“Yes,” Asher lied. He wouldn’t entertain the antifeminist implications of sharing without Rachel’s consent. And it wasn’t like the whole text was flattering to Asher, either. A nasty nugget crouched at the center: I’m fucking beautiful. Whatever, I can say it here. He should want me. But instead he has to be this cliché. He’s not even on T, so why does he like a man? Because it’s trendy? He never has before. That was true, but not every crush was a referendum on sexuality. He’d probably like women again. Why not? Or because he’s fucking racist, I bet. I bet he thinks Ivan’s kind of feminine because he’s half Chinese. He thinks being with Ivan will essentially be like being with a woman. Asher had thrown the journal across the room the first time he read that passage, bile jumping into his throat. When he retrieved the journal, pinching it by the very corner like it was infectious, the words blurred and refocused. They were really there, printed in ink. Rachel had written those words about Asher, about Ivan. He clutched his stomach as it churned. She was wrong. He didn’t think that way. He was sure he didn’t. But wouldn’t he be a hypocrite to cut that part? Wasn’t every white person racist, in the end?

“That’s so messed up.” Dilly rattled the pages. “Rachel has integrity, Asher.”

“She won’t find out.” Distributing the pages made him feel close to Rachel. Like they were united again in a mutual goal. If you forgot that goal was getting him laid by someone else.

“The only reason I don’t think you’re a total turd right now is this is so you. Like she stole it from you in the first place.”

There were only a few errors. Like breasts, and her overestimation of his frequency of masturbation and underestimation of how much he loved her. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Dilly winced. “You’re crazy.” Her arms wheeled around. “This is one of those crazy things people do for love, like moving in with a married polyamorous sub they met on Insta.”

“No, it’s not.” Though he liked the idea of setting down a duffel bag in Ivan’s loft.

Dilly stepped back, both hands on the booklet. “Asher. Are you sure?” She spoke in an unfamiliar low tone: “You know, this doesn’t make you look very appealing either.”

“That’s the whole point. I’m making myself vulnerable.” He led her down the walkway to the road. What did he have left to offer but his true self, worms included?

“I don’t know, Asher.”