Mike and I are standing outside of Melriches coffee shop on Davie Street. The start of fall is still a few days away, but it already feels like sweater weather.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you company until he gets here?” Mike asks.
“I’ll be fine. I need some time alone to prepare myself.”
“All right. I’ll pretend to go shopping for clothes I can’t afford. Call me when you’re done.”
“Will do.”
Mike hugs me before he crosses the street.
I treat myself to a London Fog and find a seat facing the door. I look at the vintage kitchen clock on the wall. I’m ten minutes early. I pull my sketchbook out of my backpack and start to draw the Goth barista as a superhero.
I look up every time I hear the door open. The sun is shining through the glass, turning everyone’s face into a black blob as they enter the shop. The faces don’t come into focus until the bodies take their place in line.
Someone taps me on the shoulder from behind, and I whirl around in my seat. Paul’s face is smiling down at me. I stand up and nearly break his nose with the top of my head.
“I’m sorry! You surprised me. It didn’t occur to me you would come in through the back door.”
“I’m fine, you didn’t get me,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I found a parking spot in the back. Let me grab a drink.”
I can’t help but notice that he didn’t try to hug me. Did Bishop do a number on him after I left Camp Revelation?
“It’s so good to see you,” he says, sitting down across from me. “I’m sorry I waited so long to connect with you. A lot has been going on.”
“I understand. My life went completely upside down after I left the camp. Things are only beginning to feel normal again.”
“How have you been? What’s been going on?”
“I’m living with a friend and his parents. They’ve been great. I told them about what happened to Martin and they set me up with a counsellor. That’s been really helpful. It feels strange not to be living at home. But Mike and his parents are exactly what I need right now.”
“Do you talk to your parents?”
“Here and there. Mom is ready to start listening. The last time we spoke she said she was open to the idea of non-Christian family counselling.”
“It’s as good a start as any,” Paul says, nodding.
“My dad still doesn’t want anything to do with me. And that’s fine. I don’t want anything to do with him right now either.”
“Harsh,” Paul says.
“Was that a really mean thing to say?” I ask.
“I just can’t imagine being that angry at my dad.”
“You don’t have my dad.”
“I guess not.” Paul looks into his hot chocolate. “Do you talk to Rhonda?”
“All the time. She’s living with her aunt. She says Hi, by the way. You should friend her on social media.”
“I’ve been meaning to,” Paul says. “Were you able to get hold of Martin?”
“No. I Googled him but nothing came up.”
“Same here. I hope he’s okay.”
“So do I.”
We both stare into our drinks. I’m tempted to pull out my phone and look at it for no reason.
“I told my parents about you,” Paul says.
“You did?”
“I didn’t want to hide what happened from them in case they found out from someone.”
“What exactly did you tell them?”
“The truth. That we met and that I like you as more than a friend. And that when you left the lodge it felt like the whole world had been pulled out from under me.”
“What did they say?”
“That they loved me.”
“Wow. That is the complete opposite of what happened when I told my parents.”
“I know. I almost feel guilty telling you. But things have changed between my parents and me.”
“I’m sorry I sent all those messages. I felt like things weren’t finished between us when I left.”
“It’s okay. I wanted to respond right away, but my parents asked that I wait and pray first. It was good advice.”
“I understand if this is goodbye. If you want to go our separate ways.” Saying it feels like the hardest thing I’ve had to do. But it has to be his decision. “My life is completely screwed right now. The last thing I want is to drag you into my drama.”
“Your drama is my drama,” Paul says firmly. “You are the only other gay Christian I know who understands what I’m going through.”
“I never thought of it that way. So we can be friends.”
“Can we be friends that hold hands?”
“That depends. Can you hold hands with someone who’s losing his religion?”
“Only if you can hold hands with someone who’s clinging to his religion for answers.”
Paul puts his hand on mine. Then he leans over the table and kisses me on the forehead.
“Why are you crying?” Paul says, noticing the tears on my face. “Everything has worked out!”
“It’s Martin,” I say, my voice breaking. “It feels wrong to feel so happy after what happened to him. I keep thinking I could have helped him more.”
“I know. I blame myself for not seeing it coming,” Paul squeezes my hand.
“I said the same thing to my counsellor.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that I’m not helping Martin by feeling sorry for myself. He thinks the best way to honour Martin’s life is to live as openly and honestly as I can.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Paul holds up his hand. “Secret handshake?”
“Secret handshake,” I say.
We lock thumbs and flutter our fingers like wings, up, up until our hands can’t reach anymore. For the first time in a long time, it feels like everything is going to be okay.