I dabbed my eyes with a napkin. “That’s the thing, though. He’s always been the perfect boyfriend. He was sweet, attentive, affectionate. He had never, ever raised his voice to me before that night. Hell, we never even argued about anything more important than what we were going to have for dinner.”

“Then do you think you should call and talk to him?”

I shook my head vehemently. “As much as I want to, I have to put my child first. I can’t risk having my baby around someone who would resent him or her.”

Evan smiled brilliantly. “Blaire, you’re going to be an amazing mom, and I would love to have the opportunity to meet your little bundle of joy when he or she arrives.”

“I would love that, Evan,” I said, reaching for his hand.

“Can I tell you another secret?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“My father doesn’t know that I’m gay. He’s… well, he’s a bit homophobic, and I feel like such a coward for not just coming out to him. My mother knows, and she accepts and loves me. You know how you hear that parents will love their children no matter what?” At my nod, he continued, “My mother is the epitome of that mantra, but my dad… not so much. He would disown me.”

He went on to tell me about the financial company that his grandfather had started and that his dream was to become CEO of that company after his dad retired. “So, I just have to pretend a little longer until my dad retires, and then I can be free to be myself.”

“So, you’re still in the closet?” I asked, feeling deep sorrow for my new friend and his situation.

“Well, I’ve told you and my mother, so I have at least a foot sticking out of the closet now,” he said with a laugh, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry you can’t be your true self and live out in the open, Evan,” I said, tears forming in my eyes.

He gave me a gentle smile and passed me a clean paper napkin. “Hey, don’t cry for me.”

I dabbed my eyes with the napkin and sniffled. “I’m sorry. Every damn thing makes me cry these days, especially one of my friends having to deal with ignorance.”

Evan took another sip of his margarita, his warm eyes showing an inkling of the pain he must be feeling. “I should be used to it by now, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt to have to live in the shadows.”

“Well, you don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve got your back, Evan Cavanaugh.” I held out my fist, and he bumped it with his own.

“And I have yours, Blaire Atwood.”

17. Blaire

Blaire

Five Years Ago, July