See Dot Smile

The Deal

Bud takes his time hobbling down the basement stairs, while I get him a fresh bag of ice from the kitchen and raid the pantry for soda and pretzels. When I get downstairs, I find him lying on his back with his feet up on the couch. "I might never get up again," he says. "Do I at least work with the décor in here?"

"You look amazing," I say truthfully, handing him the ice pack and a soda he won't be able to consume while lying down.

He positions the ice over his crotch and sighs. "Thank you."

I plop down on the couch and snuggle my feet under myself. I shove a handful of pretzels in my mouth and we're officially hanging out.

"Is this where you and Josh hooked up?" he asks out of nowhere.

I almost choke on the mouthful of pretzel, sending a shower of crumb dust over his shoes.

"Sorry, is that too personal?" he asks. "I didn't think the location would be that personal a detail. It's not like I asked how far you guys got with each other."

"Uh huh," I say, watching him with amusement. He's playing with his tie. Holding it up straight in the air and letting it fall. When it lands over his face, he throws his hands up like he scored. I put another handful of pretzels in my mouth.

"How far did you guys get?"

"Bud!?" I spit even more at him this time.

"I'm just wondering. You don't have to tell me. Forget I asked."

He goes quiet. But his hands are busy. Itsy bitsy spidering. 

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "Maybe."

The maybe lands more heavily than the yeah.

"Is there something you want to talk about? Other than what Joshua and I got up to down here?"

"It was down here?"

I laugh and throw a pretzel at him. It lands on his chest, and he eats it, throwing me a thumbs up in gratitude.

"Hey, Dot," he says quietly.

"Yeah."

"I think there's something wrong with me."

His voice is shaky, and it tugs on my heart. I slide down off the couch and sit alongside his legs. I nudge his knee with my elbow. "Why do you say that?"

"Because ... even though I like girls, and I like thinking about them, and being around them. When I'm with a girl I really like ... I don't feel ... how I'm supposed to feel. Does that make sense?" He's trying to look at my face for an answer, but he can't lift his head enough. I grab a pillow from the couch and help him get it under his head and shoulders.

"You mean, you're not attracted to them?" I ask, certain I already know the answer.

"No. I'm attracted to them," he says. "Like you. You looked so amazing tonight. And it made me want to be near you. And that felt really good. In my heart." He puts his hand there and I have a weird urge to cry which I quickly dismiss as PMS. "But when I'm with a girl, and I'm kissing her or touching her, I don't feel it ... anywhere else."

He looks at me. Hopeful I'm going to say what he needs to hear to put his mind at ease.

"Do you think I might be gay?" he asks.

"I don't think I can answer that for you," I say.

His face twists up and he brings both hands to cover it.

My chest clenches at the sight of him suffering. "Bud, it's okay," I say, crawling closer to his face. I put my hand on his chest, and he sobs, turning toward me and curling in on himself.

"I don't know what I am," he cries. "I just know I'm not normal. There's something wrong with me, and I don't know how to fix it."

I gently comb his hair with trembling fingers. "Who says you have to fix anything?"

"Because I'm supposed to want certain things," he sobs. "From girls ... or guys ... from someone. And I don't. I don't want those things, or need them, and I don't know why."

I lay down on the floor and rest my head next to his on the pillow. I kiss his forehead and wipe his tears with his tie. "Hey. When you say 'things', are you talking about like ... sex?"

He covers his face and sobs. I'm taking that as a yes.

"Okay," I say, suddenly terrified that Bud and I might be living on two different planets, "but you do want some things, right? You wanted to dance with me tonight. And to kiss me. Did it feel good for you to do those things?"

"Yes." His eyes are wide with sincerity. "I wanted to kiss you. I loved it. And I loved dancing with you."

My heart trips over his sweetness. "Well, what's wrong with that?" I ask.

He sighs. "I don't know. I just know I'm wrong somehow. And I'm going to be alone forever because no one will ever want me. I'm too weird, and fat, and I always say the wrong thing. And on top of that, I'm some kind of broken... messed up..." He struggles to find the right hurtful word to describe himself and I refuse to let him utter it.

"Cut it out, Bud," I say firmly. "You're not broken. Or messed up. You're you. And you're perfect." I take his face in my hands and make him look at me. "Anyone who can't see that is a fucking moron who doesn't deserve to know you. You're sweet and funny and the best damn kisser I've ever had."

"Better than Joshua?" His eyebrows pop up and I'm suddenly crying and laughing at the same time. PMS, right?

"Better than Joshua," I say. And I'm not lying.

He grabs me and plants a beautiful, salty kiss on my lips, and wraps me up against his big, soft heart. "Thank you for saying that."

"I'm not just saying it, Bud," I cry. "I fucking mean it."

He lets me go and gives me an enormous smile through the last of his tears.

I kiss him again. Because he's wonderful. And he deserves all the kisses that exist on the planet. I sit up and compose myself before giving him both my hands and helping him up. I twist open his soda for him and put the bag of pretzels between us for sharing.

"Bud, I want to help you figure this out," I say. "Will you let me do that for you?"

He shakes his head. "You do too much for everyone. I don't want our friendship to be work for you."

I take a long sip of root beer and lick my lips. "What if you paid me?"

"What?" His brow furrows in amusement. "That sounds ... shady."

"I don't want your money," I say. "But I will except payment in the form of kisses."

I hold my bottle out to him, making the offer official. He blushes hard, and barely holds in a boyish squeal, as he tilts his bottle toward mine and we tap the necks together. "Deal," he says, bringing the bottle to his grinning lips. "But no tongues."

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