Page 10 of Poolside

Holding back that part of himself had become second nature. He’d done it for so long, drawing a clear line through his life. On one side was Chuck the athlete, the coach, one of the bros. The one who was known to be easygoing and quick to laugh, who his friends came to for advice.

And on the other side was Chuck the gay man. A shy, sensitive guy who struggled to make the first move. Who wanted to be treasured and cared for. Who wanted to belovedso badly that sometimes it felt hard to breathe.

It wasn’t his fault none of them had ever asked why he never brought girls around in college. Or none of them had ever asked him, point blank, if he was even attracted to women.

What if I just told them? What if I came out right now?

He looked around the table, at the warmth and smiles and comfort these people shared with each other. He was a part of them. He thought about the loss the guys on the basketball team had faced back in college—losing their teammate Johnny in a drunk driving accident—and how, through that experience, they’d learned how to be open and emotional with each other.

He could tell them.They’d be safe,he reasoned.Either they’d be safe, or they wouldn’t.

And whatever came of it, he would have to carry the consequences.

* * *

Chuck walked through the door of Magnolia Roasters, a local coffee shop with bright tangerine walls and an assortment of cacti planted in colorful ceramic pots, and waved when he saw his two friends already tucked into a booth in the corner.

Miguel rose to meet him, their black ankle-length skirt swishing as they enveloped Chuck in a long hug. They always smelled like sandalwood incense, which Chuck knew they tried to sneakily burn in their cramped office. Miguel was a professor of Spanish and Latin American Literature at Southeastern. Chuck had met them years ago at one of the local gay bars, and while they hadn’t been compatible romantic partners, they quickly became friends. Now Miguel was married to a wonderful man named Richard, who was a local artist well known for his coastal landscapes.

Chuck pressed a quick kiss to Miguel’s soft brown skin, and walked around them to slide into the booth next to the beast of a man who clutched his whipped cream-topped caffeine monstrosity with both hands.

“What’s up,” Wade Johnson asked in his deep, rumbling voice. He was a bit older than Chuck and Miguel and his deeply lined eyes showed evidence of many years spent laughing. His crooked nose had to have been broken a few times, but that paired with his salt and pepper hair and his rough stubble made him undeniably attractive. He’d played professional hockey, something Chuck, who’d grown up in Central Texas, knew nothing about. Wade had come out as bisexual later in life, and, like Miguel, Chuck had met him through the local queer community.

Wade had gotten him a latte, and Chuck thanked him as he settled in. “I think I’m going to come out to my college friends.”

Wade’s brows shot up. “Damn, that’s big,” he said.

Chuck nodded. “For so long it’s been easier not to say anything, but I think it’s catching up with me. I’m just tired, you know?” Chuck tapped his thumb against the warm ceramic of the mug. “I want to date. I’m ready to have a partner, and if I bring someone into my life, I want them to be a part of all of it.”

Miguel reached across the table, grasping Chuck’s hand and giving it a tight squeeze. “Proud of you,amor,” they said with a smile.

“I think I always assumed they’d figure it out,” Chuck admitted. “I’m not exactly hiding the fact that I’m gay.”

Wade and Miguel shared a look.

“What? I’m not.”

Wade turned back to Chuck, a kind, sympathetic smile on his face. “Are you sure about that?”

Chuck swallowed. “I mean?—”

“Hey,” Wade said, holding up a hand. “From what you’ve said about your college friends, I think they’re going to be really damn happy for you. More than anything, they’re going to be honored that you’re trusting them, and are going to love the chance to get to knowallof you.” He leaned forward to brace his elbows on the table. “Ever since we met, you’ve painted your nails whenever we go out into queer spaces, and then remove the polish by the next morning. You’ve dated some, but you’ve kept them hidden away from the world. I’m just saying I think it’s going to feel pretty good to not hide anymore.”

Chuck took a long drink from his coffee, taking in Wade’s words. He glanced down at his fingers, his gaze narrowing on a thin sliver of sky blue polish that he’d missed along his pinky nail.

“We’re here for you, no matter what happens,” Miguel offered, “And I’m with Wade on this one—I think it’s going to be okay.”

“I hope so,” Chuck replied, picking at the fleck of blue polish.

The last time he’d tried to officially come out in any capacity had been excruciating. He’d thought his parents were accepting. For his whole life, they’d spoken in church about loving others who were different. They volunteered to make meals for the homeless. They were, objectively, good people.

But apparently, having a gay son was too much for their particular brand of goodness. He’d been eighteen and so optimistic, holding on to hope that they might actually be happy for him. That they might have celebrated his acceptance of himself and how he had decided to live in a truthful and authentic way.

They’d wept, like he’d told them he was dying. And in a way he had, at least in their eyes. He’d gone off to college in Charleston, leaving the Texas Hill Country behind, and there hadn’t been any phone calls. There hadn’t been any emails. And when he’d asked about coming home for Thanksgiving break, he’d been informed that they couldn’t afford the flight and he should make other arrangements.

Miguel’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Most of my old friends dropped me the first time I showed up in a skirt.” They delivered the line like it was supposed to be a joke, but it fell flat. All three of them had tasted the bitter turn when people were faced with the truth of who they were.

“Narrow-minded assholes,” Wade growled. “You’re better off without them.”

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