Although it wouldn’t be nearly as funny if it actually happened.
When Bailey walked out of the lobby, Jason had already pulled up the black SUV, and he was in the passenger seat with the seat all the way back. Bailey crawled in the front seat and put on her “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” glasses, as Jason called them. “You know…” Bailey began, and Jason groaned. Whenever Bailey was going to start in on him, she always started with those same two words, “I just don’t get what you see in him.”
“I assume you’re not referring to George Clooney,” Jason verbally fenced a bit before the upcoming admonishment from Bailey.
“Him I like,” Bailey said. “Christopher, however, is a closeted gay man who has had thirteen girlfriends in the past ten months and refuses to speak to you in public.”
“Christopher is a hockey god with abs from heaven who told me he loved me two weeks ago,” Jason disputed. “Yeah, you got me, he’s in the closet, but to be fair, it’s hard to be out and also play a sport.”
Bailey heard a short car horn behind her from a fat, bald man in a convertible wearing a Hawaiian shirt who was clearly anxious to leave. “Sorry, sir, I know you’re in a hurry to get to Denny’s for the Grand Slam breakfast,” Bailey quipped. She drove toward the exit to the street, the dome of the convertible only inches from their bumper.
“Does he have to date a billion women while he stays in that pink fluffy closet?” Bailey asked rhetorically.
Jason adjusted his car seat to an upright position and took his sunglasses off. Bailey continued driving but knew she was about to get alecture. “Listen, his closet isn’t pink and fluffy, neither was mine. Mine was probably purple and well-fashioned, unfortunately for me it had a see-through door when I thought it had a one sided window.”
“I don’t—”
“Nope.” Jason put up his hand to stop Bailey from speaking. “You don’t get to talk; I’m talking now.”
Bailey nodded, and Jason continued his speech. “I don’t know what his closet looks like, but unfortunately I’m in there with him. It’s hard to come out in high school, and I know we’re graduated now but let’s be real—it’s his choice. And, yeah, he didn’t have to date all of those girls, but he didn’t sleep with any of them, so no
unmanageable
trauma was involved. Christopher’s choices are his own, Bailey. So step off.”
“Damn.” Bailey gulped and looked at Jason as they stopped at the light. “I’m sorry, Jas. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to,” Jason said matter-of-factly before he softened his face. “It means a lot that you’re
so
concerned. You need to let me worry about me.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me,” Bailey teased. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, because I’ll have to pick your ass up off the floor and I’m way too busy for that,” she said. She lifted her glasses to wink at him before turning on the radio.
Bailey started looking intently for road signs for the 101 North to Los Angeles. Her sense of direction also seemed to improve if she sat forward with her chin almost directly over the steering wheel. The on-ramp appeared on the right, and they joined the rush of thousands of drivers going quickly to their respective destinations. Bailey sat back preparing for a long drive.
“Play something fabulous. We have a while until we get to LA, and I want to chair dance the entire time,” Jason said.
“Oh, I love chair dancing,” Bailey responded with excitement.
“I know you do,” he said in a singsong voice and looked at his phone for a moment before turning the music down. “Speaking of sexting—” Jason said as he looked at his phone, fully intending on reading the most recent text message from Christopher.
“Ew.”
Bailey lifted one of her hands and covered her ear. “I don’t want to hear the details.”
“You wish,” he joked. “It’s a little note for you; ‘I just
When Bailey walked out of the lobby, Jason had already pulled up the black SUV, and he was in the passenger seat with the seat all the way back. Bailey crawled in the front seat and put on her “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” glasses, as Jason called them. “You know…” Bailey began, and Jason groaned. Whenever Bailey was going to start in on him, she always started with those same two words, “I just don’t get what you see in him.”
“I assume you’re not referring to George Clooney,” Jason verbally fenced a bit before the upcoming admonishment from Bailey.
“Him I like,” Bailey said. “Christopher, however, is a closeted gay man who has had thirteen girlfriends in the past ten months and refuses to speak to you in public.”
“Christopher is a hockey god with abs from heaven who told me he loved me two weeks ago,” Jason disputed. “Yeah, you got me, he’s in the closet, but to be fair, it’s hard to be out and also play a sport.”
Bailey heard a short car horn behind her from a fat, bald man in a convertible wearing a Hawaiian shirt who was clearly anxious to leave. “Sorry, sir, I know you’re in a hurry to get to Denny’s for the Grand Slam breakfast,” Bailey quipped. She drove toward the exit to the street, the dome of the convertible only inches from their bumper.
“Does he have to date a billion women while he stays in that pink fluffy closet?” Bailey asked rhetorically.
Jason adjusted his car seat to an upright position and took his sunglasses off. Bailey continued driving but knew she was about to get alecture. “Listen, his closet isn’t pink and fluffy, neither was mine. Mine was probably purple and well-fashioned, unfortunately for me it had a see-through door when I thought it had a one sided window.”
“I don’t—”
“Nope.” Jason put up his hand to stop Bailey from speaking. “You don’t get to talk; I’m talking now.”
Bailey nodded, and Jason continued his speech. “I don’t know what his closet looks like, but unfortunately I’m in there with him. It’s hard to come out in high school, and I know we’re graduated now but let’s be real—it’s his choice. And, yeah, he didn’t have to date all of those girls, but he didn’t sleep with any of them, so no
unmanageable
trauma was involved. Christopher’s choices are his own, Bailey. So step off.”
“Damn.” Bailey gulped and looked at Jason as they stopped at the light. “I’m sorry, Jas. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m not going to,” Jason said matter-of-factly before he softened his face. “It means a lot that you’re
so
concerned. You need to let me worry about me.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me,” Bailey teased. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, because I’ll have to pick your ass up off the floor and I’m way too busy for that,” she said. She lifted her glasses to wink at him before turning on the radio.
Bailey started looking intently for road signs for the 101 North to Los Angeles. Her sense of direction also seemed to improve if she sat forward with her chin almost directly over the steering wheel. The on-ramp appeared on the right, and they joined the rush of thousands of drivers going quickly to their respective destinations. Bailey sat back preparing for a long drive.
“Play something fabulous. We have a while until we get to LA, and I want to chair dance the entire time,” Jason said.
“Oh, I love chair dancing,” Bailey responded with excitement.
“I know you do,” he said in a singsong voice and looked at his phone for a moment before turning the music down. “Speaking of sexting—” Jason said as he looked at his phone, fully intending on reading the most recent text message from Christopher.
“Ew.”
Bailey lifted one of her hands and covered her ear. “I don’t want to hear the details.”
“You wish,” he joked. “It’s a little note for you; ‘I just
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