THE FOUNDERS BREWING COMPANY TAPROOM is a place my friends and I had always yearned to go as teenagers. Now walking in is as easy as handing over my ID.
“Enjoy,” the bouncer says.
“Thanks, man.” I’ll try. But it’s gonna be interesting.
I glance around the big room, looking for my high school friends. The place is so large that it takes me a minute to spot them at a long table against the far wall.
Maybe it’s generosity, or maybe it’s nerves, but I count heads and then make a stop at the bar. My first move will be to buy a round of whatever award-winning fancy ale is on special today.
“Can I help you?”
The beer sure can. “Tell me about the special.”
The bartender launches into a description of its fruity hops and flavors, but I’m too nervous to listen. At the end of his lengthy recitation I realize I haven’t heard a word. “Eight pints of the special, please.”
The bartender quotes a surprisingly high price, and I hand him my credit card. Fancy ale does not come cheap, apparently, even in the Midwest.
They give me a tray, which I carefully transport to the table full of hockey players.
“Hey, does anyone recognize that guy?” our old captain crows.
“Yeah, do we know you?” someone adds.
As a matter of fact, you really don’t! “Yeah.” I clear my throat, setting the tray down on the table. “I’m the guy who just bought you a beer.”
“Well, all right,” my former teammate Jason says with a smile. “Suppose you can stay.”
I settle into a chair beside Jason and sip my overpriced beer. Everyone has a story. And since we’re all graduating in the spring, post-college plans are the topic du jour. One guy is headed to California for law school. Another one has taken a job here in town at an investment firm. Someone else is taking the MCATs for a try at med school.
Our team captain, Matty Newman, is getting married this winter. Jesus.
“Dude, why?” someone teases. “Is she pregnant?”
Newman shakes his head with a smile. “Just ready to tie the knot. We’ve been together four years already. We want to live together, and her parents would make a big stink if she just moved in with me.”
“Who cares what they think?” I hear myself ask. Heads swivel in my direction, and I regret the outburst. “You seem really happy about it, and that’s cool. But I hope making her daddy happy is just an added benny, not the only reason to get hitched.”
Newman’s fingers worry the edges of the coaster under his beer. “It makes Lisa happy. She really wants out of that house. And I want to give that to her.”
“Ah,” I say gruffly. “I’m sure you’re doing the right thing.”
“People keep saying, ‘You two are so young.’ We’re getting that a lot.”
“Fuck ’em,” somebody says.
“But that’s what Matty won’t be doing,” Jason points out. “He’s gonna fuck one person for the rest of his life. And that’s why we all look a little freaked out when we talk about marriage.”
I don’t agree. Fucking one person forever doesn’t scare me at all. I only hope I’ll have that chance. But I don’t say that, because I don’t want to draw any attention to myself. Yet. Instead, I wave down the server and order another pint of the special ale. Maybe nerves have killed off my tolerance for alcohol, because I am already feeling the one beer.
“Graham, my man,” Jason says beside me. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Oh boy. “Is that right?” I ask, feeling everyone’s attention land on me.
“Yeah, man. Your team goes to the Frozen Four, and we don’t hear about it from you? Where is the smack talk? Or do you think it’s enough to just grace us with your heroic presence?”
I grin, loosening up at this temporary reprieve. “You know I didn’t play in any of those championship games last year, right? I got a serious concussion right before the post-season.”
“That sucks, man.”
“It did. Still, it was a trip watching my guys make headlines.” My guys. One in particular, especially.
“Why aren’t you playing this year?” Jason asks. “Your head is okay now, right?”
“Sure,” I say slowly. “There were a few reasons. Recovering from that head injury was a bitch. It could have wrecked my academic semester. And if you get a second concussion it can take even longer to heal. Also, I wanted to take a job editing the sports section of my campus paper. That gamble will hopefully pay off in job interviews at sports networks.”
“That could be a fun permanent job,” Newman admits.
“Could be,” I agree. “If I find something.”
“Are we gonna see you on TV calling the games?” someone asks.
“You never know.” The moment lingers and I wonder what to say next. And also guys I’m totally gay! Group hug! I feel a little bubble of hysteria rise in my chest.
So I swallow down another gulp of this excellent beer.
“All right,” Matty Newman says. “I’ll be the one who bring this up…”
I brace myself.
“That gay guy who made the news on your team last year—John Rikker. I remember him from freshman year. What was that like, when he showed up at Harkness?”
“Um…” I actually laugh, and I can feel my face getting red. “Now there’s a story.”
“Hell of a player he turned out to be,” somebody mutters.
“Sure, but who knew we had a fag on our team?” Jerry Bakey asks.
I lift a hand in the air. “Hang on now. Let’s not break out the slurs, shall we?” I look Bakey in the eye, though I’m starting to sweat.
The server takes that moment to return, plunking a pint glass down in front of me. I curl my hand around its chilly surface and try to feel calm.
“Didn’t mean nothing by it,” Bakey says.
“Good to know,” I say, then wait a few seconds for the rest of the beers to land on the table. When the server leaves, I clear my throat. “John Rikker is a hell of a player. He’s also my boyfriend.”
Newman’s pint glass hits the table with a bang, and the sound is followed immediately by his laughter. “Way to stir the pot, Graham. Good one. I’ve missed you.”
A couple of other guys laugh, too, while my heart does a frantic dance inside my chest. I take a deep drink of my beer and then sigh.
“Holy shit,” Jason says slowly. “Wait. Were you kidding, or not?”
I shake my head.
Silence falls swiftly. Everyone stares. It’s the perfect opportunity to say something breezy. If only I knew what that was. I’ve just spent the better part of two years learning to tell the truth, whatever the cost. But as the silence thickens, I realize these friends are the least likely to stick with me. Unlike my Harkness teammates, we don’t have any meaningful contact anymore, and that makes it harder for them to feel comfortable.
And still—if this bunch is the worst of my collateral damage, I’ll take it.
“So…” Jason says slowly. “You’re…”
“Gay.” Rikker would cheer to hear me say it so plainly.
“Like, for r-real?” Newman stutters.
“That is correct. Always have been,” I add. With my free hand, I trace the outline of my car keys in my pocket, wondering if I’ll be leaving abruptly. I should have stopped at one beer. That was bad planning.
More silence and gaping stares.
“But…” Jason continues, not ready to let it go. “You screwed Harper’s twin sister on prom night. That’s what she told everyone, anyway.”
The pressure must have been getting to me because a bark of laughter escapes my chest. “True story.”
“I don’t get it,” Jason insists. He doesn’t look angry or disgusted, though. Just very confused.
My finger takes another trip around the rim of my pint glass. “Spent a really long time trying to be straight, that’s all. But it doesn’t work like that.”
“Christ,” Newman says. “What did your parents say? Do they know?”
“Yeah. Took me a long time to tell them, and then I wished I’d done it sooner. My parents are great,” I add. “Anyway. That’s my news. Didn’t expect you all to be real excited about it, but there it is. Too bad this place doesn’t serve shots,” I joke.
The jaws around the table still hang open. Two guys won’t look me in the eye. Bakey, for one. But Newman lifts his glass in my direction. “I think Graham just won the night, guys. And here I thought my engagement was a shocker.”
Most people laugh and join in the toast. A couple don’t.
But I’ve done it. Telling them the truth has left me sweaty and shaking with adrenaline. But I’ve done it, nonetheless. I take a deep gulp of my beer in celebration.
Another coming-out moment survived.
