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Maybe if we were strangers it would be fine. Maybe if I graduated, he would go for it. Our current circumstances are temporary, and I’d bet anything that if we weren’t stuck in this unfortunate situation Diego wouldn’t be so reticent.
He certainly wasn’t on that dance floor.
I inhale sharply, trying to flick aside the memory that has hounded my every thought since that night. It’s not working, and I give up, packing up my things and gathering the books Diego left behind. I deposit them all in the returns bucket. If I need any of them again, they won’t be hard to find since they all sit on the same shelf, but I suspect I’m going to spend a lot more time with those websites Diego showed me. I want to crawl through every word with Diego. Six years isn’t that much time, but it might be just enough for him to have knowledge I lack. And besides that, he has experiences I certainly don’t,growing up in that small town. I can’t imagine what his little gay bar must be like, any more than he can probably imagine my high school LGBT club. It’s all too easy to imagine us talking all night about this stuff, staying up late swapping anecdotes.
Right. Yeah. As though Diego would ever let that happen. These fantasies of mine will probably remain mere fantasies forever.
I hustle out of the library and head back toward home. I wanted to get some work done without distractions, but Diego proved a powerful distraction even after his hasty exit. Walking through the brisk fall air helps settle my mind, however. Leaves crunch under my feet as I wind my way through campus, avoiding the most practical and straightforward paths for a meandering course that lets me enjoy the changing colors before I exit the university and turn onto my street.
The house is quiet and empty when I return, but it won’t stay this way. I have a few hours before I need to open the café for the night, which gives me a narrow window of time to get more work done. I settle at my kitchen table this time, a place where there’s definitely no Diego to distract me, and attempt to focus.
Then my phone pings.
“Shit,” I hiss. “Shit, shit, shit.”
I went to the library because it’s close to the liberal arts building … where I was supposed to meet up with a study group for another class. I completely forgot in my rush to wallow over Diego, and now I’m a solid fifteen minutes late and far enough from campus that there’s no point trekking back.
The text is the third one asking where I am. I type out a hasty apology, but I can’t claim I’m sick. If word spread to a customer, they might cancel their timeslot at the café. I don’t offer any excuse. My study group can think whatever they will. Whatever they come up with won’t be as bad as the truth.
“Ugh.” I set my phone aside and even close my laptop. Mia and Gabriel’s admonitions about how I’m spreading myself too thin and not having any fun pop into my mind. I’ve never been forgetful like this. I’ve never fumbled my way through life as much as I am now.
I give myself a few minutes to feel sorry for myself, but that’s all I can afford before I have to start thinking about the café. I should eat. I should wash the dishes. I should iron the slacks and vest I usually wear. I rush through a shower, then fly around my room getting things ready. How did I plan to do this after being at a study group? I suppose I would have simply shown up rumpled. It wouldn’t be the first time this semester.
I pull my hair into its usual long, black ponytail, throw on a dash of eyeliner, and call it good. Wait, did I eat? I can’t remember, so I grab a quick snack of leftover bakery goods before I rush outside to unlock the basement.
Within minutes, the others start showing up. Henry was good enough to go pick up the baked goods from Montridge Munchies tonight. He sets them in the back behind the screens that separate the tables where customers sit from the area where we brew tea.
“Thanks, Henry,” I say.
Henry is the youngest part of this new crew. Someday, he could be in the position I’m in now, trying to keep this going without the help of anyone with history here. That doesn’t seem to worry him at all as he smiles brightly at me.
“No problem at all!” he says, ever the ray of sunshine.
I’m happy to have his infectious optimism around, especially as the other two members of this slapdash crew show up.
Cameron and Julian seem to be mid-argument when they make their way into the basement. Julian is smirking, but Cameron looks like he could throw a punch any second. I turn away, keeping my sigh to myself. As much as they might hate each other, whatever they have going on is working. I’ve contemplated asking them to work as a duo some night, the way Trent and Gabriel used to. Their dynamic seems to interest some of our customers. But part of me fears Cameron will explode if I even suggest it.
We start brewing tea for ourselves, making sure our own cups are ready and don’t take away time from our customers. Everyone sets up at their usual tables. Then it’s time. The first round of customers appears at the topof the stairs, and we welcome them in with our usual flourish.
There’s something comforting about the work. It’s familiar, and putting on my “café face” is comforting in a strange way. Café Avery isn’t pining hopelessly over their TA, forgetting study groups and meals in the process. Café Avery is lively and interested. They’re the old me, the me Gabriel and the others entrusted this place to before they graduated. I like this me better, but it’s almost like I’m watching them from a distance during nights like this.
I get through the night without incident, and lately that counts as a victory. We clean up, and I let the guys go. We don’t need to stay around for a meeting. Mia has been so on top of all of that kind of stuff that usually she can simply email out the schedule for the week and that’s all we need.
It’s a relief. I don’t want to be their unofficial leader tonight. I don’t want to have to seem like I have my shit together when I so desperately do not.
Yet when I return to the house, I’m a little disappointed to find my couch empty. I could use a bit of Mia time, but it would be selfish to drag her over here for no reason. I’m sure she has other things to do with her life than deal with me. As she likes to remind me, we’re young. We’re in college. She’s probably out having all the fun she constantly tells me I should have.
I lock up and trudge upstairs, sheddingmy nice clothing in favor of comfortable, cozy things. I crawl into bed early, run down from the day. Then I lie there scrolling through social media, zoning out as timelines flash by delivering news, images, hot takes, whatever people want to fling onto the internet tonight.
When I grow bored of it, I open my texts instead, rereading the terse message I got from Diego the night he met me at the drag show. I yearn to make use of this phone number. I’ve already saved it in my address book, but if I remind him that we once exchanged numbers he’ll probably block me.
I toss the phone onto the mattress and roll over so I can shout into my pillow. No matter how busy I am, I can’t stop thinking about him. There’s an easy solution to this, if Diego would simply stop pretending he doesn’t feel the same. I know he wants me. That kiss wasn’t an accident. We nearly caused a scene on that dance floor, and no matter how much he wants to pretend it didn’t happen, I know the memory is hounding him just as much as it’s hounding me. Why else would he work so hard to avoid me?
I sit up with a jerk. Screw that. He wants to avoid me, fine. I don’t need him. There are plenty of other queer people around here who won’t be so hung up on what other people think. I snatch up my phone before I can spend another second thinking about Diego. I’m not going to beg him to want me. Gabriel and Mia are right. I shouldbe getting out there and doing what I want, having fun, hooking up, making mistakes.
Mistakes aside from Diego, that is.
I snatch up my phone and search for Mia’s number. I type out a message swiftly, before I can think about it, before I can talk myself out of it by remembering how much other shit I should be doing.
