Awkwardly Ever After (26 page)

T
im and I didn't speak during the rest of the drive, even when he pulled up to a nearby hotel.

I was too afraid to say anything in case whatever came out would be the dead last thing I wanted to share. I couldn't risk screwing up the conversation before it had even begun.

So I stood there mutely as he handed over his credit card at the front desk and then signed a few quick autographs for the employees before he was able to claim his room key. The longer we waited to break the silence, the more crucial it felt that the first statement be something really powerful. Something that would set the right tone for everything that followed it.

And I had absolutely no idea how to salvage what was left of the night . . . or the relationship between us that was plummeting at roughly the same speed the elevator was raising us to our hideaway.

Tim unlocked the room with a quick flick of the plastic key card, turned on the light, and didn't slow his purposeful stride until he sank down on the bed. “So, what do you want to discuss, Corey?”

“I love you,” I blurted out, feeling a surge of relief when Tim's shoulders slowly began to relax.

“Okay . . .”

“But you can't move to Portland.”

Tim crossed his arms. “Excuse me, are you the Portland police?”

I knew he meant it as a joke, but I didn't want to laugh off this conversation. It was too important to take the coward's way out and hide between a smile and a
Sure, sweetie. Everything is just fiiiine
response.

“You can't move out here for me.” I sat on the edge of the bed and twisted slightly so that I met his steady gaze. It was supposed to make it easier for me to read his emotions, but I felt swamped by the hazel depths of his eyes. “I love you, Tim, but you can't base these huge life decisions on me. I can't handle that kind of pressure.”

“So you'd rather we keep this long distance?” Tim raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Aren't you sick of comparing schedules and texting and pretending that it's enough?”

“Of course I am! But if you move here and we break up . . . then what? I'm the guy who interrupted every aspect of your life for nothing!”

Tim went deadly quiet. “It sounds like you've already decided you want out.”

“
No!
I want to be with you, Tim. I want to find a way to make this work, but that doesn't mean I want to screw up your career and become your Yoko Ono.”

“You know Lennon's marriage to Yoko Ono was
not
the way most people picture it.”

I threw my arms up in the air. “I don't want to discuss the history of The Beatles! I just . . . I want to keep this thing between us private! Is that really too much to ask?”

“So let me get this straight: You love me. You want to be with me. But you don't want me to move to Oregon, and you never want us to be caught together in public. Why did you even bother coming out if you wanted to keep your life tucked away in the closet?”

I felt like I'd been sucker punched. “There's a difference,” I said quietly, “between being comfortable with who I am and seeing our relationship in the tabloids.”

“I can't control that!”
Tim jumped off the bed and began pacing the room like an imprisoned animal. “I can't wave a magic wand and make the press back off. Why do you think I avoided going public in the first place?!”

“Because you were afraid being gay would damage your career. You thought I would only drag you down. And you were right.” I couldn't keep going past the lump that had formed in my throat. I felt shredded, eviscerated—as those few words finally gave voice to the dark, twisted fears I'd never been able to shake.

Tim pulled up short, but all I could see was the broad expanse of his back. He didn't turn around and I found myself grateful for the distance. The only thing worse than seeing a misery in his eyes that matched my own, would be seeing he was devoid of all emotion. For Tim to be completely unaffected.

Either way, it would just lead to pain.

“I'm sorry, Corey,” Tim said slowly, his voice hoarser than I'd ever heard it before. “I shouldn't have said . . . I didn't . . .” He scrubbed his face with one of his palms and then tried again. “I hope you find someone who can give you what you need.”

My heart crumpled. It collapsed like a soufflé that had been trying so hard to keep its shape and lost the inevitable war with gravity.

He didn't want me.

Not enough.

It was over.

I fought back the rush of tears that threatened to trickle their way down my jaw and onto the suit I had worn for him. There was no way I wanted him to see me crying over him. Not when he was probably already dismissing me as a foolish mistake—as a fanboy who couldn't handle the life of a rock star without the rose-colored glasses firmly in place at all times.

Rising to my feet seemed impossible, but I did it because that's what you do when you run out of other options.

“I, uh . . .” I cleared my throat roughly. “I know you probably don't believe this anymore, but I do love you, Tim. Just . . . take care of yourself, okay?”

He flinched.

And I lost the fight against my tear glands and swiped away the salty streaks with the back of my hand as I walked toward the door.

I hesitated with one hand on the handle, desperately hoping he would call out behind me that he didn't want this to be good-bye. That he thought what we had was worth fighting to preserve. That he loved me too much to quit.

But he didn't.

The deafening silence between us propelled me to step out into the hallway. I couldn't linger in that room with my broken heart seeping into the cream-colored carpeting beneath his feet. I couldn't do it anymore.

My legs gave out beneath me as I heard the door snick shut and watched the keycard slot flash red, just in case I wasn't clear on the whole
you are not wanted here
message.

I leaned against the wallpapered hallway as I struggled to breathe through the pain that ripped into me. Nobody passed me on their way to the elevators, but at that moment I didn't care if every student at Smith High School marched down the hallway so they could all laugh at the gay boy who had been stupid enough to believe that out of everyone in the world, Timothy Goff would pick him. Fight for him.

Love
him
.

Every painful moment flooded through me then. I hugged my knees and began shivering uncontrollably as I replayed every shove in the cafeteria, every pointed glare in the boys' locker room, every homophobic joke I'd been forced to endure with gritted teeth, because if I spoke up I'd be told to get a sense of humor. Every time someone referred to me as Mackenzie's gay best friend, because they assumed that label summed up everything they needed to know about me, and yet those same people would never consider dismissing Jane as her straight best friend.

The shame and fear and guilt and rage flooded me, but none of it could drown out the layer of pain that throbbed underneath.

Tim was finished with me.

I pushed myself off the wall and then focused my full attention on the one physical barrier that separated me from the only boy who made me feel like I could be myself and that was more than enough.

And I began pounding on it with all my strength.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

“Open the door, Tim!” I yelled. “I'm not finished with you!”

A head poked out of a nearby room. “It's past ten o'clock, kid. Shut up!”

“Not until my boyfriend talks to me.” I pitched my voice louder. “You hear that, Tim? I'm not going
anywhere
until you talk to me. So open the door!”

“Pipe down!”

“This is ridiculous. I'm not paying for some crazy kid to keep me up all night. Honey, call the desk downstairs!”

I did my best to ignore the voices as I continued pounding away. “If you
don't
open the door, I'm going to be arrested for disturbing the peace. Do you really want that to happen, Tim? For me to spend my prom night in
jail?
”

That did the trick.

Tim yanked it open and glared at me through red-rimmed eyes. “That was a low blow.”

“Absolutely.” I shoved him back and let the door close behind me. “Ask me if I care.”

“Do you care?”

“About making a scene and fighting dirty? Not a bit. About you?” I dug my hands into his hair and slammed him into a full-bodied kiss that contained everything I had. Every bit of passion and hunger and love and fear, it was all in there. And when he gripped me tightly, as if to reassure himself that I was really there, I felt the last of my fear slip away.

“I. Love. You.” I punctuated every word with a deep kiss, before I forced myself to pull back a little. “And I know you love me back.”

Tim looked adorably confused. “Of course I do.”

“Good. Well, I'm going to need you to remind me of that fact every now and then. America doesn't know what you see in me, and sometimes I don't either.”

This time it was Tim who dove in for a kiss, and as the slight scruff on his jaw abraded my chin, I didn't care too much if we postponed the conversation for a few hours . . . or days . . .

“I love that you stood up there on stage and spoke your mind,” Tim said fiercely when we finally came up for air. “I love your courage, and your snark, and your great, big—”

He kissed his way over to my left ear as I laughed like, well, a high school kid in love.

“Heart,” Tim finished as we sank down onto the bed.

“Sometimes I have trouble seeing myself that way.”

“I can remind you.”

“And sometimes the media attention is going to freak me out. I'm still not entirely sure how we're going to deal with that one.”

The pad of Tim's thumb rubbed slow, lazy circles behind my ear. “We'll take it one day at a time.”

I rested my hand on his, halting the movement, which was turning my brain to mush. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He abandoned the gentle massage and instead slid his hand into mine . . . and he held it. I could feel a foolish grin spreading across my face as he gave it a quick squeeze.

I was holding my boyfriend's hand, just like every one of those couples I had envied at the dance.

Suddenly I wished that we had posed for prom photos together, because I wanted to remember this night forever.
This
was the moment I wanted to think of first when my parents inevitably asked if I'd enjoyed the dance, even though I intended to keep that little fact to myself.

I nearly burst out laughing when it hit me that we didn't need the photobooth—the paparazzi had taken care of that for us. Action movie style.

“Whether or not I move to Portland, there will be times when I won't leave the studio for days at a time. Sleep will become a distant memory, and if I do manage to text, they will probably be pretty generic messages. And you're going to have to keep loving me anyway.”

I nodded calmly. “I can do that. But afterward I'm going to want to hole up in a hotel with you for three days.”

Tim's laughter died abruptly when he got a good look at my face. “You're serious.”

“Absolutely. I'm going to fight for you, Tim. And that means I'm going to help you spend a whole bunch of vacation days. But right now . . . let's just focus on tonight, okay?”

The heart-stopping kiss we shared was answer enough for me.

Taylor Swift: “Mean”

Okay, let's be honest: There are some people in high school (cough, Fake and Bake, cough) who are just straight-up mean. It's important to keep in mind that high school doesn't last forever . . . and that your happiness is the best possible revenge. Trust me.

 

Kate Nash: “Do-Wah-Doo”

When confronted with someone unpleasant, reading a book is always a viable option!

 

Ben Folds: “There's Always Someone Cooler Than You”

This song is directed at anyone who tries to make you feel tiny in order to make themself feel tall. And yes, there is always someone cooler than you. But the really cool people are the ones who become your best friends. (They also think that you're pretty damn awesome.)

 

Ingrid Michaelson: “The Way I Am”

I'm incredibly lucky to have found people who take me the way I am, but that wasn't always the case. So don't stress out if even your high school friends don't always get you. Support networks can take time to build.

 

Sara Bareilles: “Brave”

This song always gives me a boost of courage. It's just so completely made of awesome! I love it.

 

India.Arie: “Video”

I listened to this song nonstop in high school. It was sometimes a struggle for me to remember that my worth wasn't connected to my looks. Whenever I heard this song I felt a little less self-conscious about my body.

 

P!nk: “F*ckin' Perfect”

You are perfect to me.

 

Bridgit Mendler: “Postcard”

Never let anyone make you shy away from your dream by referring to your gender/religion/race/sexual orientation/ awkwardness/any other ridiculous reason meant to keep you down. Don't give the jerks of the world that kind of power over you.

 

Natasha Bedingfield: “Strip Me”

Nobody can steal your voice.

 

Katy Perry: “Roar”

I take a whole bunch of dance breaks to this song.

 

Estelle: “Do My Thing”

I wish this song had been playing in my head every single time someone asked about my writing plans when I was first starting out. I was told many, many times that I needed to follow a more conventional career path. I'm so glad I decided to do my thing. I hope you do yours!

 

Hot Hot Heat: “Middle of Nowhere”

The future still freaks me out. That's okay. I think it scares everybody. Adults are just better at hiding the fact that they're in the middle of nowhere too.

 

Andy Grammer: “Keep Your Head Up”

You really are going to turn out fine. I promise.

 

 

Happy Reading!

—Marni