Page 50 of I Can't Even Think Straight

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to make up for Vass’s distinct lack

of enthusiasm:

Vass isn’t usually this dismissive

of their mum.

“Μπρ?βο, αγ?ρι μου.” Theía Estélla

smiles and pinches my cheek,

the way she often does when I speak Greek.

She leaves the bedroom and shuts the door.

“She doesn’t realize we’ve grown up.”

Vass rolls their eyes.

Their whole vibe feels

off to me.

I don’t know,

maybe Vass and Theía Estélla

have had a row recently?

I look down at the sprinkles

on my marshmallows and whipped cream,

then around Vass’s bedroom,

which looks like the wind blew in

Pride parades from decades ago:

a “Pits and Perverts” T-shirt

from Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners,

a SILENCE = DEATH poster,

and five updates of the Pride flag.

“Well, you still love rainbows,” I tease,

in an effort to lighten the mood.

“Anyway, where were we?

Oh yeah! You were telling me

how you don’t think Kwesi is into you.”

“Exactly! Like I said,

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