What if Andrew was gay? That was impossible. He was too handsome. Girls had always liked Andrew—even when he was a teenager with braces and a pimple or two, they had called the house at all hours and gathered in eager bunches around the pool during the kids’ birthday parties, their smooth young bodies in bikinis that would have been unthinkable thirty years ago in Taiwan. But there were men like that, Charles knew, gay men whose friends were all beautiful women who were half in love with them.
