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Tim stared down at the card.
“Well?” Steph prompted.
Tim looked up at her, frowning.
She raised her eyebrow.
“Is this a joke?” he deadpanned.
“Nope.”
Tim closed the card, with restraint, and held it out.
“No, man, that's yours,” Steph pushed it back toward him.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Tim said.
“Yeah, that's not how this works. I gave you the card, it's yours now. You can't just give it back,” Steph said.
“This is a bad joke.”
“I already told you, Timmy, it's not a joke,” Steph said.
He couldn't figure out how she could be so bright and flippant about something so—Tim crushed the card a little, then flattened it out again. He couldn't show that it affected him too much. That was giving it too much power. “If you wanted to break up with me, you could have just said so,” Tim said.
“It's not about breaking up,” Steph said. She propped a hand on her hip. “I don't mind ‘dating’ you. I just need you to know why it's not going the way you think it should go.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you love me?” Steph asked.
Tim stiffened a bit, at a borderline of holding his breath, then forced himself to relax. “Of course I—”
“Do you love me, though? Like. Can you see marrying me? Buying a house together? Raising kids? Growing old, watching our kids get married, being grandparents?”
Tim frowned.
Steph let the silence stretch for a beat, then continued. “And can you see all that like it's a good thing – something you want – rather than a kind of nightmare of conformity and expectations?”
Tim glanced back down at the card.
“Didn't think so.”
“Steph it's not—”
“No, shut up. I'm not being bitter. I don't care, Tim. I honestly thought you already knew? Because I always knew this was basically playing house.” Steph leaned her head back and sighed. “Okay, now. Same thing. But like… imagine it's… imagine it's Conner. Imagine marrying him, moving into a house together, having a kid together.”
“I'm not… I'm not gay,” Tim muttered.
“It's not a bad thing,” Steph said.
Tim opened the card again. “I know it's not a bad thing,” he mumbled.
“Yeah. It's not. I don't care what subtle homophobia you were raised around. Or blatant homophobia. It's not a bad thing. Or a good thing. It's just a thing. Perfectly fine, perfectly natural.”
“I know,” Tim said.
Steph sat down next to him.
Tim glanced over at her. “I know,” he repeated.
She put a hand on his knee. “I've seen how you look at him,” she said, purposely soft and casual. “I've seen when you notice how you're looking at him.”
Tim hunched his shoulders a bit more.
The card was one of those Congratulations cards, the eponymous congratulation on the outside and “It's a Boy!” written on the inside, but “Boy” was crossed out and “Gay” was written above it. It was signed “your girlfriend, Steph” and had little hearts drawn all over it and a sloppy marker rainbow drawn on the opposite page.
“What if I were bi?” he muttered.
“You could be. But like. I don't think so. You don't look at girls the way you look at boys. Or enbies that don't lean masc, even. I've known you for a while, Tim.”
Tim sighed and closed the card. “Why aren't you upset, if you don't think I like girls?” he muttered.
“Because I always knew you didn't like girls? I always knew I was your beard,” Steph scoffed. “I just didn't realize you didn't know I was your beard. Which, wow, awkward.”
Tim folded the card smaller. “Right.”
“I was gonna let you figure it out yourself, but like. You clearly have it bad for Conner—”
“I don't—!” Tim tried.
“You do!” Steph said, louder. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in to ruffle his hair. “You like him. You like like him!”
“Steph!”
Steph let him pull back. “You like him and you're trying so hard not to, because you're trying to be a normal guy with a normal girlfriend. It's funny, but in a sad way, because we're not normal, never have been and never will be, so it's wholly an exercise in futility. Besides, it's normal to by gay, too. Or bi. Or trans.”
“I know that,” Tim said.
“You know it in your head, but I think You've internalized something else in your heart, and it's something that you've been holding over your own head,” Steph said.
Tim pressed his lips into a thin line, then folded the card smaller, again.
“I wanted to tell you because I don't want you completely missing your chance at the guy you actually like, just because you're pretending you like me that way.”
“Steph, I do like you—”
“Okay, stop with the comforting ‘I do like you’ stuff. I'm not offended or hurt. I'm mostly just concerned that you're not letting yourself be yourself. Okay?”
Tim shifted uncomfortably.
“Seriously. I'm not mad or anything. But I will be if you keep that up,” Steph said. “At least think about it? Think about how you feel when Conner shows up, or when he puts an arm around you, or… or how you feel when he leaves, or isn't around when you wish he was. Okay?”
Tim glanced at her out the corner of his eye.
“Okay…?” Steph prompted.
Tim sighed. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Great!” Steph hopped up. “I call dibs on being godmother for your first kid, and on being the best man at your wedding.”
“Whoa, hey, thinking about it doesn't mean—”
“Don't ruin it for me, I'm imagining teeny tiny Tims running around, all hyper after I babysat them and gave them way too much sugar,” Steph waved him off. “It's amazing. You're a great stay at home mom.”
“What makes you think I'd be the stay at home mom?” Tim scoffed.
“I dunno, I just think it's the funniest option. You'd be so frazzled. But you'd rock the hair curlers!”
“Wh—hair curlers?” Tim spluttered.
Steph waved him off again, heading for the door. “Think about it, okay? Yeah, okay. Bye, Tim!”