“Sure. And we can go to the diner after, if you want.” He scratches at the back of his head, further messing up his hair. “My treat.”
“Why are you trying to butter me up? Are we going on one of those hikes that makes me feel like I’m going to vomit the whole time?”
He grins. “No, it’s a super-easy trail—you know, the one Dad used to take us on? I just… I need to tell you something.”
I get a bad feeling in my chest, even though it’s too early for that. But Lionel looks fine. Happy, even. “Everything okay?”
“Totally fine. Meet you downstairs.”
He closes my door and I sit on the edge of my bed for a moment. I look at my flowers like they have the answers. They sit snug in their vase, pretty and useless. But I see why people like having them around. They will die, but for now their beauty is undeniable, and I take comfort in that.
Lionel is entirely too outdoorsy for such a bookish person. I blame Saul. My outdoor time increased exponentially once my mother began dating him. Sunday-morning hikes at Runyon and walks at the lake and daylong trips to hang on the beach in Malibu—I think Saul would live in a tent if he could.
My brother’s love of nature is one of the reasons I figured out he was sick. Before, he couldn’t go more than a day without getting outside, taking long bike rides along the L.A. River or walking the path that borders the reservoir or, at the very least, taking a stroll around the tree-lined streets of our storybook neighborhood. It must have been gradual, but it seemed like one day he wasn’t interested in anything he used to do, especially being outside. At first I thought he was mad at me. He never wanted to talk or hang out anymore. He’d sleep all day, and if he joined us for dinner, it was back to the sorts of meals we had in the first couple of years we knew him, when he barely said two words. But there were no books in his lap. That was another clue. Even if he was in a loner phase, Lionel always wanted to be with his books.
“Everyone kept telling me to get active… after the diagnosis,” he says as we enter the park, squeezing through the narrow space next to an iron gate. “I used to think they were full of shit, but I don’t know—it probably helps. The exercise. Fresh air.”
I look at him with raised eyebrows. The last time we talked about this was a disaster. It was hard to give him the space he needed, but every time I went to knock on his door or text him, I remembered what Mom said last summer. How she was afraid I was taking on too much emotionally for someone my age. How I couldn’t worry so much about him that I missed out on my own life.
“You’re feeling better?” I ask as we travel along the dirt trail spotted with black beetles, crunchy leaves, and the occasional cigarette butt. The path isn’t crowded, but people are walking ahead of us, a couple of girls with bobbing ponytails and a guy running with an off-leash Labrador.
“I am,” he says with a clarity that intrigues me. “I’m feeling a lot better.”
I wait for him to explain, but he doesn’t. He looks at peace as we walk along, and I run through the past few days in my head, wondering if I missed something that could have turned his mood around. He’s not talking, not ready to tell me whatever it is, and the silence is making me uncomfortable. That anticipatory pause should remind me of how we used to be with each other—confidants, keepers of secrets with a bond that no one and nothing could sever. But our dynamic is different now. Our bond isn’t broken, but it’s been stretched too thin.
And I’m so unnerved by the quiet that I change the subject—to the only thing that seems to be on my mind lately, besides him. Maybe if I tell Lionel something secret of my own, he’ll warm up.
“I like someone.”
“No shit.” He grins and I know he’s thinking about Emil, which isn’t wrong, but that’s not who I’m talking about.
I open my mouth to continue but then bite my lip and pause. This is the first time I will say this to anyone besides DeeDee. And even if he is Lionel, that’s still a big deal.
“That someone is… a girl.”
“Wow. Really?” He glances at me before he pushes a piece of hair out of his eyes, the red strands blazing in the sun. “So I was way off base with Emil, huh? Sorry.”
“No, that’s the thing.… I think I’m into him, too.”
“Huh.” Lion doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then: “What happened at boarding school?”
“What do you mean what happened?” I look down at the trail, not him, because I don’t like the way he asked it. Accusatory, almost.
“Well, you liked guys before you went away.”
“And?” I don’t want to tell him about Iris. He doesn’t sound like I want him to sound, and if he says something shitty about her, I might snap. I don’t like hearing people talk badly about Iris.
He sighs. “It’s, like, I thought everything would be the same when you got back, but you’re different and… I don’t know. It’s weird.”
My skin feels cold all of a sudden, unnaturally clammy under the heat. I never expected this from Lionel. My voice is somewhere between angry and humiliated as I ask, “Are you saying you don’t think it’s okay?”
He grabs my elbow and we pause on the trail. “Of course not. That was a dick thing to say. Sorry. I don’t care if you like girls, it’s just—so much has changed since you went away. None of it’s good for me, not really, but it seems good for you. The time away. Like you really know who you are now.”
“But I don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t know anything except that I like Emil and I like a girl and I guess that means I’m bisexual, but… am I? Shouldn’t I know for sure? You know you’re straight. Dee knows she’s gay. Other people know they don’t fit into either of those categories.…”
Lionel brings his shoulders up in a shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s different for everyone. I know I’m straight, but I have a million people telling me my brain is dysfunctional.”
“Have you ever liked more than one person at once?” I ask.
“Yeah, sure. Liking someone isn’t the same as being in love.”
“It just feels… People don’t really care if you like more than one person if you’re gay or straight, but if you say you’re bi, it’s different. Like the same rules don’t apply.”
He nods slowly. “I never thought about it like that, but yeah. You’re right. It’s pretty fucked up.”
“Sometimes I wish I could go back to being ten years old. Even just for a day. Everything was easier then.”
“I’d like to be six again. That was a great year,” he says, looking wistfully at the brilliant blue sky.
“Hey!” I shove his shoulder. “We didn’t know each other when you were six.”
He smirks. “Sorry. Dad spoiled me a lot more before you two came around. Divorce guilt. So… who’s the girl?”