Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Diego

WE MEET ON Friday. No one has fired me or confronted me with accusations. It has been an entirely ordinary week.

That doesn't mean I'm not nervous.

My stomach is fluttering when I wind through the nearly deserted library and head up to the study rooms on the second floor. Students aren't eager to spend their Friday evenings here — except for Avery. They're already in one of the little glass-walled rooms with books all around them when I tap on the door to announce myself. Their head pops up, eyes bleary from reading, and they break out into an enormous grin, waving for me to come inside.

That fluttery feeling in my stomach intensifies to a circus clown making balloon animals out of my guts .

I enter the study room, despite all my trepidation. It isn't only about the school catching us. Ever since the call with my mom I've been thinking more and more about how long I'll actually be here, how long I want to be here. I'm eating that fudge she sent as slowly as possible so I can cling to that piece of home indefinitely. But eventually it will be gone, and I'll be here aching for anything familiar.

"Friday afternoon," I say as I take a seat beside Avery. "Not a time when I assume students are sitting around studying."

"Which makes it perfect, doesn't it?" Avery says. "Barely anyone around. Even if we didn't have this private room, there's almost no one else here. So there's absolutely nothing to worry about."

Is that why they chose this time? I figured it was simply when they were available, but it doesn't surprise me that they were trying to find a time when I'd be the most comfortable.

"That's a reasonable point," I say.

Avery is smiling over at me, clearly pleased with themself for this. A piece of me revels in the way they look at me, as though my praise is worth that much to them, as though I'm any kind of actual expert. In reality, I'm only a few scant years ahead of them. I can easily imagine Avery being in my position in a couple years, if that's what they plan to do with their degree. They haven't expressed any explicit desire to go to grad school, but it would be a horrible waste if they didn't. Someone as bright and curious as Avery should absolutely be enmeshed in this field conducting the kind of research that is going to change society's ideas about gender and sexuality.

Avery lets me settle in. They silently return to whatever they were working on before I arrived, and I dig my laptop and some books out of my bag. Once I'm all set up, Avery slides a paper cup from the dining hall toward me.

"I snuck some jasmine tea out of the dining hall," Avery says. They have an identical cup in front of them. "Hopefully it's still hot. I had to sneak it in, but I doubt anyone is going to come all the way up here to tell us not to drink it."

"The dining hall has jasmine tea?"

"No, definitely not. I brought the tea bags from home and used the dining hall for hot water so I could brew it fresh."

I pop the plastic lid off. Steam curls off the pale golden liquid, fragrant with jasmine blossoms. I breathe deeply, inhaling the memory of that first night when I met Avery. Oh, how naive I was, thinking they were just a nice, attractive stranger I'd never see again.

"This is what you made me after my car broke down," I say.

Avery's smile widens, and my heart dances at the joy in their face. "You remember that tea?"

"Of course. It was great. And it was really kind of you to make it for a complete stranger."

"Maybe I already had a good feeling about you."

I hide my smile by sipping on the tea. It's definitely cooled a bit, but it's worlds better than any of the tea you'd get in the dining hall itself. I drink slowly, inhaling every time I take a sip in order to appreciate the distinctive aroma that flavors the drink.

"That's really good tea," I say.

"It's my favorite," Avery says. "I always make it when I'm working at the café."

"Your café sounds like a strange place. I can't believe that's a real thing."

"It is strange, but it's also special. We fought hard to keep it going. The school even wanted to shut us down at one point," Avery says. "I wish you could come see it." They rush on before I can mention what a dangerous idea that would be. "I know. You can't. I get it. I'm just saying that I wish you could. We dress up and decorate. It's a whole atmosphere, not just a cup of tea. That's why people keep coming back."

"It sounds lovely. Maybe…" I catch myself, but Avery's face shines with hope, and I can't stop myself from wanting to nurture that light. "Maybe we could get tea someday. Not in paper cups."

"I'd really like that," Avery says. "someday."

The "when" goes unspoken. It's a future so fragile that neither of us want to say it out loud and potentially shatter it. When I'm not Avery's TA. When there's no risk. When we can be more open about this. When I know if I'm staying in Montridge or fleeing back home. When, when, when. All of these whens that are even less substantial than the steam curling off my tea. At least I can smell and taste that. These whens are completely ethereal, a hope lingering on a held breath.

"What are you working on?" Avery says, nodding at my books and laptop.

"Just papers for classes," I say.

"What kinds of papers?"

"I'm sure it would be dull."

"I'm sure it wouldn't. Aren't you the one who's always saying how we're in the same field?"

I concede, and start explaining a paper for a class about sexuality and global language conventions. Different cultures and languages come with different traditions and norms around these things, and that's certainly carried into the modern day.

Avery seems fascinated by all of it. I feel like I'm giving a lecture for their class rather than describing what's happening in mine as I go on and on about how different languages deal with things like pronouns.

"I always wondered how I'd talk about myself in other languages," Avery says.

"It's complicated. There's no one answer. Different communities in different places have their own conventions, their own ‘rules,' so to speak. A lot of times, they have to make it up themselves."

"Just like us," Avery says. "We're all just figuring it out as we go, aren't we? There's no one simple answer, but that's kind of the beauty of it. Our languages and cultures are changing as we assert our right to be here and to be part of society."

"I didn't think about it that way," I admit. "It sounds like it would be very difficult. I can't imagine what I'd do if English didn't have a ‘he.'"

"It is difficult," Avery says, "but it's also rewarding and beautiful. These kinds of communities are like their own little micro cultures. It's amazing, don't you think?"

Micro cultures. Like the micro culture around Montridge, this town full of university students that has drag bars and gay bars and Boyfriend Cafés. It's strange, sometimes overwhelming, different from everything I know. But Avery is right. It's also kind of amazing.

I nod. "What about your paper? You had questions about sources."

"Oh, I mean, if you have time, I'd love your help with this part."

I scoot my chair closer, and we dive into their research paper. It's far more extensive than what's required for an undergraduate course, but I'm not surprised by that in the least. This is Avery. They're always going to go far above and beyond when they care about something. Watching them indulge their passion is like getting sucked into a whirlpool, an inescapable tug into deeper waters. Soon, we're digging through books and articles, reshaping whole sections of the essay, discussing topics that stretch well beyond the requirements for the paper — or the course as a whole.

I'm captivated.

This has always been the aspect of Avery that hooks me most strongly. The second I got a glimpse into their mind, there was no running from this. That morning when we woke up together, I could have gotten as much pleasure out of lying in bed talking to them as from what we did in the shower.

I come back to my senses when we start veering into case studies that aren't even complete yet, research that's still underway.

"This is all way more than you can put into that paper," I say. "You're going to blow past the word count at this rate."

"That's okay," Avery says easily. "I like this stuff. If it doesn't all get into the paper, I'll still enjoy learning about it."

"You're way too busy to do more than what's required, and we both know it."

Avery scowls. "That's true, I guess. Things have gotten better at the café but it's…" They huff out a sigh. "It's a lot. You're right. I'll trim this back before it gets out of control. "

"You know, you could save the sources in a separate document. Who knows when you might need them in the future?"

Avery's laugh surprises me more than any other reaction they could have had.

"Yeah, sure," they say.

"What? You sound skeptical."

They shrug. "I don't have too many other classes left that focus so intensely on the topic of gender. I doubt I'll need to crack open these books again after your class."

"I wasn't thinking of only your undergrad, Avery. You could keep studying. You only have a year and a half left on your degree."

They go quiet at this, neither agreeing nor denying it. Their silence sits heavily between us, but I'm too much of a coward to prod. Do they really not intend to go further with this degree? They have the mind and the temperament for higher levels of education. That much is obvious. What would hold them back?

"Anyway," they say before I can ask, "I didn't mean to take up all your time with my stuff. I'm sure you have work to do as well."

"It's okay," I say, but silence falls between us again, and we turn back to our own work.

I can't entirely manage to focus after that. I keep thinking about how quiet they got when I prodded them about their education. Are we both planning to abandon this? Me doing it is one thing. I'm a small-town boy longing for home. But Avery belongs here. This is their kind of environment. They thrive here. They should want to keep going.

"Hey." Avery cuts into my thoughts, and I realize I haven't typed a single word in far too long.

"Sorry, spaced out."

"I noticed. Seems like we're getting kind of worn out." They lean in closer, lowering their voice even though we're alone. "I'm going to head out now. Alone. For safety or whatever. But there's no café customers tonight. I'll be home watching movies. You should come by."

"Avery, I…"

What? Can't? Won't? Neither of those feel true, so I never finish the thought.

Avery seems to sense the gap in my resolve.

"You can do whatever you want," they say. "I'm not twisting your arm. I'm simply saying that I'll be home and if you come by, that would be cool. Maybe it would be really cool."

They eye me up and down, but the look is so quick that I almost doubt it happened when they rise smoothly to their feet and leave me in the study room staring dumbly after them as they casually walk away.