Page 35 of Familiar Things New

But then he’d met Edwin.

And Andrew had let himself believe that things would be different with Edwin. After all, by being so forthright that afternoon, Andrew hadn’t merely been confiding in a friend—a friend like Theodore; a friend who liked women—that he possessed these proclivities. Instead, he’d been asking for a companion.

And he felt so foolish for it now.

Cupping a hand over his mouth to mute a whimper, Andrew whirled around to face the other way, and his eyes filled with tears as Edwin’s rejection settled in his heart.

Edwin’s hand set lightly on Andrew’s shoulder.

“I want to,” Edwin whispered. “But I can’t.”

Andrew let that sentiment settle in his heart, too.

“I haven’t . . . misread things?” he asked, blinking back tears.

“No.” Edwin squeezed his shoulder. “Not at all.”

Andrew let out a breath. At least that made the rejection a little easier to stomach.

“Do you want me to leave?” Edwin asked.

Andrew shook his head. He took one more breath and then turned to face Edwin as Edwin removed his hand.

“I’m really sorry, Edwin. I let myself think—”

“I let you think it, too,” Edwin said. “And for that, I am sorry. Truly.”

Edwin’s statement hung between them for a while. And soon Andrew was able to believe that he wasn’t as big of a fool as he’d previously feared.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Edwin,” Andrew said. “I understand.”

Both men were quiet for a bit.

“I know it’s childish to ask, but can we be friends?” Andrew asked.

Edwin smiled warmly. “I thought we already were.”

Andrew smiled back and chuckled lightly. “Oh. Good.” He cleared his throat, banishing the last remnants of emotion that were settled there. “Should we still have the lesson, then?”

“I’d like to,” Edwin said.

Letting out a breath of relief, Andrew nodded in acknowledgement before starting over to the workstation.

He’d like it, too.

Chapter Nine

Edwin

On a chilly evening in mid-January, Edwin was sitting in his favorite high-backed chair with his feet resting on the matching ottoman, chewing his fingernails while the minutes crawled by. Sometime in the next half hour, William would arrive, and then the two of them would spend the evening together.

It had been years since William had spent the night at Edwin’s house, and Edwin was painfully aware that the only reason William had suggested it (or, more accurately, had insisted on it) was because Edwin had seemed so melancholy over the past week. Edwin had agreed to William’s proposal without too much convincing, though, even if he knew it meant that he’d have to confess the reason for his recent bout of unhappiness. And explaining the reason would mean that he would have to tell William something else, too. Something he’d been keeping from his cherished friend.

He’d have to tell William that he liked men.

And that was terrifying.

When Edwin had begun living as a man—as himself—he had quickly realized that many of the people in his life might assume that, for some reason, his change meant he preferred the company of women, romantically. But that wasn’t the case. And so, the prospect of admitting to those same people that he instead was a man who liked men . . .