“So,” Andy says, “does this mean you’re done with the vow for good?”
“I don’t know what it means. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” I pick an egg up out of the carton and examine it for cracks, then set it back in its spot. “You’re only the second—okay, technically third—let’s call it second-and-a-half—person I’ve…you know. Spoken actual words to.”
He pretends to pout. “I’m disappointed I’m not your first.”
If I didn’t know firsthand exactly and completely how gay he is, I might be offended at the innuendo. As it stands, I just roll my eyes.
“I didn’t exactly plan it, okay?” I say. “I…kind of went off on this homophobic jerk.”
“Really?” Andy perks up at this. “I want to hear this.”
“It’s sort of a blur, to be honest, but I’m pretty sure the words pathetic, vile and total fucking asshole were all used during my tirade.”
“Delicious!” He cackles. “What I would have given to witness that showdown. But may I ask, what exactly set this off?”
“I caught him picking on this gay kid,” I explain. “Or, I think the kid is gay. Maybe. I probably shouldn’t assume. Anyway, I just—I couldn’t just watch it happen and not say anything.”
“Ah, yes. Where would we poor gays be without straight white girls sticking up for us?” Andy drawls, rummaging through a cupboard until he finds the vanilla extract. He closes it and faces me again, noticing my frown. “I’m kidding. Mostly. I get it. It was a noble gesture on your part. Brava. But none of this explains why you need to talk to me.”
I hold up the cup of brown sugar, examining it. “Seriously, are you sure you need this much?”
Andy snatches the cup from my hand and puts it on the counter. “First of all,” he says, “while I freely admit my culinary skills may pale in comparison to Sam’s, I learned this brownie recipe from the master—and by master I mean Dex—and I will not be insulted in my kitchen.”