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Her phone goes off. She glances at the text. Her bottom lip is shaking a little, but there’s no other reaction.

“How’s the coming-out post been going?” I ask. “I know your family knew, but have any old friends emerged or anything?”

She puts her phone away and nods her head. “I’ve been inundated with private Facebook messages from high school friends who either are ‘so surprised’ or are ‘so happy’ I finally came out.” She rolls her eyes. “But my immediate family has been more or less happy to adjust now that I’m out publicly. The most I’ve gotten have been a couple of generic we’re so proud texts, but what’re you gonna do?”

I choke up as I think about my own family. “Did things get easier after you told them? The first time?”

She shrugs as she hands the valet her ticket. “It’s nice to clear the air, but it’s…I don’t know, not easier or harder. Or it switches between easier and harder a lot. But it makes you appreciate your friends a lot more too.”

I shake my head. “That one still…It’s not like I think they’ll reject me, but…”

“Waiting is fine. It’s your time line. You could date Romy for years and never tell them. Just make sure you discuss it with her.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “And hey, you’re young. You won’t do all of this perfectly. One day I’ll tell you about all the mistakes I’ve made, and I’m only five years older than you. But it’s still fine. You just kinda make do with the life you create andimprove what you can.”

I eye her. “Like Pasadena?”

She huffs. “Oh my god, Pasadena is objectively the most boring part of L.A. while simultaneously being, like, a terrible Jurassic Park movie for Eustace because of all the coyotes roaming into backyards. My aversion to Pasadena is not just because of my family. I have a little niece and nephew I don’t venture out enough to see.”

“Then go see them.”

The valet comes around with her car. “You say that like it’s so easy.”

“It is,” I say. “Just offer to temporarily adopt them when they’re teenagers and hate their parents in exchange for the occasional weekend visits to your house. Then you turn them into gay radical communists later on.”

Valeria full-body laughs as she gets into the car. “Oh my god. The sad thing is I could send that word for word and I bet my sister would agree to it.”

I don’t think Valeria meant to, but something in what she says inspires me.

As Valeria starts the car, I send a single text to Noam. He replies with a barrage of them.

Oh cool!!!!

Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Thank you for telling me. I’ve got your back when you wanna tell Mom and Dad.

I exhale slowly, realizing just how tight my chest was seconds prior. Noam reacted as I expected—didn’t care. But no, it wasn’t just what I expected. It’s better. Noam, the kid who only talks to me in a deadpan voice and regularly throws me under the bus so he doesn’t have to endure an annoying lecture from Mom and Dad—that Noam has my back. It’s the closest he’s ever come, maybe ever will come, to saying he loves me. He loves me, and I have an ally against my parents if it becomes an against and not a with.

I can’t believe I feel lighter with Noam knowing. One more text comes through from him.

WAIT. DID VALERIA SULLIVAN GIVE YOU THAT HICKEY WTF WTF WTF

I guess sometimes coming out can feel good.

chapter twenty-six

There’s an ease with Romy, I guess, that I’m surprised is still around now that our relationship has changed. By the time she’s back from her shift after our making up, I’ve almost forgotten the implications of what we did in the Slater café. I’m facedown on the couch after applying to half a dozen jobs, cycling through the cheapest Postmates restaurants where I can buy a vegetable, sinceI’ve had none all day.

But when I lift my head to the keys jingling, when I first see Romy’s face again—her perfect eyeliner smudged from rubbing her eyes at work, her summer-pool-blue nails, her half-untucked uniform and scuffed combat boots—it all comes crashing back down on me.

Romy’s standing ten feet from me, tossing her keys with the Hot Donna’s key chain onto the kitchen counter, scooting her boots over to rest next to the flats I wore today.

Because we live together.

I live with the person I love.

When she smiles at me, I swear there’s no way to describe it other than a shimmering across my skin, like waking up in the sun after a rare good night’s sleep. I’m still flushed under her gaze, but Romy practically jumps onto the couch, leading me by my chin to meet her lips. It’s a quick peck that holds the weight of my world.

She lingers there, our foreheads touching, her eyelashes brushing against my cheek.

“What’re you thinking about?” she asks.