Two years ago when Cyrus was doing his fifth step—cataloguing to Gabe all his deepest most tucked-away secrets—and casually mentioned having slept with men, Cyrus expected shock, at least one of Gabe’s “well, that’s something” looks. Instead, Gabe informed Cyrus that he’d slept with hundreds of men himself. “Southern California in the seventies,” he’d shrugged, like it was a given. “I expected you to be more surprised,” Cyrus admitted. “My being straight passing or whatever.” “Oh sweetheart,” Gabe chuckled, “you think you’re straight passing?”
