Page 18 of Who The Hell Are You?

How seasonal, a little ghostie.

“So, want to talk about the bi-awakening thing or are we dusting past that part?” He says around a mouthful of cookie.

Groaning, I run my hand through my mess of damp curls, “It’s not an awakening, I don't think.”

He frowns, so at war with how happy he usually is. “What do you mean?” There's something in his expression that has me almost worried for a moment, but he can't possibly know about my masked–whatever. Ugh. Not my anything.

“Let's just say it's not a surprise. No big revelation.”

“No way. That is not your big coming out to me story. I need details.” Clearing his fingers of crumbs, he turns to me which presses his shoulder snug into the crook of my armpit.

“Ok, fine but I reserve the right to say I did warn you. It's weird,” taking a deep breath, I spill my truth before chickening out. “My mum's a sex therapist. She specialises mainly in helping others with their sexuality. Hetrosexual, homosexual, bi, ace, a-sexual, pan, demi–she really helps everyone. My parents have never out rightly asked, but they’ve always seemed surprised when I’d tell them I was with a girl. Actually, even when I was younger Mum would be skeptical. I don't know if it's being raised so openly about that kinda stuff, but I struggle to form…connections.” I sigh, pulling at the hair at my nape. “It's stupid. It's like it takes my body a little longer to get interested than my brain.”

Miles gives me a soft smile, but it's with understanding not pity, thank Jesus. “I hope you don't mind me asking, clarifying really. You're into women and guys?”

“I've never been with a guy, but Mum says I used to fawn over a boy in my class, Brody Ramsay. One day I just stopped. I don't remember why, but she always brings it up like it should be significant to me. I feel like it's why she looks at my relationships with, I don't know, doubt? I don't look at anyone sexually, normally, but I appreciate that both men and women are nice looking.” I can admit that. Already wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole, I end my ramblings before I freak him out more. My mum is amazing, the best in the world, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit her line of work leaked into some aspects of my life. The birds and bees talk came with encouragement to explore all sexual experiences, all genders, to speak openly about what I want with partners; which for a teenager was weird as hell to hear from my own parents. She emphasized not to label myself, like she knew something I didn’t. What I don't add is that she's not the only person who gives me a hesitant look whenever I introduce my girlfriends.

Pushing his empty coffee cup with his little finger, I’m moments from accepting I’ve scared him off when Miles meets my gaze with what looks like curiosity in his eyes, but he’s worrying his lip.

“Ah, you’re freaked out.” I sag, removing my arm from his chair as I try to retreat back, but he grabs onto my bicep.

“No! No, it’s not that. It sounds like you could be ace, or demi, but she’s smart to not pressure labels. She sounds cool.” He falls silent, his hand still on my arm but his teeth still pinch his lip.

“What’s wrong then?”

After the longest second of my life, he sighs. “Are you still friends with Brody?” He pulls a face as he speaks my old classmate's name and I can’t help but snort.

“What? Nah. I don’t think I’ve seen him since school. He’s probably still in Scotland.” This seems to placate whatever clouded his thoughts, as the crease between his brow smooths and the faint outline of a dimple pops as his smile returns.

“Good.” Is all he replies before placing the last piece of his cookie into his mouth, lifting his eyebrows as he chews and I don't know what to make of it. Good because? I'm not sure how to finish that train of thought.

He asked more questions about Mum, growing up and for now we dance past my sexuality crisis. I'm pretty relieved because I rarely open up about how my mum's practice affects me. So I might not be one hundred percent straight, but that didn't mean my parents figured it out before I did. They were just super open minded about never missing out on all opportunities. A subject most teenage boys definitely don't want to hear. For some reason I gravitated towards women and forgot completely about Brody, until a masked man made me question everything.

We finish our coffees and the overwhelming smell of spiced sweets and brewed chai reminds me of the first time we met. Thankfully my clothes are dry this time, but I’m wearing his hoodie. I like the smell of it and maybe I had fallen asleep in it the first night.

“Oh I forgot, sorry man I have your hoodie. I'll wash it and I can give it back to you? Are you planning on staying at the gym?”

Miles gives me an unimpressed look which I can't decipher, until he chastises me. “I am not a man kinda guy, Cassie.”

“Oh, turn your nose up at Miley but now who's the one dishing out nicknames?” I laugh, knocking his shoulder with mine.

Still glaring but with half of the heat, he presses into my shoulder but keeps his weight fallen into my side. “Don’t give if you can't take.” Time seems to slow before my eyes as he leans forward, his lips lifting into a smile as bright as when the morning sun hits the ocean and lightly touches his nose against mine. “Keep the hoodie. It looks good on you.”

All I can do is nod.

We finish up the rest of our coffee and Miles arranges his notes for his morning class, lightly explaining the book they're currently dissecting. The conversation is so easy and I can't help but compare to how Grace never really let me in on what she was writing. I asked constantly, but she always waved me off like the insight into her life wasn’t of any importance. It’s honestly refreshing to be let in this easily and he might not understand how much it means to me, even if it's over something as trivial as his class reading assignment.

Whilst he tucks everything into his backpack, I take our tray to the bin, depositing our rubbish and hand the empty mugs to a barista. He’s all ready to go when I make it back to the table, a weird pang in my chest about our coffee-date being over. Date? A familiar flush pulled tight at my skin, because I may have spontaneously made this more than what he might think it was, in my head.

“My class is in the west block, where is yours?” His question makes me break from my brief anxiety induced thoughts.

“I'm in north, but the path cuts past west so I could walk you?”

Miles beams. “I’d really like that.”

As we exit the coffee shop, we start down the street towards our university and I can't push down how much I want to see him again.

“Come to open mic night this Friday.” Shooting him a sidewards glance, his hands are tucked into his jeans as we walk and his smile pulls into a smirk.