Café Con Lychee

by Emery Lee

Except the boba thing, but I guess it’s that old Chinese nature to steal a drink from Taiwan and claim it as our own.

It’s weird, like fate is constantly trying to make us dance together, but no matter what I do, I can’t get past my two left feet.

“At the end of the day, sometimes being an adult means making a decision you don’t like to get the things you need.”

“Guess they like the diversity?” Which is ironic, because I looked it up, and the owners are definitely white. Apparently appropriated diversity is the only acceptable kind.

It’s just something about Gabriel’s ridiculous face that had me crumbling, like he’s some baby I can’t punch in the face, because who the fuck punches a baby? That’s just messed up.

How can I ever feel comfortable being me when I’m the thing my parents hate the most?

“You sound like a Disney movie. I should’ve known you were gay.”

I’m still frozen, because my brain is struggling to process just how beautiful his smile was and figure out what it’ll take to see it again.

“Well, sometimes when you vent, people egg you on, you know? Tell you how shitty the other person is, and then before you know it, everyone’s dragging someone and being furious. But sometimes you vent, and the other person just tells you that your feelings are valid, and then you start processing how to move on.”

It’s like our brains have somehow synced over the Wi-Fi as we both say, “That’s brilliant!”

“You spend so much time worrying about what other people want you to be that you never have time to be yourself. Sure, I care what people think, but I’m not gonna let it define me. I’m a screwup, and I’m proud.”

Somewhere in all the baked goods and caffeine, I think I caught feelings for Gabriel Moreno. Fuck.

Ugh, why is not thinking so hard?

Hatred isn’t just in the things a person says. It’s in the way they stay silent when someone else spews hate, the way they nod along or entertain the ideas at all.

Or maybe it’s just finally admitting to myself that being gay isn’t a bad thing. It’s not even a neutral thing. It’s a great thing, something I deserve to be proud of the same way I’m proud to call myself Puerto Rican. It’s just as much a part of me as my own culture, as my parents’ shop, as dance and my friends, and every other thing I’ve come to associate with being Gabi.

Theo’s got his hands on my face, and our lips are pressed together, and I feel like my whole face is on fire. He’s holding me so gently, and my arms circle his waist, and I feel like my whole body is melting into him, like I’m being completely carried away.

I don’t know how he went from being Theo Mori, the son of my parents’ rival to just Theo, my best friend, the one person I know I never have to second-guess myself around.

I can’t even remember why I was so eager to get out of Vermont when everyone I love is right here.