I Wish You All the Best

by Mason Deaver

  If it wasn’t for them, I’m not exactly sure where I’d be. Probably still at home, wasting away under that roof all by myself, not really understanding who I am. Or if I did understand who I am, I probably wouldn’t have figured it out until much later.

  “You should come and see me speak tonight,” Mariam says while we’re walking back to their hotel. Whatever organization they work for really shelled out. It’s not the nicest place in the city, but even just a night here can’t be cheap.

  “Maybe.” It’s like the word rolls around in my head for a bit, and the second it’s out there, I hate it. Why am I not more excited about Mariam’s speech?

  “Come on, smaller crowd, and if I just tell them you’re my friend, then no pressure, right?”

  “Right.” I mean, I’ve been worried about the group this entire time, running across someone from school or just in general having to come out to an entire group of people. But this is for Mariam. For my best friend. For the person who probably saved my life.

  I can’t believe I was thinking about not going.

  God, I’m an asshole sometimes.

  “I’ll be there.” I make the promise to them, and to myself. “Just have to do the most difficult thing I’ve ever done first.”

  “It’s going to go amazingly, I promise.” Mariam reassures one. “Want to grab dinner when I’m done? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, a new project.”

  “New project?” I ask.

  Mariam just gives me a mysterious smile. “Yeah, I think you’ll like it.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  “Starts at six thirty. I’ll text you the address.”

  I check my phone. There’s still plenty of time to get ready. Maybe I should ask Nathan. Maybe it’d answer any question he has. God, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m going to come out to Nathan Allan. It might not even be the actual coming out that scares me. It’s what he’s going to think of me after.

  I try to waste time walking around the park, but that just makes me more nervous, so I sit in the car, slowly typing out a text one letter at a time, until it makes some sort of sense.

  Me: Hey, can you meet me near the Wake County Community Center? I need to talk to you.

  I close my eyes and hit send.

  There, out of my hands. I have to tell him now, right?

  Nathan: Sure, everything okay?

  Me: Yeah, just need to tell you something

  Nathan: okay… be there in ten

  Ten minutes to decide how to tell him. Just being up front would be easiest. In theory, at least.

  Just say the words. I’ve said them before, and it’s gone well, mostly. Maybe the odds are with me here. Or maybe I can just hand him my phone with an article on being nonbinary, let him read up on it. Then I can answer any questions he’ll have.

  Maybe I won’t do it at all. And I’m wasting his time. And mine.

  Time crawls at a snail’s pace while I wait for Nathan, the perfect view of the community center right across the street from me. With my luck, he won’t even show up, he’ll call and cancel, and I’ll have worked myself up for nothing.

  I glance at the clock on the dashboard. 5:40. Maybe we’ll have enough time to make it to Mariam’s talk.

  “You can do this,” I whisper to myself, trying to will my heart to beat slower, my hands to stop shaking around the wheel. “You can do this. He isn’t going to hate you, or try to hurt you. That’s not who he is.”

  Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been wrong. Certainly won’t be the last.

  A knock on the window pulls me out of this trance, and for a split second I don’t even recognize Nathan. But then he gives me that familiar smile, and I roll down the window just enough to tell him to get in. Maybe doing this in the car will be better, less chance of a scene, and if he gets angry enough, he’ll just leave himself.

  “What’s up?” He stretches his legs out, leaning against the door.

  “Hey.” I try to breathe as calmly as I can.

  “Hey. You okay?” He leans in a little closer. “You look like you need help hiding a body.”

  “Yeah, I just … There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  “And it’s pretty big, and I really don’t want you to hate me, but I need to tell you.”

  “Unless that whole body thing is true, I don’t think there’s anything to hate about you.” He tries to get me to laugh, or even crack a smile, but I can’t. I just can’t. Because it’s taking everything inside me not to break down right now.

  I’m doing this.

  “I just …” I stammer. “I need you not to be you right now.”

  He leans back in the seat, his mouth a flat line. “Deal.”

  “And I know it’s not totally fair, but you can’t ask any more questions, okay? Not until I’m done.”

  “Pinky promise.” He offers me his pinky finger.

  And I take it.

  “The reason I left home, the reason I was kicked out of my home …” I breathe. “Is because I’m nonbinary.” I watch his face, and to his credit he doesn’t seem surprised or shocked or angry. And he doesn’t ask any questions. I can tell he wants to, but he doesn’t.

  I start with New Year’s Eve night, a lifetime ago, and I tell him everything. Calling Hannah, moving to Raleigh, the car outside the house, the appointments with Dr. Taylor and the medication, and everything with Mariam. I’m shaking the entire time, and I’m still shaking when I’m done talking, but I did it. It’s done. And there’s no taking it back.

  And when I am done, and when he can tell I’m done, he finally opens his mouth. “Wow.”

  “I’m sorry I kept this from you for so long.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I watch him do that thing where he rubs the back of his neck.

  “Listen, if this a deal breaker and you don’t want to be my friend anymore, then I—”

  The way he looks at me, it’s as serious as I’ve ever seen him. “That’s not what’s going to happen. Why would you think I’d want to lose you like that?”

  I shrug, fighting back tears. “I don’t know … I’m sorry.”

  “Come here.” He pulls me in. At first, I don’t want to move, but he’s so warm, and I’m desperate for a touch right now. His touch. He rocks us both back and forth a little. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.” He’s sniffling. Is he crying too? “I just spent the last half year misgendering you, and you’re apologizing to me?”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I wish I could’ve known.” His voice breaks, and I feel his tears fall on my hands. “I’m so sorry, Ben, I’m so, so sorry you had to put up with it. And I’m so sorry I did that to you for so long.” He’s full-on crying now, and it’s making me cry more, and we’re both blubbering messes.

  “I forgive you,” I choke out.

  I’m sure there are people walking by who can see us, or maybe hear us weeping because we are not holding it back. But neither of us care. Or I don’t at least.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” I breathe. In and out. “I was just scared, I guess.”

  “You really need to stop apologizing.” He lets out this weird sound between a cry and a laugh.

  I can’t even help myself. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re the worst.”

  “I know.”

  We sit there for a few more minutes, and I just relish in his being here, the warmth of him, the comfort. I can’t believe I waited so long to tell him this, I can’t believe I ever thought he could hate me.

  “We’re both messes.” Nathan tries his best to wipe away the tears.

  “Yeah, we are.” I try to relax. Because it’s over, it’s done. I did it. That weight should be gone, but it isn’t. It’s still hanging there, pressing on my heart. But it feels lighter, at least. Small victories. Small celebrations.

  “I wonder how many people are staring at us.”

  “Probably a lot,” I say.


  “So how does this work exactly? What sort of pronouns should I use for you?”

  I try to swallow. “I use they and them.”

  “Okay. I want you to correct me if I use the wrong ones, okay? Promise me.”

  “Pinky promise,” I say. We may only have months left together. But right now, I just want to pretend like we’ve got an eternity.

  “So, what about things like ‘dude’ or ‘my man’?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘my man’ before.”

  “I’m trying out something new.”

  “Well, please don’t use that for me, or ‘dude.’” It’s gender-neutral enough for most people, but not for me.

  “Got it.” He looks out the window to the community center. “I do have another question. Why here?”

  “Oh, that. My friend Mariam, the vlogger? They’re speaking here tonight, and I wanted to come see them.” I glance toward the community center, and then back to Nathan. “Would you want to come with me?”

  “Why, Benjamin De Backer, it’d be a delight,” he says with a smile.

  The group meets on the fourth floor of the community center. I’m actually glad Nathan agreed to come with me, because I don’t really think I can do this by myself. Not right now. I would’ve waited for Mariam, but I have no clue when they’re supposed to be here.

  “So, this is your first time here?” Nathan asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Great, so I’m not the only one that’s totally nervous, right?”

  “Not at all.” I press the button for the elevator.

  “Good.” Nathan sighs as the doors slide open. “Are you going to tell Sophie and Meleika?”

  I shrug. “Don’t really know. Do you think they’d be okay with it?”

  “I think they’d be fine with your being a ten-foot-tall lizard person in a skin suit.”

  “Let’s not test that theory.” I feel the familiar brush of his hand against mine.

  “Thank you,” he says. “For trusting me with this.”

  Our palms press together, fingers dancing. “I was scared out of my mind to be honest.”

  “I hope I didn’t make you feel like it wasn’t safe or anything.”

  “It wasn’t really you, it was … the after. Like what was going to happen when I finally did it. I really didn’t want to lose you either.”

  “I’m very proud of you, Ben.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “I’m getting kind of excited.” Nathan stares at the numbers above the door, watching them rise slowly. “For the meeting.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I offer.

  I have to push away the idea that we’re in the wrong building. I doubled-checked all the addresses and the group’s page says they meet in the community center. This has to be the right building. I breathe a sigh of relief when the elevator door opens because right there on the list of offices and their room numbers is “Project Safe Space—Room 414.”

  The directory just outside the elevator says that’s to the left, so we follow the arrows, counting down the rooms until I see the one labeled 414. For some reason I’m expecting a big rainbow banner that says “All Are Welcome Here!” or flags hanging all around the door or something, but it matches the rest of the rooms. In fact, the only “decoration,” if it can even be called that, is the poster that lists the meetings, naming them “Project Safe Space,” and giving the dates for the meetings underneath.

  “Ready?” Nathan pulls on the door handle.

  “Yeah.”

  Mariam’s already being called to the front of the room when we step in. They catch us, and a smile lights up their face before they refocus on the papers in front of them.

  There are only a few stares from other people when we decide to burst in, taking a spot at the back. Mariam doesn’t miss a beat though and just keeps going. The actual talk itself lasts about an hour, but then there’s another half hour of people asking Mariam questions, and it seems like with every one of them, Mariam falls down this rabbit hole of explanation. They never told me what the subject of the talk would be, but Mariam delves deep into the need for more queer safe spaces. Specifically ones geared toward queer minors, places that don’t focus on dancing or drinking, like most clubs do.

  And it’s not like I didn’t know it before, but sitting here, listening to them talk, it hits me just how brilliant my best friend actually is.

  “Okay, everyone. I’d love to keep going,” they say. “But unfortunately, that’s all the questions for now.”

  The applause is immediate. People even give them a standing ovation, which coming from a smaller crowd is sort of odd. But maybe Mariam deserves that sort of reaction. Nathan and I sort of hang near the back, but since we are new faces, we still catch some attention.

  “Hi!” This guy walks up to us.

  He’s cute, or I guess they’re cute. I shouldn’t be assuming anyone’s pronouns. The chances of me screwing up are probably higher here. I shouldn’t do that anyway, honestly; I know the pain all too well. “Are you here for the group?” they ask.

  “Kinda.” I clear my throat. “My name is Ben.”

  “I’m Nathan.” He gives a wave.

  “Micah.” They don’t reach to shake my hand or anything, which I appreciate. “What are your pronouns?” they ask.

  “Oh, um.” I don’t really know why that catches me off guard. “They and them, please.”

  “Awesome. I use he and him,” he says before he looks Nathan’s way.

  “Oh, I use he and him, I guess. Sorry, not used to the pronoun thing yet.”

  “It’s cool.”

  Nathan falls into easy conversation with Micah, and then more people sort of crowd around. There’s Camryn, who’s non-binary like me; Ava, who’s pan and gender-fluid; Cody, who’s bisexual; and Blair, who’s an aromantic trans girl. They all sort of get caught up in Nathan’s gravitational pull, and I’m envious. He just slides right into the conversation, as if he’s known everyone for years. Like we’re one big happy queer family. I guess that’s sort of the point of the whole group really.

  I try to chime in here and there, answer any questions I’m asked. But really, I can’t help but watch Nathan. He seems so happy.

  But eventually Micah has to go to the front of the room and make an announcement that the building is closing. People start running up to Mariam, getting in last-minute questions and pictures.

  “Maybe we should just wait outside,” I say.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  We sit in that silence outside. The comfortable one that comes when it’s just the two of us. Well, the two of us and the few people walking around downtown so late at night, but it feels like just the two of us, the cool air of the night keeping us comfortable.

  “You know prom tickets go on sale Monday,” he says out of the blue.

  Why on earth is he telling me this? “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. You want to go?”

  “I don’t have anything to wear.” Or the money to rent something. And I can’t ask Hannah to do that. Not on such short notice.

  “We can find you something,” he offers.

  “I’m good.” My eyes fly from the floor to his face.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” I can feel my heart beating faster, and that sweaty feeling in my palms. Because did he just ask me to prom? That’s what it sounded like, right? I just thought it was going to be him and Meleika and Sophie all going as friends. Meleika already said they’d made the reservations for dinner and everything.

  So even if I say yes, there’s really no room for me.

  “So, did you like it?” I ask Nathan, desperate for a subject change here. Anything to get us far away from prom. “The talk, I mean.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “She seems pretty popular.”

  “They,” I correct.

  “Right, sorry. They, they, they,” he starts repeating under his breath. “What’s their channel name again
?”

  “Just search Mariam Haidari,” I say.

  His eyes go wide when he hits enter and sees all the places Mariam’s name is popping up. “Oh my God. You’re totally friends with a famous person.”

  “I guess.” I don’t know if Mariam’s ever seen it that way.

  “Come on.” He keeps scrolling. “Wow, they’ve done a lot.” Then he sees the picture. The picture. And I can tell it’s the picture because he grips my arm and his eyes go wide. “They fucking met Beyoncé?”

  “Yes, I have, and she’s lovely.” Mariam’s voice surprises the both of us as they round the corner. “It’s nice to meet you. Nathan, right?” They hold out a hand.

  Nathan takes it all too eagerly. “I’m guessing this one’s been talking about me?” He nods to me.

  “You’re such a pain in my side it’s sort of hard not to,” I say, and Nathan grips his chest and pretends to be wounded.

  “Ouch.”

  “Okay!” Mariam wraps their arms around my shoulders. “Where are we going for dinner, because I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving!”

  Nathan’s already up and walking down the street. I swear, he could be best friends with anyone if you just give him enough time. “If we head down a block, you’ll have the best pizza in town. It’s still terrible, but in Raleigh, it’s the best you’ll find.”

  “I’m game.” Mariam glances over their shoulder. “You coming, Ben? We’ve got that thing to talk about,” they say with a wink.

  “Yeah.” I follow them both closely, watching these two worlds of mine collide. It still feels like a dream.

  But if it is, I really don’t want to wake up.

  Prom week might be more of a nightmare than exam week.

  Scratch that.

  Prom week is definitely more of a nightmare than exam week. Student council probably should’ve spaced things out a little more, maybe started selling tickets at the beginning of April. But nope, they waited until the week of. So now there’s a line at the entrance of the cafeteria, stretching all the way down to the front office.