A year before I became a father, and grew up eye-blink fast.

“I’ve had a few drinks before.” He shrugs, innocently enough, and I know he’s not lying. Jesse’s a terrible liar, so he rarely does it. At least, not to me. “Usually just beer. Maybe a shot or two. But I’m not one of those kids who likes to get shitfaced at parties and embarrass myself.”

I nod along. It makes sense. I was the same way when I was young. Latent insecurities make it hard enough to socialize, especially when you’re worried the whole time that people are mocking you behind your back. I’d rather keep a clear head. And I realize that sounds strange coming from someone who grows marijuana for a living. But I really just like the plants. I rarely smoke it myself.

Growing things has always been a passion of mine.

“I get that,” I tell him. “You want to stay cognizant.” My mind begins to drift… “Like if you’re on a date or something…”

His eyes fling to mine, rounding as they do. The shine in the gold of his irises tells me he might be getting a little buzz already.

“Guys at parties can’t be trusted,” I add.

“I’m not… I don’t…” His voice stammers and he clears his throat. “I don’t date guys at parties.”

“Do you date at all?” I ask, suddenly curious, because we’ve literally never talked about him dating before. He’s never brought anyone home, or told me anything about his love life.

The flush in his face is much more prominent now. “Um… not… much?” He says it like he’s asking me, which curves my lips.

“You’re still interested in guys though, right?” I keep pushing, mainly because now his awkwardness is entertaining to me. “Or have you added girls to the mix?”

He shifts in his seat while I try to contain my evil chuckles. “No. I only like men.” His brows zip together as he stutters, “Boys… Guys.” He lifts the glass to his mouth and chugs the rest of his drink.

Pressing my lips together, I force myself not to react. He’s dying right now, and it’s pretty adorable.

“Okay, just double-checking,” I sigh through a grin. “You don’t talk to me about this stuff, so…”

“You don’t talk to me about your relationships,” he bites back, finger tapping on his empty glass.

I sip my own slowly. “Well, aside from Leslie it’s not a very thrilling story. Not that she was exciting either.”

“Why were you with her, then?” He mumbles his question, and when my eyes dart to his, they widen in remorse. “I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s a valid question.” I blink, pausing for a moment while considering my words. “I guess I was just… waiting to see.”

“To see what?” His voice is quietly curious. As if he’s intrigued.

My shoulders slump. “If I could end up loving her.”

We’re both quiet this time, for at least a full minute, before he asks, “But you didn’t?”