“Yeah, I know, but still. I have to sell this to my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, the whole lot. I can’t drop the ball on this. Not now, when we’re halfway done.”
“What would you like to know?”
“I don’t know. Did you grow up in Seattle?”
“I did.” I purposely skimp on those details because those early years before Mom met Ted aren’t worth talking about. “And I have one brother.” She already knows that, although I know from what her friend, Dean, mentioned, they both assumed Sebastien was just a friend. “I have a Degree in Computer Science. That’s all there is to know.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“I’m twenty-eight, so that’s good. Not too much of an age gap.”
“Would that matter?”
“No. Not really. I…no. Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“What?”
Pearl sighs so hard that the walls probably shook a little. “Nothing. I…just nothing.”
“You can tell me.”
“It’s just that…I…errr…well…we’re probably going to have to be affectionate tomorrow. People will expect it for sure.”
“That kiss wasn’t enough for you?”
“It’s not that. I’m just saying. Maybe we should practice one more?”
“If that’s what you want, I can do that. And then we should both get the hell to sleep. I don’t have to look chipper tomorrow, but you’re in the wedding party. You’re going to be immortalized in photographs forever.”
“Thanks. Because I wasn’t nervous enough.” Pearl’s tone is dryer than parched dust. Okay, just dust, I guess, since isn’t that the definition of dust?
“Should I turn on the light?”
“No. Just a quick kiss. In the dark.”
“Alright. If you’re certain.”
“Just do it.”
Pearl sits up abruptly, and I follow suit. My eyes are well adjusted now, and it’s easy and natural for my hand to find her jawline. It’s even more natural for me to guide her face gently to mine and for me to bend my face to hers.
The kiss is the most natural thing at all. The second our lips brush, something clicks into place. It’s like the world was just…off. My whole life. And now it’s not. It’s definitely…on, on right.
“Oh god,” Pearl moans. Her hands tangle in my hair, and my fingers find her long silky strands and do the same.
We attack each other’s mouths until we’re breathless. When we pull away, my entire body is cold from all the chills running down my spine. I’m not exactly sure how it works because my blood feels like it’s boiling. I feel electrified from my toes all the way to the roots of my hair. I wonder if it’s standing on end, like how people’s hair gets when they touch one of those static ball things. I’m about to say something snarky about definitely not being able to kiss her like that because I doubt tonsil hockey is appropriate for public consumption, especially when the said public is Pearl’s family, but Pearl speaks first.
“Gabriel, I don’t know how to ask this, so at risk of being completely offensive, which I do apologize for, are you really gay? I mean, just gay?”
I guess this is my time to come clean, even if it’s probably the worst time. Not that there’s a good time to tell someone you didn’t really lie to them but kind of did, or just kind of didn’t correct an assumption and rolled with it.
I swallow so loudly that the walls are probably shaking again. I really hope Pearl’s parents are asleep. “No.”
“No, you’re not just gay?”
“No, I’m not just gay. I’m not gay at all.”
There’s a brief pause, and then the blankets explode around me as Pearl tries to stand up and make a break for it and literally falls straight on her ass. Or her face. Jesus, I hope it was her ass.
“Ow ow, owwwwwwwww,” her wail starts up. The sobs that follow make me think it was not her ass that took the brunt of her fall at all.
Fuck. Why does everything I touch have to go to complete—broken toilet, mellowing, foul, swamp rat style—shit?
CHAPTER 12
Pearl
I see black. Bright lights. All sorts of crazy colors. No, I’m not hallucinating. No, I’m not talking about having the big O to end all O’s. I am talking about falling off the bed in my shock and landing straight on my forehead. Yeah, for the record, it produces some technicolor stuff like you wouldn’t believe.
I scramble upright and force my eyes open because I can sense, even if I can’t see, a presence hovering over me. God. The lights are on, and they’re blinding. Gabriel must have flipped them on after I fell off the bed. He’s right there, hovering as I thought—a hovery-hoverer. There is no way I’m letting Gabriel lay a finger on me. Not even to help me up. Which he’s obviously trying to do because his hand brushes my arm, and when my ears stop ringing, and I realize I’m chanting an ow-ow-ow litany, I also realize he’s muttering something about being ‘really sorry,’ and ‘please let me help you,’ and ‘I can explain,’ as well as my personal favorite—‘ oh my god there’s a huge lump on your forehead!’