Apparently, This Was Normal

I spent the next afternoon looking forward to the movie.

Cole spent it asking questions.

Which showing? Had I eaten? Was my phone charged? Did Ryan know which residence hall I lived in?

By the time I left, I felt less like a man going on a date than a child being released into the wilderness.

“You have practice,” I signed, pointing at his gym bag. “Go.”

“Text me.”

“I will.”

“When you get there.”

I agreed, because I wanted to leave before he fitted me with a tracking collar.

Ryan was waiting outside the cinema in a clean blue shirt. He waved when he saw me, and I felt a small, pleasant flutter.

There. A normal response to a normal person doing a normal thing.

We sat together while the pre-show advertisements played. Ryan asked about my design class. I typed an answer, and he read the whole thing before asking another question.

He didn't fill the pause. He didn't reach for his own phone.

I liked that.

When he told a joke about his roommate's experimental cooking, I laughed. He looked delighted, as if he'd been hoping for exactly that sound.

Then the lights went down.

My phone buzzed against my thigh.

Cole: Are you back yet?

I lowered the brightness and answered that the movie was only beginning.

His reply came immediately.

Cole: I thought you said nine.

Me: It IS nine.

Cole: Right. Have fun.

I put the phone away.

Five minutes later, it buzzed again.

Cole: Did you eat?

Me: Yes. Ryan bought me popcorn and a Coke.

The typing indicator appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Ryan leaned close enough to whisper, “Everything okay?”

I nodded and showed him a quick message saying my roommate was checking in.

He smiled, though not quite as easily as before.

I turned the phone facedown.

Onscreen, somebody with excellent cheekbones was explaining how the city might be destroyed. He looked vaguely like Cole, which was inconvenient. I had come here specifically to look at somebody else.

Another vibration.

Then another.

I waited until an explosion made it unlikely anyone would notice the light and glanced down.

Cole: Coke has too much sugar.

Cole: Don't drink anything he's already opened.

Cole: Actually, I'll bring you bubble tea. What flavor?

Cole: Mango?

Cole: Never mind. I know what you like.

I closed my eyes.

Me: You are at practice.

Cole: Practice ended.

Me: Then go to bed. You said you were tired.

Cole: Can't sleep.

Me: Try closing your eyes.

Cole: Very funny. Which auditorium are you in?

I looked at the screen, then at Ryan, who was actually watching the movie he had paid to see.

Me: Please don't come in.

Cole: I wasn't going to.

A moment later:

Cole: Are there empty seats?

Me: Cole.

Cole: I could sit on the steps.

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing and getting us thrown out.

Me: That would be embarrassing. For everyone.

Cole: Fine. I'll wait outside.

That stopped being funny.

Me: You don't have to wait. Go home.

Cole: Already here.

For the remainder of the film, I knew approximately three things about the plot and everything about the weather outside.

It was cold. Cole was waiting. The tea was getting less hot.

My phone stayed silent for a merciful stretch, then lit again.

Cole: I get it. You're busy with another guy.

Cole: Your best friend brings you a drink and gets abandoned.

Me: I told you not to come.

Cole: That's a pretty cold thing to say to someone standing outside with your tea.

I stared at that message for so long that I missed what happened to the city.

When the credits began, I stood.

“There's a scene afterward,” Ryan said.

I pointed at the door with an apologetic grimace.

“Oh. Sure.” He got up quickly. “Let's go.”

Cole was leaning against a pillar in the lobby, a paper carrier in one hand. At six foot three, he wasn't difficult to locate. Neither was his mood.

It improved when he saw me.

“There you are.”

He pushed a straw through the lid of a cup and held it to my mouth.

I tried to take it. He moved it closer instead.

“Your hands are cold.”

I could have argued. Unfortunately, the tea smelled good, and he had been waiting, and Ryan was standing there looking increasingly uncertain.

I took two quick sips and reached for the cup again.

This time Cole let me have it.

I turned to Ryan. “Are you hungry? We could get something together.”

Ryan watched my hands. “Something about food?”

Before I could nod, Cole said, “He's exhausted. He wants to go back.”

I whipped around.

Ryan frowned. “Oh. I thought—”

I grabbed my phone to explain.

Cole took it out of my hand and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

For a second, I was too stunned to move.

Then both my hands went up.

“Give that back.”

“We should get going,” he said to Ryan, entirely ignoring me. His hand settled at my waist. “I've got a two-seater, so you'll need a ride. Send me the fare.”

I stepped out of his arm.

He looked down at me.

“Now,” I signed.

Something in my face finally reached him. He handed the phone back.

I typed an apology to Ryan and told him Cole was driving me home. I was too angry to sit through another conversation while Cole pretended not to understand me.

Ryan read it and nodded.

“Text me later,” he said gently.

I promised I would.

In the car, I waited until we stopped at a red light.

“You kept changing what I said,” I signed. “And you took my phone.”

Cole looked at me. “I was trying to get you home.”

“I wasn't trying to go home.”

His fingers tightened on the wheel.

“I thought you were tired.”

“I asked him to get food.”

“I know.”

There it was.

He looked away first.

At the next light, I asked why he disliked Ryan so much.

“He rubs me the wrong way.”

“Because he's gay?”

Cole turned sharply. “You're gay.”

“Exactly.”

“I don't dislike him because he's gay.”

“Then why?”

The light changed. He faced the road.

“I don't know, Jamie.”

That was the first honest answer he had given me all evening.

Back in our room, I told him I'd go alone next time. Ryan didn't mind waiting while I typed.

Cole's expression closed.

“We had an arrangement.”

“I changed my mind.”

“So you don't need me anymore?”

I stared at him.

Then I signed, slowly, “You're still my best friend. Having a boyfriend wouldn't change that.”

Somehow, that made him look worse.

We went to bed without our usual conversation. He didn't offer to dry my hair. I didn't ask.

Behind my bed curtain, I messaged Ryan an apology.

He replied that I didn't need to apologize for somebody else's behavior.

I explained that Cole wasn't normally like this, and definitely wasn't interested in men. I had seen him shut down enough admirers to be certain.

Ryan took a while to answer.

Then:

Ryan: Are you sure he's not interested in YOU?

I read it three times.

Across the room, Cole turned over in bed.

Ryan: He looks jealous. He might not even know that's what it is.

I lay awake long after Mason and Eli had stopped talking through the wall.

Cole liked me?

Cole, who couldn't stand anybody else sitting on his bed but sprawled across mine to watch videos?

Cole, who held my hand through crowds and said it was so I wouldn't get lost?

My curtain suddenly slid open.

I locked my phone.

Too late. Cole had seen the name.

“Still talking to Ryan?” he whispered.

I pulled my blanket higher. We were supposed to be having a cold war. There were rules.

Cole ignored them.

He climbed onto my bed.

The mattress dipped. His arm braced beside my head, and the warmth of him spread through the narrow space between us.

I lifted my hands, demanding to know what he was doing.

“It's dark,” he murmured. “I can't see if you sign down there.”

Then he lowered himself close enough that I could feel his breath.

“Jamie,” he said, “what if you didn't get a boyfriend?”