PETER REALLY did go all out for the semiformal. He bought us both boutonnieres and grinned the whole time he pinned mine on my lapel. It was adorable. Then we had dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in Northampton, where I had to concentrate very hard on not getting marinara on my suit. He kept up a steady stream of babble throughout our meal, mostly about how annoying he found his classes and about how he was thinking about joining the intramural football team in the spring and on and on.
On the drive back to campus, he said, “You’ve been quiet.”
“Sorry. Lot on my mind.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I recognized that one of the things that worked with me and Peter is that we clicked when I was straightforward and honest. I felt like I could tell him anything and I’d get no judgment. So I said, “This is the first night off from rehearsal I’ve taken all semester, aside from the holiday, and I know I deserve a night off, and I’m happy to be spending tonight with you, but I feel a little guilty.”
“Don’t.”
“I know I shouldn’t. I know. But I keep hearing my mother’s voice in my head.”
Peter reached over and took my hand, which had been fiddling with a loose slip of paper in one of the cup holders between the two front seats.
“I will do my best to make you forget your guilt tonight, how’s that?” he said.
I nodded without taking my eyes off the road. I’d need my hand back to deal with a tricky turn when we got back to campus, but I laced my fingers with his and squeezed, unwilling to give up his touch until the last possible moment. I knew he understood exactly what I was feeling, that he had a lot of the same worries about the future as I did. I appreciated his company a great deal for that reason. We got each other. That was important.
Dinner had gone longer than anticipated. I wasn’t upset about that; I didn’t know very many of the people who’d be at this dance, and I dreaded it somewhat. What did one do at a dance? Would I be expected to talk to people? Would I have to display my nonexistent dance skills?
When we arrived back at the Mac, the dance was already in full swing. The music was loud, which I was not such a fan of at first. Peter and I had both opted for pretty traditional suits, but “semiformal” was obviously more a guideline than a rule fashion-wise tonight. Fred danced wildly with a guy I didn’t know; Fred wore suspenders and a glittery bow tie paired with a very tight pair of red pants. Noel wore an insane plaid suit. Dave kind of looked like his mother had dressed him, in a white shirt and black pants, neither of which quite fit. Lily appeared to be wearing a replica of Molly Ringwald’s dress from Pretty in Pink. Generally it was a garish display of bright colors and, in a few cases, seminudity. Like if a Pride parade went to prom.
Rainbow streamers and lots of glittery baubles hung from anything that would support them—little disco balls, bits of iridescent tinsel, sparkly gewgaws. Each table had what looked like a homemade centerpiece, and these varied—a few tables had tiny piñatas or flowers made out of tissue paper, that kind of thing. I felt like I could see the handiwork of a few of the craftier Theater Club kids here. I thought it was gaudy, but the decorations had a certain vibrant appeal to them. The space felt tacky and welcoming.
Peter took my hand and led me into the room. We greeted Noel and Dave and a few of Peter’s other friends. They were gathered around one of the tables—this one had a papier-mâché centerpiece shaped like a cowboy hat with a rainbow ribbon tied around the brim—and Noel was talking excitedly about something, but I wasn’t really listening. I thought about the editorial Peter had written for The Minuteman and recalled that he thought this dance was important because it was a safe space for the LGBT students. Including me. It was strange, because I hadn’t really ever felt a part of anything except an orchestra, but the people here kept saying, “Hi, Logan,” in a friendly way. Peter introduced me to his friends and kept touching me as he did it, clearly signaling we were together. This was my community. Dave and Noel were becoming my friends too. It overwhelmed me now to actually feel like I belonged. I mentally made fun of the Queer Student Union kids a lot, but it was hard to deny that they’d done a good thing here.
I enjoyed the thrum of the music in my chest, despite its loud volume, as I chatted with people who were becoming my friends. I was charmed by Peter’s enthusiasm for all of it. My discomfort with the situation melted away and I was enjoying myself. Then Peter asked me to dance.
“I don’t really dance,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to move.”
Peter moved his big body around with a deftness and agility I could never hope to possess, but I could only throw my arms around awkwardly, my unsure feet suddenly stuck to the floor. We did manage to work up a sweat, so I went to get a drink and find a place to stash my jacket while Peter continued dancing. He looked effervescent as he did so, and I watched him get down as I waited in the line for the bar. Several people—guys, girls, it didn’t seem to matter—came over to dance with him, and he let everyone rub against him, which got my hackles up, even though I knew it was all in good fun. But it highlighted for me that everyone loved Peter. I felt like a black rain cloud.
The bartender gave me a bottle of water, which I downed in one gulp. I asked for another and walked over to the table where Noel was holding court.
“You look like you feel as awkward as I do,” said Dave.
“I came to one of these freshman year but spent most of the night outside smoking, so I guess that doesn’t count. I’m not really sure what to do.”
Dave shrugged. “You dance. You hang out. If you’re me, you take comfort in the fact that a man almost everyone here wants will be going home with you later.”
“I know how that is.” Fred hit on Peter in the middle of the dance floor, and I wanted to kill him.
“The whole point of this thing is to make it so that you don’t feel shame at being with who you want to be with.”
“I don’t feel shame.”
Dave smiled ruefully. “I wish I could say the same. Not that I feel shame at being with Noel, but it took me a long time to accept this part of myself, you know? The queer part, I mean. I catch myself falling into old thought patterns. Looking over my shoulder a lot. You know?”
I nodded, but my issues were so much bigger than whether I was gay. Maybe I’d feel differently about that if I went somewhere other than a big university in a blue state, but I felt pretty safe on campus. And my parents clearly cared more about whether a love interest was distracting from music than what his gender was.
Fred was grinding on Peter now.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go peel one of my friends off my boyfriend,” I said.
Dave patted my back.
Fred saw me as I approached. He winked. There was a lull in the music, so it was quiet enough for him to say, “Logan, there you are. You’ve been missing QSU meetings all year, so you have yet to meet the angel Peter. Although I am sad to report that he just told me he has a boyfriend.”
I hated to do this to Fred, except I didn’t because he’d just been trying to get in my boyfriend’s pants, so I put an arm around Peter’s waist. “I know.”
Peter said, “So you’ve already met my boyfriend, Logan.”
Fred’s mouth hung open comically for a moment, which felt like sweet justice. “What? How can you? How long?”
“We haven’t been dating very long,” I said, “but you could maybe stop macking on him.”
Fred held his hands up. “If I had known.” He squinted at us. “I don’t know. I don’t see it.”
Peter put his arm around me. “Doesn’t matter. Logan, will you dance with me?”
I figured I’d go back to pretending a life spent practicing music meant I understood rhythm and movement as it related to pop music, and I’d continue to swing my arms around awkwardly while Peter proved to the world he was the most beautiful man alive, but instead the opening bars of a slow ballad poured out of the DJ’s speakers.
Oh boy.
Peter took me into his arms, so I put my hands on his shoulders. He swayed me back and forth until the song hit its chorus; then he pulled me close.
“Sorry about Fred,” he said near my ear.
“You mean my former friend Fred?”
Peter laughed and it rumbled through his chest. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know,” I said.
“I’m with you now.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
I didn’t know the song—my knowledge of pop music was severely limited—but the female singer had a nice voice, and the lyrics were romantic. Peter held me close and moved with me, and I held on as if he might slip away at any moment.
I realized something I’d thought was only lust had become so much more. I genuinely cared for him. I liked having him as my boyfriend.
I rested my head on his shoulder, and he held me tighter. If anyone here thought they could have him, they were learning now that he was mine.
As the song ended, he put a hand on my chin and pushed it up. Then he kissed me softly. The tempo changed back to a fast song, and some of the couples around us broke up as more single people moved onto the dance floor and groups formed. Peter didn’t let go of me and kept swaying as if the slow song were still playing. Then he kissed me again. I felt like I was falling. Probably I was. I didn’t even care that probably a bunch of people were watching us, because kissing him felt so good, and in his arms I felt safe and cared for and understood.
No one had ever really understood me. Not my friends, not my parents, not even Ellie. But Peter did. He got my anxiety about my career, he knew how fraught dealing with my parents could be, and he could see right through all my bullshit. I understood him now too, valued the things we had in common. I liked to think I got him as well as he got me. This dance was intended to be a safe space for us queer kids, but truthfully, I felt the most safe when I was with Peter.
He gently steered me off the dance floor but didn’t let go of me. “It’s hot out there,” he said.
“I left my jacket over there at Noel and Dave’s table.”
He pulled away and took off his jacket. We walked together over to the table, and he slung the jacket over the chair next to mine. Then he leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“I know this whole dance thing is not your scene. But I’m having fun. Thank you for coming with me.”
“I’m glad you’re having fun. This is not terrible.”
He laughed. “I’m going to get a drink. You want something?”
“A Coke or something would be good.”
I watched Peter walk toward the bar, admiring the view. He looked so handsome in nice clothes, and on a more shallow level, his pants nicely highlighted his ass and thighs. He was a good-looking man, my Peter.
“You’re really dating him?” said a voice off to the side. I turned to see Fred.
“Yeah. Only for a couple of weeks, but I like him.”
“Of course. What’s not to like? Sorry if I was an ass before. I honestly didn’t know he was seeing anyone. How did you meet?”
“Funny story. Remember my homophobic roommate?” I explained about my misinterpreting things Peter said, and how my finally getting over myself and being straight with him led us to where we currently were.
“He’s your roommate?” Fred asked, his eyes wide. “How do you ever get any homework done? Or, like, breathe regularly.”
“I won’t lie. It’s been a struggle.”
“What has been?” Peter asked as he walked back over. He handed me a plastic cup of soda.
“Fred asked how we met, so I was just explaining. It’s a struggle to get anything done when you’re around because you’re distracting.” I used my free hand to gesture at his chest.
Peter shot me a charming half smile. “A good distraction, I hope.”
“Yeah. It is.”
Fred rolled his eyes. “Oh God. I see it now. You’re about to make out with each other. I’ll leave you to it. And look, Jason just walked in. I heard he’s still single, at least. When did everyone couple up?”
Peter and I laughed together as Fred left us. I really was having fun. I sipped my soda and looked up at my gorgeous boyfriend, who looked back at me, grinning.