“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner and I’m sorry for ignoring you and I get it if you don’t want to talk to me again,” I say, my throat dry. “I was just really scared, because it’s always weird when I tell someone, so I really don’t tell anyone. Like, anyone. But I want you to know, because I really like you, so…”

I lick my lips. He hasn’t interrupted me once this entire time, like I was expecting. I glance back up, and he’s still staring.

I wait. I can hear the sound of squirrels throwing nuts to the ground, strollers moving past. The sun is setting, slowly, like it’s lingering to watch this mess. Now that I’ve told him, we won’t be able to act the way we did before, just having fun. I immediately wish I could take it back.

“Um,” he says. “Can I hug you?”

My brows shoot up. “You want to touch me?”

“Yeah,” he says, scrunching his brows together. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“A lot of people would be very concerned about now,” I say, eyeing him warily. “Do you…I don’t know, have any questions? You aren’t reacting. It makes me feel weird.”

“I mean, I’m thinking,” he says, biting his lip. “How does everyone else normally react?”

“Um, I don’t know. They ask a lot of questions,” I say. Lydia and Claudia sort of did. Sarah asked even more, but I can’t think about that right now. “I’m not sure how everyone reacts. It’s not like I go around telling people all the time. That would…I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He nods, staring at his hands. I wish I could tell what he’s thinking.

“You’re not going to tell anyone.” It comes out more like a statement than a question. “Right?”

“No.” He shakes his head, glancing up. “Of course not.”

“Good.” I breathe out, my chest a little lighter. “Okay.”

“So it’s not going to be AIDS anytime soon?” he asks. There’s an uneasy look on his face. “That sounds stupid, but, like, are you okay? For good?”

“Yeah,” I say, voice soft. “I’m fine.”

“So you’re not going to die?”

“When I’m eighty, maybe,” I say, shrugging. “Eventually. But not now.”

“Are you mad at your mom?”

The question makes me pause. Honestly, I don’t usually think of her as my mother. Maybe, if she were still alive, she’d be like another aunt. She could answer questions about dating with HIV and how to disclose and when to keep it under wraps. But that feels too raw, too personal, to say out loud.