Page 53 of Shapes of Love
He lets out a chuckle, but a shadow crosses his face. Beside me, Kai stops what he’s doing, the plastic bag hanging from his hand.
“My parents were in a PR relationship. I’m a PR baby.” Asher buries his cheek in the soft fabric of the beanbag. “My parents’ love story, have you guys heard it? You know, the whole thing with how my mum wasn’t taken seriously as a director, so one day she headed into her favorite coffee shop after a disappointing meeting? Except, they were out of hot chocolate. My dad shared his and they ended up chatting. She pitched him an idea he helped her fund, and she eventually won an Oscar. The night she won my dad waited for her backstage with hot chocolate from the same place where they met. Blah, blah, blah.”
Kai and I exchange a puzzled look. I remember watching a video of his mom’s speech the night she won the Oscar. The way her voice cracked onstage as she thanked the love of her life, the look of pride on Asher’s dad’s face… how could it not be real? They looked so in love.
It’s an illusion. Everything. Everywhere. All the time.
“All fake. My mum did want to be taken seriously as a director, and she wanted people to stop speculating about her love life. At the time it was all people could focus on. My dad had just gotten successful, and his managers back then thought he needed more exposure.” Asher presses his thumbs against his eyes, as if fighting a headache. “They both wanted a family, so I was part of their PR package, a way to further the love story. The perfect child for the perfect couple. I was born with a role to play, and I’ve been doing it for my entire life.”
I freeze, not knowing how to react, what to say. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t. What are you sorry for?” Asher scoffs, but he peels his eyes away. “I’m one of the most privileged people on the planet. My parents do love me. And they did fall in love somewhere along the way. My mum says it happened after I was born, or because I was born. They’re still together even. Their love story is just different from the fabricated version everyone adores. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. It’s theirs. As my mum always says, when nobody knows who you really are, they can’t hurt you. So who cares if no one knows the real Sasha? As long as you do, it’s none of their business.”
Kai’s expression hardens. “Is that why you asked Sasha to PR date?” he asks. “You’re using PR as like, what, a dating app? You think what happened to your parents can happen to you?”
“No. I wouldn’t want to. I’ve never been involved with anyone I’ve PR dated. It would complicate things. And the whole falling-in-love thing isn’t for me.” He shrugs. “Maybe I just like having someone around, is all.”
“And the only way to do that is pay them?” Kai questions.
“It’s not like that.” He drops Kai’s gaze.
I understand him, in a way. I like having Kai around, too, even if it’s not real. The fake relationship just gave me a pretense, an excuse to be close again.
“I told you,” Asher continues. “I was born with a role to play. The perfect son of the perfect couple needs a perfect girlfriend. I thought Sasha would fit that role, at least as far as the press was concerned.”
“Is that all there is?” I ask. “I’m not judging you, I promise.”
Asher was born into an industry that constantly demands something from him, for him to hand over a part of himself. I’ve felt it, the way everyone always wants something from you. It’s lonely. Alienating. If his relationship with Rosa is any indication, Asher just pretends to date his friends. He says it’s a way to protect the real him, but part of me wonders if he doesn’t know how to keep them in his life long-term otherwise.
He flinches, turning to me with a sad smile. “When I met you, I felt like you were like me in a way. I wanted to spend more time with you. I wasn’t sure how to ask, and the PR idea gave me an excuse. For me it’s normal. I spin lies for a living. It’s all I’ve known. Sometimes I feel like the only reason people will spend time with me is if they have to, so… I don’t know. I’m sorry for the way I handled things, though.” He looks at me, regret etched on his face. “It would have been the perfect love story, but neither of us is even straight.”
Realization dances across Kai’s face. “You’re gay?”
“Shit, mate, I asked to kiss you. That wasn’t a dead giveaway?” Asher grins. Kai just stands there, resetting his face to its factory settings. “I don’t like labels. That stuff doesn’t matter to me. I like who I like. Though I guess pansexual would be the closest one.” Asher glances between us, an amused smile touching his lips. “Should I wake up my legal team and have them draft three NDAs? Since we each have a secret and all.”
Shit. Well, I didn’t expect karaoke night to end up with all of us coming out.
My eyes drift to the mirror ball above us. It has stopped spinning.
“It’s okay. I trust you both,” I say. I expected coming out to be this big task, an added weight on my shoulders, but it feels like breathing after almost drowning. I wonder if coming out to my fans would feel any different. If they would accept me as seamlessly as Asher did. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it only matters how I feel about it.
Asher reaches for a leftover bottle and pours the remaining liquid into three plastic cups.
“Cheers then, to being queer and weird—” He falters, clutching his stomach. His face grows pale as he lurches forward, grabbing the nearest ice bucket and emptying his stomach into it.
Kai muffles a snort behind his palm. He crouches down next to Asher and rubs his back, offering him a napkin. “Guess we won’t be telling anyone about this, either.”
Asher ends up passing out on the couch of our hotel room, despite his driver dropping us off. He came up to use the bathroom, and by the time I returned with some water to help him sober up, he was already asleep. Kai covered him with a blanket with as much gentleness as a murderer disposing of his victim.
He heads to his room next, but he leaves the door open, a silent invitation. I don’t even ask if I can come in, I just do, my feet cold against the marble tiles. Kai tosses the blankets aside, making room for me on the other side of the bed. I yank an extra pillow from under him and prop it over my lap, resting my elbows on top. His silhouette is framed by the lamp on his bedside, accenting the brown in his eyes.
“So,” he murmurs when I don’t speak. There are so many things I want to ask him. I just don’t know where to begin.
“So,” I echo. The air feels heavy.
“I wanted to tell you.” His hair falls freely across his cheekbones. “Just couldn’t seem to find the right time.”
“It’s okay. How long have you known?”
