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“Apollo?”
Despite the fact that the greenhouse was empty except for her when she said the name into the air, she felt the warmth of sunshine land on the nape of her neck and knew her call had been answered.
Instead of turning towards Apollo as he approached, she kept her eyes planted on the sunflower bud in front of her, not making any acknowledgement of the deity that swiftly moved beside her. As she patted the mulch around the seedling, she felt the ground shift as Apollo plopped himself down beside her.
Finally, she turned to look at him. His appearance was akin to that of Lester, but at the same time, had the few differences that Meg had become used to seeing over the few years since his trials: his hair was much longer, nearly to his waist, and was plaited in two neat braids with large coils at the end that was perfect for boinging; his acne had cleared; his blue eyes had a ring of gold in the center, like the sun rising into a clear sky. He also always took advantage of his immortal flexibility to sit in odd positions that would make even the most seasoned contortionist cramp up after a few minutes, something Meg envied greatly, and that moment was no different. His legs were twisted like a pretzel underneath him, but he showed no signs of losing circulation like Meg would if she even attempted to sit like that.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Meg’s words stumbled out in an overly incriminating manner. “Who said something was wrong? What if I was just lazy and called you over to pass me a trowel?”
Apollo snapped his finger and a trowel appeared, which she grabbed and used to flatten the newly applied mulch.
“You called me Apollo,” he said after a moment, and Meg turned quickly. “You never summon me as Apollo unless something’s the matter.”
She racked her head to all the times she’s summoned him in the last few years—she probably shouldn’t abuse the fact that she had a major Olympian at her beck and call like she did, but he could be in so many places at once that he could get her a cup of Ben & Jerry’s at two a.m. when she was craving it and not fall behind on his a million and one jobs—and yeah, crap, she never noticed the trend but whenever she wanted ice cream she’d say Lester, I really want Ben & Jerry’s please, and never Apollo. She should probably work on that.
“Oh.”
Apollo chuckled, “Yeah, oh. So, what’s the matter?”
Meg sat back so she could pull her legs to her chest, holding them like they were her lifeline. The red Doc Martins she wore were dulled brown by the dirt, and the embroidered flowers on the hem of her jeans that Aemillia had expertly done was caked in mud. When she had called his name, she had been so confident, but now? Every ounce of confidence had been squeezed out of her.
Apollo stayed quiet as the little gremlin in her mind attempted to file and categorize her thoughts. His presence was somehow comforting and intimidating in tandem.
“I—” she said after a minute, flattening her legs so that she sat in the butterfly pose. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Apollo nodded. “Well, I’m all ears, Meg.”
She shut her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. “You’ve had a lot of lovers.”
Apollo hummed in agreement. “I have, yes.”
“How do you—” Her cheeks burned from how tight her eyes were shut, but she kept them sealed. “How do you know you like them?”
“Like them?” Apollo repeated slowly. “Just like?”
Meg managed to glance at the sun god. He stared straight at his domain through the greenhouse’s glass walls, something that would harm anyone else. “Yeah, just like.”
He was quiet for a moment, and Meg was about to backtrack when he spoke again. “It’s hard to classify, really. Especially for me, since I’m a god. Our feelings are shaped like those of mortals, but at the same time is something far more complex. I don’t think that there’s words to adequately describe it.”
“You had crushes when you were mortal, though.” Meg said. “Didn’t you?”
Apollo nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to mortal liking. It was weird, and definitely not like how I normally felt when I like someone like that, but that didn’t make it lesser.” Apollo chuckled, “Most of my crushes from when I was mortal were still there when I reascended, they just morphed into the godly feelings I was used to.”
“Like Jamie?” Meg asked, remembering Apollo’s long laments about his crush on the Yoruba demigod on their adventures. Meg was only twelve at the time, but even then she had thought Lester was over the top about that. There was no way his feelings could be that genuine.
Apollo sighed dramatically. “I’m still devastated he’s taken, Meg.”
“Right,” Meg drawled out. “So, you can’t explain what it’s like to like someone?”
Apollo contemplated for long enough that a few of the tomato plants nearby bursted up, scraping the top of the greenhouse. Apollo glanced up at the smushed tomatoes and turned back to her. “Like I said, it’s really not that simple Meg.”
“What about sleeping with someone?”
Apollo didn’t comment on his slight glow, which Meg appreciated. “What about it?”
“Is it the same feeling?”
He shook his head. “No, not really. It’s similar, and sometimes they overlap, but it’s not always the same. There’s people I’ve liked romantically and not sexually, and vice versa. There’s also people whom I’ve liked both ways. It’s not an exact science, Meg.”
“Like gardening?”
“Yeah.”
Meg waited just long enough that the silence, which was comfortable at first, morphed into something that made her skin prickle. “I don’t think I’ve felt like that before.”
“Which one?”
“Either, I think.” Meg pulled her legs to her chest again. “I mean, I thought I did, but I was talking with Lucius yesterday about his new partner and I came to the stark realization I don’t think I ever felt like that. Not really at least.”
“You thought?”
Meg shrugged, a feat with her arms wrapped snuggly around her calves. “You always joked that I liked Joshua when I was younger; I think part of me thought I did genuinely like him. And last school year—you remember him, don’t you? That boy from my botany class that I brought over to see the garden since he was the only one as enthusiastic about botany as I was? I thought I liked him too. And there was that Harmonia girl at camp two summers ago who asked me out to the fireworks and I said yes because I thought I liked her too, for a time, but that barely lasted since I didn’t particularly care for that date. But, even with those epic fails, part of me still thought, you know?”
Apollo put a hand on her knee. “You don’t have to like people, you know? My sister doesn’t really, and neither do a ton of her hunters. I can get her to talk to you, if you like.”
“She’d probably be more helpful than you,” Meg whispered.
Apollo bumped her shoulder. “We just have different perspectives, that’s all.”
Meg stretched her legs around the seedling and grabbed Apollo’s bicep, hugging it tightly like she was the same little twelve year old he met at first, and not the confused nearly seventeen year old that should have life figured out by now.
“It just sucks to not know.”
“As a god of knowledge and prophecy; I know, Meg. I know. But, you’re not even seventeen yet, you’ve got a lifetime ahead of you that I’m going to make sure you can live.”
“Thanks.”
One of Apollo’s braids tickled her cheek as he pulled her closer. “I’m sorry, by the way, for what part I played in your confusion.”
Meg pulled away, turning to face the god. “What?”
“You talked about me teasing you about Joshua when you were younger; I’m sorry if that confused you more. It was a joke.”
“I know.”
“But it still hurt, didn’t it?”
Meg paused. “It did,” she finally said. “But you didn’t know, you couldn’t have. I didn’t know either.”
“You were twelve, though. I wasn’t.”
“You did have memory problems.”
Apollo chuckled. “I can’t refute that, but still. You’d think I’d know better after spending so much time with Artemis and her huntresses.”
“You’d think,” Meg said. “Thanks for letting me talk, Lester.”
Apollo smiled. “Of course. I wish I could have been more help. I will get Arty to talk to you when she has time, but she’s always busy so I’m not sure when that’ll be, but also—” He snapped his finger and a stack of books appeared in his arms. “Sometimes reading and research can help. Here’s some books on queer identities, including asexual and aromantic ones, which sound close to what you're describing but I can’t label you, only you can. And, to be honest, you don’t even need to really label yourself—it’s more just to find a community who you relate to and to explain yourself, but you don’t owe anyone an explanation on your feelings. Even me.” He paused. “Especially me.”
Meg took the books from him, standing up. “Thanks.”
Apollo stood up too, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Anytime,” he said, before disappearing in a cloud of yellow dust.