Bill had a type, too, he realized, though he kept it to himself. He liked Mexican boys— “Chicanos,” he mentally corrected himself. Maybe it was because they reminded him of olive-skinned Marco, but in any gathering of gay men, in the bars or the demonstrations Waldo dragged him to, he was always drawn to Chicano boys with their inky hair, dark eyes and smooth flesh the color of walnut meat. They were, unfortunately, in short supply. But there was Michael, the beautiful boy at the taqueria at the corner of Hyde and Ellis who smiled brightly whenever Bill came in for his pollo asado burrito and always managed to brush his fingers against Bill’s hand when he gave him his change. Bill wanted to ask him out but was uncertain whether Michael was gay. Waldo would know, but Waldo might also tease him if he knew Bill liked the other boy so Bill had, so far, kept mum.

He fumbled in his pocket for the key and when he pushed open the door to the apartment, the lights were all out. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him and touched the light switch.

A fistful of confetti grazed his face followed by male voices, shouting, “SURPRISE!”

Half the number 19 on the cake had been cut and served. In the corner, Pete and his new boyfriend, a seventeen-year-old named Hank, were slowly grinding against each other to Me and Mrs. Jones and every surface in the apartment was covered with paper plates and plastic glasses. The smells of lasagna, garlic bread and pot hung in the air.

“You didn’t really think I was gonna forget your birthday, did you?” Waldo asked.

Bill was wedged between him and Eddie on the sofa. The other guests were sitting or standing wherever they could find a space. “I kinda forgot myself,” Bill said. “So much has happened in the last six months.”

“Nineteen,” Eddie said. “Your last year as a teen. That’s a big deal. Not as big as twenty-one, of course. When you hit that one, we’re going to take you out and get you shit-faced, Billy. Show you a wild time!”

Waldo giggled. “Billy’s idea of a wild time is leaving the cap off the toothpaste.” He sucked on the joint he held delicately between his thumb and forefinger. “Come on, doll, live a little. Take a puff.”

“You know it just makes me cough.”

“I’ll take it,” Eddie said.

“Like your presents?” Waldo asked.

Bill snorted. All the presents involved sex. Poppers, lube, a dildo, a skin magazine.

“I think you’re trying to tell me something.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “You need to get laid, pretty boy like you. It’s a waste.”

Bill shrugged. “I’ve had sex.”

“Pete doesn’t count,” Waldo said. “Pete’s like the welcome wagon, he fucks every new arrival to the city. So, what do you want for your birthday? What do you really want?”