Page 37 of The Time It Takes

Really, what was the harm in that? Letting people be, I mean. You could be gay as anything—and look and sound like it—and still need your own time and space to figure that out. It wasn't a joke, or it shouldn't be. LGBT people weren't jokes even if they seemed oblivious and like they should know better.

Who was born knowing everything about themselves? Sure, in an ideal world, it wouldn't be tough to figure out—and some young people certainly seemed to have crossed the finished line early, if there was a finished line—but we didn't live in an ideal world. People's orientation and outing had real consequences, sometimes really bad ones. It might be a joke for straight people—seeing someone act oblivious about their orientation—but it didn't make it any less serious or even dangerous for the actual people figuring it out. I wasn't that scared kid anymore. But look how long it had taken me to get past it enough to actually face myself about this.

And it was still hard. Sure, some of that was my fault, but some of it was the way the world had been shaped where I grew up and the way people had treated me. And the extreme shame I'd managed to soak up from my environment. I bet my parents would say they weren't homophobic at all, but I'd gotten it even from them—subtle ways of looking down on or finding gay people funny, dismissive comments, and reminders of how I needed to hold up a masculinity I was barely growing into—and in a stereotypical way that didn't always fit me.

Now I was a grown man, pretty happy with myself and my life, despite a few detours from where I'd thought I'd be. And I still felt like shit about myself every time I even thought about this topic. What would it take to actually get brave enough to experiment?

There was some relief in telling Arlie and having him take it so calmly, even if it did make me wonder if he'd already had some ideas about me. Maybe not. He was a pretty accepting guy. He was probably just really chill about it. Hell, his own journey hadn't been smooth either, since he'd needed my push to actually admit he wanted to date more guys.

"How are things with Mason, anyway? Do you think you might introduce him to the pack soon?"

Sure, it might be hard to have to share Arlie's attention with his boyfriend, but it would be a relief, too, to not have the secret hanging over our heads. If Mason could mix and mingle with the pack, the relationship really might go somewhere. And awkward or not, if Arlie could be happy, that was what I wanted.

Maybe watching them would even give me a clue on how to figure out my own life going forward. It had felt like I was unlocking something when I saw them together—the warmth, the openness, the comfort of being who they were without shame. Sure, it shouldn't have taken that long—they weren't the first LGBT people I'd ever known—but it had, for me.

"No, he won't be meeting the pack," said Arlie quietly. "We went on four dates, but that was all."

"What? I'm sorry. I thought you guys were serious."

Arlie seemed to be weighing his words. "Well, I was interested, but he said he needed someone who had a better idea of what he wants. I guess I'm still figuring some things out." He shrugged, looking awkward and sad.

"I'm sorry," I said. I felt like shit for asking, for bringing it up. And then for not asking sooner, because maybe he'd been sad this whole time and hadn't had anyone to talk to about it. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," said Arlie. "I guess I've got to be pretty upfront about the speed I'm capable of. The whole pack situation is kinda complicated, and I'm just...not some confident bi guy who knows exactly what he wants. I'm still figuring it out."

Him and me both, apparently.

"I wish he'd given you time," I said, leaning on his arm.

"I don't. I don't want to date someone where I'll never quite be on the same page, and always too slow. I liked him. He was cute, and a good person, and he had a really nice smell. But I think after the first couple of dates, he kind of looked down on me for not knowing exactly what I wanted yet. And that means we're not a good match."

That was a lot wiser than I'd ever been about Darby—seeing a fundamental incompatibility before wasting years of his life trying to measure up.

Maybe I did have things to learn from him.

Was this when I should ask if he had complicated feelings about me? I didn't think so. I wasn't sure there was ever a time when it would be appropriate for me to ask something that intensely personal.

He'd said he was still figuring some things out. I'd said I was still figuring all of it out. Well, that's just how things were. But it made it feel suddenly as if he wasn't off limits—not entirely, not forever. Because he was single now, and he was still bi, and maybe I was too, and if we were both figuring things out, would I really be using him as an experiment? I mean, if it wasn't just me, was it even an experiment, or just...dating?

Automatically, I tried to search for a reason to feel shame for thinking this way. It didn't come. I looked at Arlie. He looked back at me and smiled, and patted my arm. Then he went back to watching the TV.

Oh well.

Probably wasn't worth thinking about. I mean, I liked him so much, and we got along so well already. What if we dated and it didn't work out? It could spoil a perfectly happy friendship and maybe even affect our partnership. I didn't want to do anything that would risk that.

I didn't think I could ever really dislike Arlie, even if we dated and it didn't work out for whatever reason. But there was no guarantee he wouldn't be able to dislike me. Darby had liked me at first. Maybe the things he found bearable about me right now would become impossible barriers if we got closer. I mean, you want different things in a boyfriend than a buddy. We could be deeply incompatible sexually, which would make everything else more intense and complicated and maybe ruin our friendship.

Yeah. I shouldn't even think about it, right? I let myself lean against him, and tried not to think about any of that.