As he complains to me about something else, I’m distracted by the idea of coming out to him. Which is crazy. Keeping this part of myself from him has always been my reality, simple as that. It’s something I came to terms with long ago, and until my talk with Brenden about it the other day, it wasn’t taking up any space in my brain. Now it’s hard to talk to him and not think about the what if.

What if I told him the truth?

Would he hate me? Would it ruin our relationship for whatever time we have left together?

I mean, he’s not dying. It just seems like, since he’s pushing sixty and I’ve gone this long without telling him, there might not be a point to doing it now. Maybe it would be harsh to force him to confront that I’m not who he thought I was all this time.

Or maybe, again, I’m nothing more than a coward.

It’s still very early when I sneak my way back into Brenden’s house, carrying a bag of ingredients to make breakfast. After I got the diner set up and ready to go for the day, Benji arrived to cover for me, and I slipped out right as he was flipping the sign on the door from closed to open.

May’s grandparents strike me as early risers, but I’m hoping they’re still asleep. Although I guess it’s not really suspicious if I left to open my business. Even if Brenden and I were really dating, that would still be something I needed to do. This whole lying thing just has me paranoid. I don’t want to be the one who messes it up and gets us caught out.

As I open the unlocked door and close it behind me, I try to make as little noise as possible to avoid waking May. Of course, my big dumb ass has to go and whack my knee on a table as I’m crossing behind the couch, and I let out a curse before I can stop myself.

“Shit!”

There’s some noise and movement from the couch, so I freeze, feeling stupidly like a teenager about to get caught sneaking in after curfew. Then May slowly emerges from a nest of blankets and sits up, peering at me while rubbing her eyes.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not like my dad,” she tells me, with a sleepy smile. “Once I’m up, I’m up, but it’s okay.”

I set the bag on the floor and move around to the front of the couch. “I’m guessing Brenden has to be dragged kicking and screaming out of bed?”

“Sometimes. Usually when he needs to get up and do something he really doesn’t wanna do.”

I chuckle, because I can picture her forcing her dad to get up, even though it should be the other way around.