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“Hey, Mama,” I say. “I got the fudge.”
“Oh good! I was so worried it might not make it so far.”
“It’s not that far,” I say, but I’m probably reassuring myself more than her.
“How are things, baby? Tell me everything. We haven’t talked since you left.”
I cringe, then wonder how much guilt one body can hold before it explodes. I have neglected to call her this whole past month, too caught up in my own unfolding personal drama. So I tell her everything I can, going on atlength about my classes, both the one I teach and the ones I’m taking. I focus more on the ones I’m taking, tell her all about my studies and my degree and my roommate and my apartment.
She sounds fascinated by all of it, and coming from her, I know it’s not an act. She grew up in our small town, lured my father there when they got married. It was the place where she knew she wanted to spend her life, the place where she wanted to raise her family. Does it scare her that I’ve flown away? It scares me. I’m a baby bird that hopped out of the nest before I knew how to fly, and I’m scared I won’t figure it out before something out here devours me.
“What about your friends?” my mother says. “You must be meeting such interesting people.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that one. Avery is definitely interesting. They’re like someone from a completely different universe. They couldn’t be more different from me and my family and everyone I know and care about back home. Even at the gay bar, there’s no one quite like them.
I’m suddenly struck by the image of bringing Avery home and showing them around town. Even the fantasy rings false, however. Why would they ever leave all this to see my boring little hometown? My world could not be more different from theirs, perhaps so different that it’s impossibly incongruous.
As compatible as we are physically, what if we’re irreconcilably incompatible in this? What if our worlds simply don’t mix?
The thought stabs a dagger directly into my chest, and it’s then I realize just how deep I am. All this time, I’ve tried to hold myself back; all this time, I’ve been falling for Avery anyway. Now, I can’t stomach the thought that my home, my life, would be hopelessly boring to them, that they would hate everything I love, that we’re too different to work.
Maybe it’s good I couldn’t stay too long today.
It would only give me false hope.
Chapter Nineteen
Avery
EVERY TIME SOMEONE enters the library, my head pops up from my laptop. It’s never him, but it always could be, and I can’t stop myself from checking.
I have a free afternoon, and I dragged myself out of the house and to the library in the hopes of making some progress on my research project for Diego’s class. I wanted to do this at home, but it quickly became clear that the only thing I would do at home is chase my thoughts in circles, just as I have been since Sunday. I was hoping being at the library would force me to focus, but so far it hasn’t been much better. I can’t stop myself from looking for him every time someone enters the building. I know he comes here sometimes, but I also know we’re supposed to be playing it cool. It’s been a couple days and nothing hashappened, but when I texted Diego he said he’d feel better waiting a little longer.
It doesn’t help my cause that working on this research project reminds me of him. He helped me find so many good sources. With the materials he guided me toward, the drag show, and the resources I found on my own, this is shaping up to be a huge paper. I’m worried I’ll have too much material, which is kind of wild in a field where primary sources can be tricky to come by.
Even so, there’s a couple difficult sections that I’m not sure how to iron out. Like those first-hand accounts from the ‘80s and ‘90s that Diego steered me toward. I’m not sure I’m using those the best way I can. They’re not exactly scientific, and sometimes the source is dubious, but I’m determined to weave them into the paper regardless.
There’s someone who’d have good advice for me about how to use those documents, someone who would be able to mentor me from experience. But I’m currently supposed to be acting like I barely know him.
I sigh at my laptop. I’ve managed a few paragraphs, but it’s been like walking through waist-high sand, every bit of progress a struggle.
More people enter the library. I tell myself not to lookup, not to bother checking when it definitely won’t be him. Am I really that desperate and pathetic, chasing some guy after only two days of separation?
I give in and look up, bracing for disappointment.
But this time it’s him.
He meets my eyes and holds them for a moment. But then he turns away, heading off into the library. I can’t tell if there was more to that look than simple recognition, but I start packing up my things anyway. Two days is long enough. Nothing has happened. No one has said a word about seeing us or suspecting anything. As Diego himself said, if the department thought there was some ethical violation going on here, they wouldn’t wait to bring it up.
I nearly drop books in my haste to bundle them up and get them into my bag. I keep looking up to see where Diego went. At one point, I lose track of him amid the stacks in the library. Then I spot him on the second floor, moving toward the study rooms in the far corner. He doesn’t look back at me, but a little piece of me wants to interpret that as an invitation. The study rooms are private. Why go there after meeting my eyes across the room unless you wanted me to follow?
I get my things in my bag and throw it over my shoulder. I scoop up my laptop as well, the cord for the charger dangling as I hurry to gather everything. My bag is hanging open as I take off across the library, my disheveled state garnering more than a couple curious looks from students attempting to study. If my goal was to be stealthy and low-key, I am failing spectacularly.
On the second floor, I take a breath and pause. The study rooms are behind the stacks, a couple glass-walledcubbies that contain a table and a couple chairs. They’re meant to be even more private than the rest of the library, a place to hunker down and work in total silence. Today, they’re mostly empty, except for the one where Diego sits with books and a laptop around him.
He notices me coming toward him and straightens up in his chair. I get the impression he isn’t thrilled to see me headed his direction, but I let myself into his study room anyway, out of breath from the short walk through the library.
“Hey,” I say.
