Page 40 of When Ben Loved Tim
“Pepperoni,” I reply.
“I prefer sausage,” Tim counters.
“I would have expected Ben to say that,” my dad murmurs.
God I love him! Even though the joke makes Tim’s face turn red.
We keep naming the toppings we each prefer, having to get rid of one or two we disagree on, but in general we’ve passed the compatibility test.
“I’m so glad you like pineapple,” Tim says on the way upstairs.
“Pineapple for life!” I say in a deep voice before bumping fists with him.
I open the door to my bedroom and step aside, letting him go first. I stayed up late cleaning so everything would be perfect. There isn’t much to see. I have a queen-sized bed that Allison loved teasing me about when I first got it.When the queen rises from bed in the morning, does he put on queen-sized slippers before sitting on his queen-sized toilet?She’s just jealous. Her bed is only wide enough for one. My parents let me dream big. I was just starting high school when they bought it, and I honestly thought I’d be sharing it with a boyfriend long before now. And yet, here we are, four years later…
I watch Tim perform a similar inspection to the one I gave his room. I won’t let him rummage through my underwear drawer (who would do such a thing?) but at least I’m there to answer any questions.
“Where’d you get this?” he asks, touching a small coconut that’s been carved and painted to resemble a pirate’s head.
“That was the guy before you. I used dark magic to shrink his head. I can’t wait to add yours to the collection.”
In truth it was a souvenir that I picked up on a family vacation. No idea why, but I’ve been living with a disembodied head ever since.
“I like that,” Tim says, nodding at a band poster on the wall. He touches it experimentally. “The original version was probably a screen print.”
“A what?” I ask, walking over to join him.
“Like they applied each layer of paint separately,” he explains. “See how there are only a few colors?”
“I never noticed before,” I admit. “Are you into that sort of thing?”
Tim shrugs and moves to a group of photos I have taped to the wall. “Who’s that?” he asks, pointing at Allison.
“My best friend,” I reply.
“She’s hot,” Tim says in approval. “Who’s the dork standing next to her?”
“Shut up,” I say, pushing him playfully. “I wanted long hair. For whatever reason it just gets thicker, like a helmet.”
“Huh,” Tim says. “I’ve thought about growing mine out.”
“You totally should!” I say, eying his silky-black hair.
“My dad wouldn’t like it,” he says dismissively. “Is that your sister?” he asks, pointing to a family photo.
“Yup.” I’m braced for him to say that she’s hot.
Instead his gaze is guarded when he turns to me. “That joke your dad made… Do your parents know?”
“About me?” I laugh. “Yeah! They’ve known for ages.”
Tim sits on the edge of my bed. “How did that go?”
I remain standing so we’re facing each other. “My mom was easy. She basically asked me, so she must have already suspected. Telling my dad was kind of awkward.”
Tim swallows. “How come?”
I exhale. “Because he started talking about this gay guy he shared a dorm with in college, and how they messed around once, but it wasn’t for him.” I do my best imitation of my dad’s voice. “‘For me it was just an experimental phase, son, but I never had a better roommate, so I’m happy that you’re gay like him.’”
