Senior year arrived with college applications and existential dread. Everything was "lasts" now—last first day of school, last football game, last chance to be the people we had been in this place.
The GSA had grown. There were twenty of us now, meeting in a real classroom instead of the home ec room, planning events that actually got approved by the administration. Dakota was going to college in Chicago, to a school with an actual queer studies program. Tyler had started a YouTube channel about being gay in rural America. William had come out to the football team and had, against all expectations, been accepted.
Things were changing. The world was improving. But the assumptions were still there, buried deep, surfacing at unexpected moments.
"So, college," my father said one night at dinner. "Have you thought about where you're applying?"
"A few places," I said. "Indiana University. Northwestern. NYU."
"NYU?" My mother's voice went up an octave. "That's so far. And so expensive."
"They have good journalism programs. And... and it's in New York. The city."
"The city," my mother repeated, and I could see her imagining things—gay bars and pride parades and a life so different from the one she had envisioned for me.
"Jesse's applying there too," I added, watching her face.
"Oh." She set down her fork. "Would you... live together?"
"Probably. If we both got in."
My parents exchanged a look. The kind of look they used to exchange when I was ten and wanted to quit piano lessons, or when I was fourteen and wanted to dye my hair blue. Parental concern, marital communication, the silent negotiation of how to handle their child's latest deviation from the plan.
"Charlie," my father said carefully, "we support your education. We support your... your relationship. But living together at eighteen... that's a big step."
"People do it all the time," I said. "Straight people, I mean. No one bats an eye when straight high school sweethearts go to the same college and get an apartment together."
"That's different," my mother said, then caught herself. "I mean... it's not different, but... people will assume..."
"Assume what? That we're having sex? We are. That we're serious about each other? We are." I stood up, my appetite gone. "You say you support me, but what you really mean is you support the version of me that makes you comfortable. The version that's quiet and polite and doesn't rub your face in my 'lifestyle.'"
"Charlie."
"But this is my life, Mom. Not a lifestyle. My life. And I'm going to live it openly and honestly, whether you're comfortable with it or not."
I went to my room. Locked the door. Called Jesse.
"They're never going to really accept it," I said when he answered. "They're always going to wish I was different. They're always going to be slightly disappointed."
"Maybe," Jesse said. "Or maybe they'll keep growing, just like we have. Just like the world has."
"You're annoyingly optimistic."
"You're annoyingly pessimistic. That's why we work."
I laughed, despite myself. "I love you."
"I know. I love you too. Now get some sleep. We have SAT prep tomorrow."
"You're such a nerd."
"Your nerd," he corrected. "Forever."
"Forever," I agreed, and held the word close like a promise.