realized I was gay and eventually figured myself out. Then I’d gotten drunk in college and added him on Facebook. I’d nearly fainted when he accepted.

Two more customers came in, which thankfully occupied Izzy before they could give me any more crap. I busied myself bussing tables for the retiree squad who’d left a few minutes ago. After wiping the table, I straightened and spotted someone with a familiar dark head of hair crossing the street. I froze and squeezed the rag until droplets raced down my forearm.

“You having some sort of medical incident?” I absently heard one of our regulars ask.

“He’s fine. It’s just Dave’s high school crush coming in. We don’t have popcorn, but you can grab a muffin to eat while enjoying the show.”

Mikey paused and looked at my storefront window. I’d hired someone to paint a colorful Pride display of butterflies with wings depicting colors from various identity flags. Mikey lifted his iPhone and aimed it at the window. When he lowered it, I saw him smiling. That smile could knock me off my feet. I gripped the edge of the table before it did.

He turned and aimed his phone toward the downtown corridor of Dahlia Springs’ Main Street. The smile never left his face. His apparent approval sent a rush of warmth through me.

I might not have grown up in Dahlia Springs, but it had quickly become my home after moving to town nearly a decade ago. I was glad it seemed to make a good first impression on Mikey too.

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