An Extremely Unofficial Boyfriend

For the next three weeks, Noah gradually moved into my bedroom without either of us officially discussing it.

First came the pillow. Then a phone charger. Then the basil plant appeared on the kitchen windowsill with a handwritten label reading PLEASE DON'T LET MILES WATER ME.

I objected to being publicly defamed by an herb.

"You drowned the mint," Noah said.

"It looked thirsty."

"It was floating."

His classes started. Our apartment filled with textbooks and the occasional strange noise from an audio project he was editing on headphones that apparently didn't prevent him from arguing with the recording.

I began spending more time at After Hours, helping Tessa develop small daytime events in the upstairs room. It turned out I missed having work, once work stopped having Grant's face.

"A dance workshop," Tessa said, looking at my notes. "You do remember that this is a bar?"

"We open at six. The room sits empty all afternoon. Beginners can learn without fifty people shouting for them to take their shirts off."

"You say that like it's an improvement."

I booked a trial Saturday session and felt disproportionately nervous about whether anybody would come.

Noah found me checking the registration list at midnight.

"There are twelve people signed up," he said.

"Eleven. Tessa registered as a woman named Brenda to annoy me."

"Eleven people want you to teach them something."

He closed the laptop gently and took my hand.

"Show me what you're starting with."

I taught him the opening combination in our socks. He deliberately made the same mistake twice until I stopped worrying and started complaining.

Then he did it perfectly.

I pointed at him. "You little fraud."

"You stopped looking frightened."

I kissed him so hard he laughed against my mouth.

The workshop went well. Brenda was a disruptive influence, but the others asked about another session, and afterward I called Noah before I even got my coat on.

He answered on the first ring.

"How did it go?"

I told him everything.

That evening, I met Ben on a video call. He had the same eyes as Noah and none of his restraint.

"You look better in motion," he told me.

"Better than what?"

"The terrible picture Noah took while you were asleep on the couch."

Noah made a sound of pure betrayal.

His mother appeared behind Ben, introduced herself, and thanked me for helping their family. I said I was glad things were improving. She asked whether Noah was keeping up with class and eating enough.

"He's doing both," I said. "He's also trying to get me to eat vegetables. Please collect him."

"You can keep him if it works," she said.

Noah's face went pink. Mine probably did too.

After the call, he stood in the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

"They'd like to meet you sometime. No pressure."

"Your brother will roast me alive."

"He likes you."

"His standards are questionable. It may run in the family."

Noah smiled and kissed my cheek.

We were happy. I could admit that privately. I could look around the apartment and see my own happiness stacked in the dish rack beside his mug.

Publicly, I became a complete idiot.

At a small dinner with Tessa and two friends, somebody asked how we'd met.

"Noah works at the bar," I said. "He's staying with me while he gets settled at college."

It was true. It was also a miserable way to describe the man whose hand had been resting on my knee under the table.

He moved it to his own lap.

Tessa looked at me.

I reached for the bread.

On the way home, Noah was quieter than usual.

"You're tired?" I asked.

"A little."

I could have asked the real question. Instead, I told him to sleep in the next morning and said I could manage breakfast.

He laughed softly. "Please don't put the kettle on the stove. It's electric."

The joke let me pretend nothing had happened.

Four nights later, Tessa invited us to the bar for the small celebration she insisted my first workshop deserved.

"It's eleven customers, Tessa."

"It's you doing something you like. Drink the free champagne and stop negotiating joy."

Noah was off duty. He wore a dark green shirt I had helped him pick and looked unfairly good in it. I spent half the evening inventing reasons to touch his sleeve.

After two drinks, he started telling me about a classmate who had asked whether he was single.

I put my glass down.

"What did you say?"

"I said I was seeing someone."

"Good."

He looked at me with a small, crooked smile.

"I hoped you wouldn't mind. I wasn't sure whether there was approved wording."

I winced.

He saw it and tried to laugh.

"Sorry. That sounded worse than I meant it."

"No, it sounded exactly as bad as I deserved."

He turned his glass between his palms.

"I don't need a big announcement," he said. "I know what happened with Grant. I know it hasn't been very long."

"It isn't about him."

Noah looked up.

I heard what I'd said and stopped. Of course part of it was about Grant. Not wanting him back. Wanting never to feel that foolish again.

"That wasn't honest," I said. "Some of it is. I keep thinking I'll say the word and everything will change."

"It would change for me. In a good way."

The noise of the bar seemed to recede.

Then he rubbed his face and sighed.

"I had a very sensible plan for talking about this. It did not involve champagne."

"Was there a slide deck?"

"There might have been a spreadsheet. One column for reasons you should keep me."

"How many rows?"

"I made the font smaller so it would fit on one page."

I laughed despite myself. He smiled, then looked down again.

"I know you don't owe me a relationship because I cook dinner. That's not what I want. I just need to know whether you're letting yourself want one with me."

There was no performance in that question.

I reached for his hand.

"I want you here," I said.

He squeezed my fingers once.

"I know. I want to know whether you want me here as your boyfriend."

It was the question I had spent three years asking another man.

I couldn't make him wait while I learned to hear it.

"Yes," I said. "That's what I want."

He stared at me, and I felt an almost ridiculous urge to say it again before anything could interrupt.

Then he blinked hard.

"I'm going to need you to repeat that when I'm not tipsy. I want to remember every word properly."

I stood and pulled him up gently.

"Let's get you home. I'll tell you in the morning."

He leaned into my side while I ordered a car.

"Can you at least tell Tessa she can stop looking at me like an injured dog?"

"She always looks like that. It's her face."

Across the room, Tessa lifted one finger in a gesture that suggested her hearing remained excellent.

At home, I made Noah drink water and watched him put his shoes neatly beside the door before walking directly into the bedroom wall.

"The doorway moved," he informed me.

"I'll have it disciplined."

I got him into bed. He caught my hand before I turned off the lamp.

"You don't have to say it because I asked."

"I know. Go to sleep."

When his breathing settled, I lay beside him and stared at the ceiling.

Nothing about love came with a guarantee. I had known that when I pursued Grant, when I helped Noah, when I put Noah's arm around me and slept better than I had in months.

I had been acting as if refusing the word would protect me from the feeling.

Beside me, Noah shifted toward my warmth even in his sleep.

I took his hand and began working out exactly what I wanted to say.