Page 42 of Atlas & Miles
“So, Miles, what brought you here?”
Herewas a small space in a three-story office building in Seneca. I knew I’d promised myself to be brave, unafraid of what people might think, and I would. But Lars was the first therapist I’d felt good about, took the sub-par insurance I paid for myself, and could get me in the soonest. So I’d jumped on it.
And bonus: He was definitely queer. His online bio, which noted his pronouns as he/him, had mentioned both that he specialized in LGBTQ+ issues and that he lived with his husband of eight years. The rainbow and trans flags pinned to his lapel and stuck on his water bottle clued me in, too.
“I . . . um . . .” I cleared my throat. “Where should I start? Like with my childhood and shit?”
Lars chuckled quietly. “You can start wherever you’d like, but most of the people I work with prefer to start with what brought them here in the first place.”
“Ah.” I scrubbed my hands down my thighs again before crossing them over my chest. My nervous tells were driving me the fuck insane, but I couldn’t seem to stop them. I glanced in his general direction. “The real reason I came here today is . . . well, I started dating someone, and it’s getting serious. I think I love him.”
Lars didn’t blink at the pronoun, though I suspected he wouldn’t. No doubt he had people seek him out precisely because he worked with queer people. “You ‘think’?”
I clutched my hands tighter to me, eyes flicking to his then slightly away again. “I do. I love him. But I can’t tell him that.”
Lars frowned. “Why not?”
I sighed, uncrossing my arms and folding my hands in my lap. I deliberately relaxed my shoulders, trying to calm down even as I looked away. I wasn’t entirely successful. “I’m not out. I’ve known I was gay since I was eleven, but I’ve only ever told my sister and my now-deceased father. My prior hookups know, of course, and my partner—person—Daddy—” Shit. That had slipped out. I cleared my throat, adjusting in my seat. “Anyway, he knows, too.”
I felt more than saw Lars soften at the mention of Daddy kink. “What term do you prefer for him?”
Of course he’d home in on that. “I call him Daddy. I’m not one-hundred-percent sure of anything else.” I dared a glance up from where I’d been staring at the brown, tan, and light-blue carpet in the corner of the room to meet his gaze. “Is that okay?”
He didn’t hesitate before he nodded. “As long as you are both of age and everything is consensual, you’ll get no judgment from me.”
“We are. And it is.”
“Good. Now, why can’t you tell him you love him if you’re not out?”
I sighed again, fiddling with my fingers in my lap. I looked up at him this time, holding his gaze lightly. “He . . . he is so bold and bright and beautiful. He doesn’t deserve to date someone in the closet. He needs to be loved out loud. Which I told him a month ago. But I still can’t seem to justdo it.”
“Do what?”
“You know, come out.”
Lars hummed. “What does coming out look like?”
I paused, frowning. What an odd question. And yet . . . whatdidit look like? “I suppose . . . maybe an announcement of some sort?”
Lars’s expression didn’t give anything away, but that sounded ridiculous to my own ears.
“Okay, that makes no sense.”
He smiled slightly. “Whatcouldcoming out look like? What would you want it to look like?”
I stared at the wall behind him and considered it for a minute before I started verbalizing my thoughts. “He asked me to go to our high school reunion as his date.”
Lars smiled kindly. “How does that make you feel?”
“Terrified.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And . . . cherished. Chosen.”
“Is that something you long for?”
I pursed my lips, considering his curious phrasing once more.Long for?
