I Always Thought I Was Straight Until I Moved In With My Best Friend. Now Our Landlord Is Kicking Us Out And I Have To Decide. Should I Tell Him How I Feel Before We Lose Everything?
Sleepless Nights
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling while the numbers on my clock flip from 3:59 to 4:00. The moment on the couch keeps playing in my head like a video stuck on repeat. The way he said my name, that tone I’d never heard before, his eyes when he looked up at me from my shoulder.
How he stayed there even after he woke up instead of pulling away like he was embarrassed. I keep trying to remember exactly what his face looked like right before his phone rang. Was he nervous? Hopeful? Scared?
I replay it over and over, but I can’t figure it out. My brain won’t let me sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see him looking at me and asking if he could tell me something.
What was he going to say? Was it the same thing I’ve been trying to tell him, or was it something else entirely? Maybe he was going to tell me he’s moving out. Maybe he’s met someone.
Maybe he was going to say he thinks things have gotten weird between us and we need space. That thought makes my stomach hurt. I roll over and check my phone even though I know it’s too early for the tree lot to be open. Still three more hours.
At 6:00, I give up and drag myself to the bathroom. I turn the shower as hot as it’ll go and stand under the water for way longer than normal. I wash my hair twice because I can’t stop thinking about him calling me “little metal head.”
The way he laughed when he said it. How red my face got. I condition my hair and comb through it carefully, even though I don’t know why I’m putting in this much effort.
When I finally get out, the mirror is completely fogged up. I wipe it clear and look at myself. My hair hangs past my waist and drips water onto the floor. I wonder if he’ll notice I tried to make it look nice. I wonder if he thinks about that moment in the kitchen as much as I do.
The Morning Coffee
I get dressed in jeans and a clean shirt and actually dry my hair instead of just letting it air dry like usual. When I open the bathroom door, I can smell coffee brewing. He’s already awake.
My stomach does that flip thing again. He’s standing at the counter pouring coffee into two mugs. When I walk into the kitchen, he turns around and smiles at me, and I have to grip the door frame for a second.
He’s wearing his gray hoodie, and his hair is messy like he just woke up, but he looks perfect. He holds out one of the mugs, and I take it from him. Our fingers touch for half a second, and I feel that jolt of electricity run up my arm.
“Thanks,” I managed to say it without my voice cracking.
He nods and takes a sip from his own mug. We stand there in silence for a minute. It’s not our normal comfortable silence. This one feels heavy, like we’re both waiting for the other person to say something important.
He finally says, “We should probably head out soon. The lot opens at 7:00.”
“Yeah,” I look down at my coffee. “Sounds good.”
We drive to the tree lot with the radio playing quietly between us. Neither of us talks much. I keep opening my mouth to say something and then closing it again because everything sounds stupid in my head.
I’ve been rehearsing what to tell him for days, but now that we’re actually alone in the car together, all my practiced words have disappeared. What if I’m completely wrong about this? What if all those moments I thought meant something were just normal friend stuff and I’m reading way too much into everything?
The Tree Lot
What if I tell him how I feel and he looks at me like I’m crazy? We pull into the parking lot, and I still haven’t said anything. The tree lot is mostly empty since we’re here right when they open.
A few employees are setting up, and there’s one other car parked near the entrance. We get out and start walking through the rows of trees. He points at a really tall one and makes a joke about needing a ladder. I laugh, but it comes out forced.
We fall into our normal pattern of looking at trees and debating which ones are too short or too fat or too sparse. He reaches out to test the branches on a Douglas fir, and his hand brushes against mine. I jerk back like I’ve been shocked.
He looks at me for a second, and I can see something in his eyes, but I can’t read it. We keep walking. Every time we get close to each other or our hands touch while we’re examining branches, I feel like my whole body is on fire.
This is ridiculous. We’ve touched a million times before, but now everything feels different. Everything feels like it means something. An employee walks over to us with a measuring stick. He’s probably in his 50s with a beard and a flannel jacket.
“You guys finding everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, we’re good,” my roommate says. “Just trying to decide on the right height.”
“Decorating your place together?” The employee looks between us. “You two make a cute couple.”
I freeze. My face goes hot, and I can’t make myself look at my roommate.
“Oh, we’re just…”
My roommate starts to laugh it off. He does it smoothly, like he’s used to people assuming. But I catch him glancing at me out of the corner of his eye like he’s trying to see how I’m reacting.
“Thanks,” I somehow managed to say. “We appreciate the help.”
