When Everything Is Blue

by Laura Lascarso

  “I have something I want to show you,” she says with a smile on her face.

  “I’ve already seen it.” The answer to What’s in Wooten’s mouth, it’s cock.

  She shakes her head. “It’s my cousin’s car. He’s moving to New York, and he wants to sell it quickly.” She hands me her phone, and I scroll through the pictures where her cousin posted it on Craigslist. It’s a gunmetal gray Honda Accord sedan, six years old. From the photos, it appears to be in pretty good shape.

  “Sixty thousand miles,” I muse. “Not bad.”

  “The first owner hardly ever drove it, and Hondas last forever. It looks small, but my cousin’s a tall guy like you. Says he bought it because of the headroom.”

  I’m definitely interested. I tell Ryanne I’m going for my driver’s test that afternoon, and I’ll text her to let her know how it goes. She offers me a ride to go see it later in the week.

  “Good luck,” she says brightly. “I’ll let my cousin know you’re interested.”

  At lunch, Tomás has a Hacky Sack, and I stand around with him and Corbin and a few other guys and bat the ball around. No one says a word about the incident, and I don’t think it’s because Chris is there. I think they’re all a little tongue-tied with me, not wanting to embarrass me any more, which I appreciate. Dave’s not around, and he hasn’t come to his locker either. I’m tempted to ask about him, but my sister informed me that morning the big question has evolved from What’s in Wooten’s mouth to Who’s in Wooten’s mouth, and I don’t want to give the gossip mill any more grist.

  At the end of school, there’s a note stuffed in my locker, folded like a paper football with Theo written on the outside of it. I don’t know Dave’s handwriting, but I figure it’s probably from him. I blocked him from my phone and deleted his number, and I haven’t responded to any of his previous appeals. I tuck the note in my pocket. Maybe I’ll light it on fire later.

  The DMV still takes forever, but at least Chris is there to keep me company. We sit in a corner of the waiting room, away from everyone else, because Chris has questions of a delicate nature. It’s strange, because I’ve always been the one going to Chris for advice. For now, it seems our roles are reversed. It’s kind of refreshing.

  “What’d your mom say about it?” he asks me about coming out.

  “She was cool, but I figured she would be.”

  “And your dad?”

  “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “Not if I don’t have to.” Yeah, I’m a wiener, but every time I imagine it, it ends in disaster. In fact, I’d rather imagine an actual disaster than think about coming out to my dad. Maybe I should upload my dad to the Sims and come out to him there to see how it all plays out.

  “How are you going to manage that?” Chris asks.

  “I went six months this summer not seeing him. Plus, he’s about to have another kid, so that should keep him busy for a while.”

  “You think he’ll be mad?”

  “Yeah.” I don’t need to explain it to Chris. He knows our relationship is walking a tightrope as it is. I can see me being gay as the thing that makes my dad want to cut all ties. I guess I’ve been living in this weird limbo for so long, hoping beyond hope that my dad and I will find some sort of common ground. But me coming out seems like it might be the last straw. “I’m pretty terrified,” I admit to Chris.

  “It might be better to know one way or another,” Chris says, “instead of worrying about it. Maybe he’ll be more accepting than you think.”

  Chris, ever the optimist, one of the reasons I love him.

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m not too worried about my mom and Jay, but my dad….” Chris shakes his head. “He’s like a mountain man, all rugged and shit.”

  “You’re rugged,” I tell him. “Just look at all the ass you’ve kicked over the years.” Chris is a manly man already. I figured that would make it easier—to have your manhood already proven—but maybe, in a way, it makes it harder. Like, I know my dad has wondered in the past if I was gay—that’s probably why he always pushed me so hard in soccer. But Chris? That’s going to be a huge bomb he drops on his parents.

  “My mom will want me to tell him right away,” Chris says.

  “Is it up to her?”

  “No, but she won’t want me to keep it from him. I just hate doing it over the phone. Not being able to see his face or how he’s reacting to it.”

  “I bet your parents would fly you out.”

  “Yeah. It just sucks that it even has to be done at all, you know?”

  I didn’t want to come out. I was quite content to keep my business to myself. If Dave hadn’t outed me, I probably wouldn’t have said anything to anyone, not even my mom. I’m torn about it. In one way, it’s good to not have to hide it, but in another way, it’s like I’m naked in front of people all the time. Like gay is my whole personality. I’m not smart or funny or an awesome skateboarder, I’m just gay, gay, gay.

  “You don’t have to come out to them, Chris. You might not even be gay. Maybe you’re bi.”

  “Maybe,” he says like he’s having doubts. “But what about us? Do we just start making out in front of them?”

  That sounds like a bad idea too. “No, I mean, let them wonder. Plus, if you tell them, there go our sleepovers.”

  Chris laughs at that, which is good. I don’t want him to lose his sense of humor in all this.

  “Seriously, though, I’ll keep this a secret if that’s what you want,” I tell him.

  “That’s shitty. Why would you let me get away with that?”

  Because I love you.

  “I just would,” I say.

  “I don’t want to keep it a secret, Theo. Especially not with all these randos giving you their number every time I turn around.”

  “They are not,” I argue. Although I have been hit on a couple more times since Justin. It’s probably the strangest thing about being out. I’d never approach a girl—or a guy—just because I saw a picture of them going around online, but maybe some guys would. “Guys are dogs,” I tell Chris.

  “Yeah, they are. Hey, I don’t want you messing around with anyone but me, okay?” I glance over to find him staring at me intently, giving me the full-body meltdown. The look that has me saying, yes, yes, yes.

  “You want to go steady with me, Boss?” I nudge him with my elbow, and he grabs for it.

  “I want that shit on lockdown.”

  I smile. It’s the cherry on my chocolate fudge sundae. “Done.”

  Chris smiles, then glances across the waiting room and eyes up the vending machine. He seriously can’t go two waking hours without eating. “How are you so cool about all this?” he asks.

  Something has changed since coming out to Chris. There were so many thoughts and emotions I was keeping from him, little things and big things, that now it’s like a dam has broken and I can tell him anything on my mind, no matter how embarrassing or personal.

  “As Lieutenant Knox would say, I’ve been in the shit.”

  “Fucking Sean.” Chris shakes his head. He’s still bitter Sean got me wasted on the beach, even though I asked for it. And Sean did make me feel a hell of a lot better about the incident. My problems seem pretty small compared to his.

  “You know none of this has anything to do with how I feel about you, right?” Chris says.

  “It kind of does. You’re willing to be this whole new person for me.”

  “Not new. Just… out in the open.”

  I take a moment to reflect on the gravity of what we’re doing. Straight couples don’t have to go through near as much bullshit to be together. Make great proclamations about their sexuality or worry about which of their family members are going to disown them, or in my case, cut off my mythical trust fund. West Side Story, my ass—what bliss.

  “Hey, guess who else is gay?” I say to Chris.

  “Who?”

  “Uncle Theo.”

  “Cock
sucker Uncle Theo?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. He totally has a crush on one of the nurses at the home.”

  “Really? Is that how you found out he was gay?”

  “Yeah, and he more or less told me after I came out to him. It’s this whole secret society, Chris.”

  “Apparently.”

  “The cool club.”

  “That might be overselling it.”

  I chuckle. “Maybe so.”

  The lady behind the counter calls me up then, and Chris tosses me his keys. “Good luck, Killer.”

  I pull Chris’s car around back, and an older guy gets in and introduces himself. We go through the three-point turn and parking between the orange cones. Then we go out to the road, and he tells me to stop, and I do so without making it too abrupt. I make a few turns with signals and handle some traffic lights. I merge and adhere to right-of-way and do everything I think I’m supposed to. When the car is safely parked back at the DMV, I ask the guy how I did.

  “You did great,” he says with more enthusiasm than anyone working inside has shown me. “Remember, no drinking, no drugs, and no texting.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Driver’s test: slayed.

  The smile on my face is huge when they take my picture. I come back out to Chris, show him my new license with the plastic still warm from the machine, and ask him if he thinks my smile is too eager.

  “What?” he says like I’m crazy.

  “Does it look like I’m trying too hard?”

  “To do what?”

  “I don’t know. Do I look stupid?”

  “No, Theo, you look happy.” Then, in front of everyone in the DMV, he hooks his arm around my neck and plants a big fat kiss on my cheek.

  No one at the DMV is impressed. Except, of course, for me.

  And I get to drive us home.

  WE TAKE the long way home, along the intercoastal with the windows down and the wind in our hair. I’m driving legally at last. The moment I’ve been dreaming about for so long is finally realized and even better because Chris is here with me. My boyfriend. I say it in my head a few times. It sounds so strange, but I love it.

  Chris is smiling and humming to himself. I ask him what he’s thinking about, and he glances over like I caught him up to no good.

  “Nothing.” He shakes his head like he’s embarrassed.

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve been thinking about all these little things between us, times when I thought maybe you were into me, but I was actually too afraid to go for it.”

  I smile. Sounds familiar. “Like, when?”

  “When I first got back from Cali and I was showing you my board. I was totally going to kiss you in the shed, but I wussed out.”

  A lustful heat rises up in me at the memory of it. Boy, that would have cleared up some things.

  “Sebastian, obviously,” he continues, “and then, that night you slept over when we were cuddling. All I wanted was to make out with you, but it felt wrong because you were all sad and depressed about your dad. I promised myself the next day I’d make a move.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  He shakes his head. “I was warming up to it during our basketball game when Dave pulled up.”

  “That’s when I told him I was done.”

  “I figured.”

  “The only reason I ever started hooking up with him was to get over you.”

  Chris frowns. “I wish you hadn’t told me that. I really hate that guy.”

  “He’s not all bad.”

  “He’s a fucking asshole, Theo. Look what he did to you. And I hate that he got to you first.”

  I shake my head. Chris is an only child who’s never had to share his toys unless he wanted to. Same with his parents’ affection. His jealous streak comes out in moments like these where he practically says mine, mine, mine.

  “I hated watching Kelli Keyhoe slobber all over you my entire freshman year.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, my bad.” He runs his hand over the dashboard and inspects his fingers. Chris’s car is filthy. Maybe because his mom’s kind of a neat freak, he totally lets his car go. Talk about roaches. I’m never falling asleep in here.

  “So, what’d you guys do when you were together?” Chris asks, going out of his way to sound casual about it, like he’s asking for the morning surf report.

  “Me and Dave?” I ask, playing dumb.

  “Yeah, who else?”

  “I got pretty good at FIFA.”

  I expect him to laugh at that, smile at least, but instead his frown deepens. “Fine, don’t tell me,” Chris says with a pout. I give him a look.

  “Don’t make that face.” His mouth shouldn’t hold so much sway over me.

  “What? I tell you everything.”

  That’s true; even when I’d rather him not tell me, he does.

  “Hand jobs. Blowjobs. That’s about it.”

  “Was it good?”

  I clear my throat. This is what they call a trick question. “It wasn’t… bad.”

  “Did you want to have sex with him?”

  My face heats up. There are really no limits to what Chris will ask me.

  “Butt sex?”

  He chuckles a bit. Nothing gets Chris going like a little crude humor. “Yeah, Theo, butt sex.” He really accentuates the word butt.

  I lick my lips, unable to wipe the giddy smile off my face I get whenever the topic of sex comes up between us. Feels like I’m sucking on helium. “Not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t have a super strong connection. We only knew each other for like, a month.”

  Chris is quiet for a moment, and then, “Do you want to have butt sex with me?”

  I laugh, a nervous little giggle, and steal a glance. Chris looks pretty serious about it. It’s difficult to have this conversation and still pay attention to the road. “Um, yeah,” I say when I’ve recovered.

  “Really?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “I don’t know. A couple months ago, you’d never even kissed a girl, and now you’re like this sex-crazed horndog.”

  I shake my head at how quickly the tables are turned. Suddenly I’m the horny one, not him. “You’re the one who brought it up, Chris. I can’t help my hormones. And you’re still the only person I’ve ever kissed.”

  “Yeah?” He sounds pleased with that.

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  We drift off into silence. Chris stares out the window, and I concentrate on my driving. But the cat’s out of the bag, only in this case, it’s butt sex. He never told me how he feels about it. Chris got me to show my cards without revealing his own hand. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him, but I’m afraid he’ll say no. Or he’ll feel like he has to say yes and I won’t be able to tell the difference. Does he think I’m a slut because I want to have sex with him? Maybe he’d rather wait, but now there’s this pressure to act. We can wait if that’s what he wants. I just want him to be my first, whenever the time comes. I know him better than anyone else, and most importantly, I trust him.

  When we get back to our houses, Chris tells me to come up because his parents won’t be home for a couple of hours and he wants to make out with me. He says it so directly that I stutter and blush and get really tongue-tied. I would never in a million years say something like that, even to him. I guess that’s why we work.

  “Is Paloma home?” I ask him as we’re walking up his driveway. Her hours are pretty irregular. On the weekends when they travel, she house-sits and doesn’t work at all during the week. I’ve never had a housekeeper before, so I don’t know what’s normal, but ever since Chris became old enough that he didn’t need someone to watch him or drive him places, Paloma pretty much sets her own schedule and does whatever she thinks will help out the most. I think Chris’s parents feel bad about being gone so much, and they like having Paloma around to keep Chr
is company.

  In response to my question, Chris shrugs. “If she is, I’ll shut my door.”

  I follow him inside. We say hi to Paloma and tell her the food she’s cooking smells delicious. Chris asks her what’s for dinner, and she gives him the rundown of the roast chicken and sides in somewhat excessive detail. It’s this whole exchange between them. I can practically see Chris salivating over it. Paloma loves the way he eats, as does my own mother. Chris asks if she’s going to make “the flaky biscuits,” and they have this whole back-and-forth about which specific biscuit he means. I can tell they’re both loving it, Chris because he gets to go into further detail about food, and Paloma because she loves the way he appreciates her cooking. She has all kinds of pet names for him—Christiano (the Spanish version of his name), Rubito (blondie), and my favorite, Gordito (little fatty). Finally they reach a consensus on which biscuits will be prepared for tonight’s feast, and by now I’m about to beg for a seat at the table because my mouth’s watering as well.

  On our way upstairs, I tease Chris about his food fetish.

  “I could listen to Paloma talk about food all day long,” he says.

  “You have no idea how spoiled you are, Gordito.”

  He grins. “I have some idea.”

  In his room, he shuts the door and turns on some music—this weird electronica I’ve dubbed “Club Mario Kart.” Maybe he wants it to sound like we’re playing video games. I don’t have time to be nervous because he heads straight for me like a shark, bumps me with his chest until I’m backed up to the edge of his bed. Once there, he peels back the collar of my shirt to inspect his handiwork.

  “I still can’t believe I did that,” he says, but he seems a little excited by it. I’ve looked at the mark several times since he gave it to me, even poked at it to feel the bruise. Evidence of his mouth on my skin.

  With his finger, he traces up my neck, along my jaw, stopping to turn my chin toward him. He stares at me with a look I’ve come to recognize—dewy eyes, parted lips, heavy breathing. I like the way lust looks on Chris, especially knowing it’s for me.