“Auggie, I turned sixteen in 1962,” Gunnar finally blurts, tossing his arms out. “I lived in a small, shitty town in California, full of small, shitty people, and I didn’t even know what ‘gay’ was—just that I was different. The kind of different that meant everyone who was supposed to care about me kept trying to hurt me.” His fingers return to the stone pendant, stroking it compulsively while he speaks. “And then one day I met this guy, a really cute guy my age, at this crappy diner. Just by chance. He was different, like me, and I … it was the first time I realized I wasn’t the only one, you know? My whole understanding of the world changed.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s important.” He hasn’t moved from where he’s standing, letting me put as much distance between us as I want. “This guy … I fell for him, really hard. Maybe because he was my first everything, I don’t know, but when he said he had to leave California—that there was too much sun and he couldn’t take it—I didn’t even ask what he meant; I told him I wanted to go with him, that I hated everything about my life, and I didn’t want to lose him.” Gunnar rubs his face with both hands. “And he told me there was only one way we could stay together. One way, but it meant we could be young and happy forever.”

“He was a vampire.” The conclusion comes to itself, but it seems like I’m supposed to say it aloud anyway.

“I’ve been sixteen for sixty years, and you know what, Auggie? It really kinda sucks.” He laughs, loud and bitter. “My big love story didn’t even make it to the eighties, and lemme tell you, the vampire dating pool is toxic as shit. Meanwhile…” Gunnar sweeps his hands around, taking in the brightly lit rink. “I mean, I’m glad I lived long enough to see all of this, but sometimes … sometimes it just makes me so fucking sad.”

“What do you mean?” Without realizing it, I’ve lowered the crucifix—because he really does look sad, and I’m starting to feel a little ridiculous.