Page 46 of After the Rain

"I panicked. I've spent thirty-eight years believing I knew who I was, and suddenly everything I thought I understood about myself was wrong. It felt like the ground had disappeared from under my feet."

I could hear the pain in his voice, could see how much the admission cost him. But my own hurt was still too raw to just forgive and forget.

"I get that, Wade. I really do. But disappearing without explanation hurt more than the confusion itself. If we're going to rebuild any kind of relationship—friendship or otherwise—I need to know you won't just vanish when things get complicated."

"I won't," he said immediately. "I can't promise I'll have all the answers, or that I won't be scared sometimes, but I won't disappear again. You and Cooper both deserve better than that."

The promise felt fragile but real, like something we could maybe build on if we were careful.

"So where does that leave us?"

Wade was quiet for a long moment, staring into his coffee like it might contain answers to questions he was still learning how to ask.

"I don't know," he said finally. "I'm attracted to you. That's not confusion or experimentation—it's real. But I also don't know what that means for my life, for Cooper's life, for the future I thought I was building. Dr. Marlow says I need to give myself time to figure out who I am before I can figure out what I want with another person."

"How much time?"

"I don't know that either. Maybe months. Maybe longer." He looked up at me, and I could see the fear and hope warring in his expression. "Is that fair to ask? For you to be patient while I work through my shit?"

The question hung between us, heavy with implication. Was I willing to wait for someone who might never be ready? Was I strong enough to be friends with someone I had feelings for while he figured out if those feelings could ever be reciprocated?

"I can be your friend," I said slowly. "I can be Cooper's teacher and someone who cares about both of you. But I need honesty, Wade. About your process, about what you're feeling, about where you think this is going. I can't handle more disappearing acts."

"I can do that. Honest communication, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."

We talked for another hour, carefully rebuilding the foundation of trust that had been shattered by weeks of silence and confusion. Wade told me more about his therapy sessions, about confronting fifteen years of marriage that had felt like performance, about the terrifying realization that he might have been living someone else's life.

"How did you know?" he asked suddenly. "When you came out, how did you know you weren't just confused or going through a phase?"

The question hit me like a punch to the chest. I'd been out for over a decade, but talking about those early years still felt like touching an old wound that had healed crooked.

"I was seventeen," I said, staring into my coffee cup like it might contain the courage I needed. "There was this guy in my AP English class, Timothy Chen. Brook's older brother, actually. He was everything I thought I should want to be—confident, athletic, popular. But I didn't want to be him. I wanted to be with him."

Wade nodded, encouraging me to continue.

"I spent months convincing myself it was just admiration, just wanting to be friends. But then at prom, I watched him dance with his girlfriend, and I realized I wasn't jealous of hissuccess or his popularity. I was jealous of her. I wanted to be the one in his arms."

"What did you do?"

"Had a complete breakdown in the school parking lot." I laughed, but it came out hollow. "Brook found me crying behind the gym and made me tell her what was wrong. She was the first person I said it out loud to: 'I think I'm gay.'"

Wade's eyes never left my face. "How did she react?"

"She hugged me and said, 'Thank God, I was wondering when you were going to figure that out.' Apparently, my crush on Timothy had been obvious to everyone except me."

Wade reached across the table and touched my hand briefly. The contact was gentle, supportive, but he pulled back quickly like he was afraid of being seen.

"When did you finally accept it?"

"Junior year of college. I fell in love with my roommate, Daniel. Not just attraction this time, but real love. The kind that makes you want to build a life with someone. When I imagined my future, it wasn't some theoretical woman I was supposed to find—it was him."

"What happened with Daniel?"

The old ache settled in my chest, familiar and unwelcome. "He was straight. Completely, totally straight. But he was also kind when I told him how I felt. He helped me understand that being gay wasn't something wrong with me—it was just who I was."

"And your parents?"

The question I'd been dreading. This was the part of the story that still carried complicated weight, even after all these years.

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