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Rose knows a gay boyfriend when she has one. They’re easy to spot, given enough practise, and God knows Rose has had enough practise: Matt in high school, Ethan in her first year of university, Lucas the year after. Lucas was an athlete, even, defiant of every gay stereotype. So when signs start popping up in her relationship with Shane, Rose is surprised, but not in denial. She’s been here before, and she’ll probably be here again. It’s her curse: she’s almost exclusively attracted to gay men.
But even if she didn’t have experience with gay boyfriends, Rose still thinks she’d know. It’s obvious how much Shane doesn’t want to have sex with her.
Maybe it’s weird, having the conversation in public. But Rose has arranged for a private area, far from prying eyes, and she feels like trying to have this conversation somewhere more intimate would be an even bigger mistake.
Rose starts off with Miles. “Did you not notice that Miles is gay?” she asks, keeping her voice carefully neutral. Non-judgemental. Safe.
Shane shrugs. He’s looking down at his hands, which are twisting the tablecloth. “I guess I hadn't really thought about it, so…”
“Well, he is,” Rose says, “and he's low-key in love with you.”
Shane looks up and blinks. “Oh.”
“Does it surprise you that Miles is gay?”
“No,” Shane says quickly. His eyes go big. He clears his throat. “I mean, of course not, no.”
Rose nods. “Well, a lot of actors are. They're just not all out.” Then, very delicately: “Are there any, like, gay hockey players?”
Shane makes a strangled noise.
Wait, that’s not how Rose wants to say this. “I mean, yes,” she says, laughing a little even though it’s not really funny. “Obviously, there are, but are there any openly gay players?
Shane nods and then shakes his head. He clears his throat again. “Yeah, uh, no. I mean, yeah, there are probably gay players or whatever, but none that have said it publicly.”
Rose sighs. “Sorry, I don't think I'm going about this the right way.”
“Going about what?” Shane must be playing dumb. Except Rose thinks he might not be playing, actually, and really is just confused. She hasn’t said anything explicitly yet, and has been relying on subtext to speak for her. Clearly, that approach isn’t working with Shane.
“I really like you, Shane,” Rose says, because that’s true. She does. She likes spending time with him. She likes the jokes he makes when he’s comfortable. She likes that he’s watched all her movies, even the bad ones. She likes that he never talks down to her about hockey, even though he’s the captain of the Metros and she’s never picked up a stick herself. She likes everything about Shane: that he drinks ginger ale, that he reads nonfiction, that he has glasses that he’s embarrassed about wearing.
“I like you too,” Shane says, still sounding baffled.
“But I have a feeling that maybe I'm not doing it for you?”
Shane’s shaking his head before she even finishes saying the words. “Yes, you are.”
But Rose isn’t, and she knows that. “I know you like talking to me,” she says gently, to reassure him that she’s not angry. “But do you like kissing me?”
“Sure.”
And Rose had known it was coming, but somehow, that still stings. “Wow,” she says, laughing to try and shake off the sour feelings she can feel creeping up her throat.
Shane tries to backtrack. Tries to apologise. Rose won’t have any of that.
“Don’t apologise,” she says, grabbing Shane’s hand. “I just have a feeling, and maybe I’m completely off base here, but I feel like maybe you’d rather be kissing Miles?”
Rose watches something in Shane break.
“Hey, it’s really okay,” Rose says. She’s not upset. She doesn’t want Shane to be upset, either. She likes Shane. Could probably love him one day. Would definitely marry him, if things were different.
“It's not,” Shane says, his voice thick. He shakes his head. He talks to Rose like he’s trying to convince them both. “I do like you. I really do. I like talking with you. I like being with you. I like all of it. I know the sex stuff is a problem, but…”
“It's not a problem.” Rose keeps her voice soft but unyielding. “A problem is something you can fix.” She fumbles her way through a square-peg-round-hole analogy that leaves her feeling more than a little flustered, but manages to come out the other side. “We’re not meant to fit,” she finishes. “And it’s really fine. I just don’t think that we can keep trying.”
Shane wants to say something, but he keeps tripping on his words.
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Rose says.
Shane snorts. “I feel like I kind of do.”
“You really don’t.” And Rose should leave it there, but she can’t help herself, can’t stop herself from asking, “Can I ask if you've ever been with another guy?”
Shane doesn’t say anything. After a long moment, he nods.
“Have you ever told anyone that before?” Rose asks, but she thinks she knows the answer. Fuck, Shane couldn’t even say the words out loud.
Shane shakes his head. There are tears in his eyes.
“Was it different with a guy?”
Shane finds his voice. “Of course.”
“Was it better?”
“Yeah,” Shane says simply. “It was better.” He takes a breath, like he’s steeling himself for something. “The thing is, I…” he laughs suddenly. “I kind of prefer being the hole rather than the peg.”
And there’s the Shane that Rose absolutely adores. Self-deprecating at times, but dead funny. She laughs, too. “That is the best thing any gay boyfriend of mine has ever told me,” she says, and Shane should be flattered, because her gay boyfriends have had some doozies over the years. John told her that he was crushing hard on her brother, also named John.
Something flitters across Shane’s face. “Oh, you've had other…”
“I was in theater school,” Rose says, which is true, except her gay boyfriends were a trend even before then. “Like, 70% of my boyfriends have left me for other guys.”
“70%?”
Rose doesn’t know the math on it, but that sounds a little low. She reevaluates. “Actually, 80%.”
They laugh. Rose pats Shane’s hand comfortingly. “You should follow Miles back on Instagram,” she says, because she wasn’t kidding when she said that Miles was obsessed.
He’s so boy-next-door, Miles had said, drunk on too many fancy cocktails with little umbrellas in them. God, I just want to corrupt him. Deflower him.
It sounds like someone’s beat Miles to that, but hey, two of Rose’s favourite people dating? There are worse things.
“No,” Shane says automatically. He shakes his head, smiling sheepishly. “I mean, not ‘no,’ but I just need to sort some things out first.”
“Of course.” Rose gets that. It’s the mature move, and Shane is so mature that sometimes Rose thinks that maybe it’s killing him. “I was kidding about Miles,” she says, “but he totally would. Like, in a heartbeat.”
Instead of brightening, Shane’s face darkens. “You haven't said anything to him, have you?”
“No, definitely not.” Rose pats Shane’s hand again. “And I never will.”
They have a great dinner, two friends. Shane seems lighter. Less weighted down. Rose wonders how long he’s kept this in. Was teenage Shane noticing boys in the locker room, terrified that they might see that he was looking? Or did he just convince himself that he didn’t want to look? How old was he when he decided that the most important thing was hockey, and that he was always going to come second? Was it one moment, or did it happen a little at a time, so slowly that he hardly noticed it until he woke up one day and realised how unhappy he’d become?
“Let's be friends,” Rose tells Shane, and she means it. She likes Shane, and she likes this freer version of him even more. “Let's be real friends. Like, best friends.”
“Okay,” Shane says.
Rose can tell that he doesn’t know whether or not to believe her. “I really like you, Shane,” she says. “You're secretly one of the funniest guys I know.”
She could go on, but she doesn’t have to. Shane laughs. “Well, that secret you don't have to keep.”
“Oh, I will tell everyone,” Rose promises. Then, she makes a play. “I have a feeling that there's not a lot of people you can talk to. I mean about all the other things and stuff,” she says.
“Things and stuff can be tricky for me,” Shane admits with a wry smile.
Rose smiles back. “Text me whenever, okay?” she says, and she won’t take no for an answer. All these gay ex-boyfriends and not one of them has stuck around in any meaningful way. She regrets that. She thinks she’d have some strong friendships out of it. She’s not going to make that mistake again. “I mean it, because I will be texting you all the time.”
“Promise,” Shane says.
“You will wish you never met me,” Rose says, which is a promise of her own. I’m not going to leave you. I’m right here.
Shane smiles, big and wide. “Impossible.”