Page 65 of Something Like Winter

“No.” Tim shook his head. “What if I found him? Nothing has changed, at least not for me, so I wouldn’t have anything to offer.”

“Nothing’s stopping you from coming out,” Eric said carefully. “You aren’t living with your parents anymore.”

Oh, yes. Eric had quite a few things in common with Ben. Tim sunk his teeth into the drumstick. Goose, he guessed as his mouth came alive with heavenly seasonings. How could he ever return to eating normal food again? “It’s not my parents I worry about. At least not as much as I used to.”

“The fraternity?”

“Yeah.”

Eric cocked his head. “Which you joined because—”

“Because my dad offered me five hundred bucks if I got in.”

Eric smiled. “I’ll give you a thousand if you leave.”

Tim laughed. “I don’t want your money. How is the topic back on me again? Tell me about you. When did you come out?”

“Ages ago. And just yesterday to you. Coming out is something you never stop doing. You start by telling your friends and family. Then you tell new acquaintances or coworkers who invite you out for a drink. Even the telemarketers who call and ask if my wife is home. You don’t have to tell everyone you meet, of course, but coming out is something that accompanies your entire life.” Eric carefully cut the meat off the bone with his fork and knife. “I’ve known I was gay since I was fifteen. I told my best friend that same year, and have been coming out ever since. When did you first know?”

“That I was gay?” Tim’s laugh was hollow. “The very moment I broke up with Ben.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know all those times you slept together?”

“Well, I wondered, but Ben was always going on about how straight guys experiment and stay straight, but what really makes a person gay is who they love.” Tim took a swig of champagne. “When we broke up, it hurt bad enough that I knew it had to be love.”

Silence followed this statement, and Tim knew the question Eric wasn’t asking. Once he realized it was love, why didn’t he go back? Tim was glad for the silence because he wasn’t proud of the answer.

“I think Ben has it half-right,” Eric said eventually. “Who we love is definitely a strong indicator of our preference, but by no means a definitive answer. Have you heard of the Kinsey scale?”

Tim shook his head.

“Basically you choose a number from zero to six. Zero means you’re straight. Six means you’re gay. All the numbers in between are the varying degrees. A number one might be a straight guy who experimented as a horny teenager or got a little too drunk one night. Likewise, a five would be someone who mostly identifies as gay, but might have given girls a try while figuring that out. A three, right down the middle, is what we call bisexual.”

Tim mulled that over, wishing he could have more champagne, but his head was already a little light and he still had to drive them home. “I would be a four, I guess. Honestly, there are probably more girls who catch my eye than guys, but I never connect with them emotionally.”

“Fair enough.” Eric moved his plate aside, the food half-eaten. “I suppose I would be a five. I had a girlfriend once, and I enjoyed sex with her. But once I discovered guys, I never looked back.”

“Then why don’t we call ourselves bisexual?” Tim asked, eyeing Eric’s leftovers. When Eric gestured he should help himself, Tim nearly tackled the food.

“I suppose it’s easier to simply say you’re gay, especially if you plan on mostly being with guys. Otherwise there’s a lot of explaining to do, or the misconception that bisexuals need to be with both genders to be satisfied. Personally I don’t believe anyone is completely gay or straight. There’s always an exception to the rule, be it the right person or the right situation. In the future, I doubt we’ll use any of these terms at all.”

“Nhr-mrr?” Tim asked with a mouth full of goose.

“Never. You’ll simply ask out the person you’re interested in, and they’ll say yes or no. Preferring guys won’t be any more controversial than favoring blonde hair or dark skin. We already use the right term when we say sexual preference, but for now people treat it like an identity.” Eric sipped at his water. “Of course, that’s only if gay people still exist by then.”

“Huh?”

Eric chuckled, as if embarrassed. “It’s all this genetic research. What if they find a gene that controls sexual orientation? If parents are allowed to genetically design their children—which seems inevitable—then of course they’ll want children who can give them grandchildren.”

“How is that inevitable? Won’t people say it’s—I don’t know— immoral?”

“Ah, but what a slippery slope! Imagine a pre-birth health scan that checks for diseases and corrects potential defects. If infertility is among them, couldn’t a preference for the same sex be grouped in with that? Then—boop!—the doctor flips a switch and the kid comes out straight as an arrow.”

Tim blinked. “You’re freaking me out.”

Eric laughed. “If it makes you feel better, I think we’ll be okay as long as technology doesn’t develop faster than human rights.”

“And you made all your money from technology,” Tim said with exaggerated disapproval. “You’re to blame for the future being heterosexual.”