“I’d kind of hoped we’d bond over this,” he says. “You know, you’re bi, I’m gay. They could make a reality show about us on Bravo or something.” He’s still not looking at me, and I don’t know if I want him to. I close my eyes and try to chase down a coherent thought in my muddled brain. “Why didn’t you trust me?” I ask. “I trust you,” he says, looking over at me. His eyes are startled in the harsh glow of the front porch light.
