Page 121 of The Gaybor War

"She absolutely did."

We joke back and forth, building increasingly elaborate theories about how Eunice learned these terms, until Carter is laughing so hard, he has to brace himself against the counter. And something about that—about being the one who gets to see him like this—makes my chest do a weird, fluttery thing.

Just as we’re about to discuss lunch, there’s a flurry of voices outside. The girls descend like a flock of extremely well-dressed, invasive birds the second they spot Carter’s car back in the driveway.

Candice knocks as if she’s serving a warrant.

Malia brings pastries.

Kiki carries a pitcher of margaritas.

Shania brings questions.

We barely make it to the dining table before they start.

"So," Candice says sweetly. "How was the convention?"

"Magical," I reply. "Traumatizing. Educational. I now own three crocheted penises and a pair of glitter boots."

"Show us the boots," Shania demands.

"Later."

Kiki’s eyes slide to Carter. Slowly. Assessing. "You survived?"

"I thrived," Carter says dryly.

The girls exchange looks.

"Oh," Malia murmurs. "He’s changed."

"I knew it," Candice says. "He’s glowing."

"I am not glowing."

"You’re sitting closer than usual," Kiki points out.

I glance down. Our thighs are touching. Fully. Intentionally. I do not move.

"So," Shania says, leaning forward. "Are we addressing the elephant in the room, or do we pretend we don’t all know exactly what happened?"

Carter chokes on his margarita.

"Ladies," I warn. "This is Carter’s first brunch. Go easy on him."

"Benji," Candice says gently. "We love you. We deserve details."

"You’ll get vibes and gratitude. That’s it."

"That’s all I need, really. My imagination can fill in the blanks."

They turn their collective attention to Carter.

Malia tightens her ponytail. "And you? What are your thoughts?"

He hesitates. Just a beat. Then says, "He’s… remarkable."

I blink. The table goes quiet.