Figuring You Out

Chapter Thirty-One

My foot taps on the lino floor as my chipped fingernails scratched the steaming coffee mug that I paid way too much for considering I wouldn't even drink it. The bell on the door chimes and my head snaps up only to see a middle aged business man strapped in a suit approach the counter in a frenzy. I bite my lip and check my phone again to see that he was five minutes late. Five minutes. That's fine, right? People are five minutes late all the time. Yeah. Fine.

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes late. That was fine, right? My coffee mug lay empty after I nervously guzzled the whole thing and now my whole body feels like I've just stumbled off an adrenaline fuelled rollercoaster. Both of my feet were trembling out of nerves or caffeine I wasn't sure and my neck was aching at the amount of times I had looked up at the chiming door which I eventually gave up because now I've got whiplash. I decide to call it a day after six calls and thirteen texts, I half rise from the chair when a figure pulls out the chair opposite me and sits down- its him. He gives me half a smile, "Coffee?"

"No, I'm ok thanks," I say.

"Come on, I've practically stood you up let me buy you a drink," he insists, standing with his hand leaning on my half of the small table.

"Just a water then," I relent, drawing shapes on the wooden table in front of me.

"Hey," he says, softly, "We're here to talk, ok? I'm not mad now, I never was," He turns with a stiff nod from me and moves towards the counter where he orders a cappuccino. His words are enough to push me over the emotional ledge but I don't let him. Not here. Not now. He returns with a mug and a bottle of water that he places next to me our fingertips nearly but not quite grazing each other.

"Sorry, I was so late. Panic attack," he says far too easily, my heart squeezes for him and I feel myself falling for him.

"Can we talk about that?" I say cautiously, he eyes me curiously for a moment and then gives me a small nod.

"I was thirteen when they started," he says, his ringed fingers tapping on the handle of his coffee cup, "They're... controlling, overwhelming," he hesitates, "Heart breaking," he lets out a soft laugh and sips his coffee for a moment, "Dad was always busy, too busy to notice at the very least. When after twenty calls the school got contact and he organised a private councillor to see me the very next day," he says, somewhat bitterly, our breathing settles the emptiness before he breaks it again, "That's what I hate. He thinks shovelling a shit tonne of money at something will solve it. I probably need a five minute phone call once a day and maybe I wouldn't have as many as I do,"

"I'm sorry," I say.

"For the issues with my dad or abandoning me mid kiss in a school resource cupboard?"

"Both?" I try, knowing that this is my time to explain, "I was always... confused about the way I felt. Maybe it was the masculinity of the rugby team or the half arsed, half thought jokes my dad made. I don't know," I ramble, my heart wracking in my chest so hard I thought my rib bones were going to crack, "And then I met you," I say, my heart swelling, "And, my God, I just... fell for you. I am falling,"

"But?"

"But I love my life, it's easy, Red. Painfully easy. I spent half my time wanting to snog your face off and the other half worrying about what will happen if I do," I see him turn, stung by my words, "I think I love you,"

"And that's enough for me," he says, genuinely, "I'm out and I have my own coming out journey but it's not yours. You're in a different situation and that's fine but it's down to you, Oliver, not me. So we wait, ok? We still revise together and talk because I really like you and then, when you're out and you're comfortable we have the sneaky glances across the classroom and dates here and every other coffee shop around London," he smiles, "But we wait, ok?"

"Ok," I agree, my chest aching with hurt but my head buzzing with relief, "Thank you so much,"

"I'll wait for you," he says, his hand reaching across the table I copy his actions so our fingertips are grazing each other. And in that moment, I want to spill all. To stand on the chair and scream out my secret all whilst spinning this boy around in circles to see his dimples stretch across his face as I plant my lips on his in a Hollywood moment. But I don't.

Not now but soon.