As I start to stand, Ray sniffles a little and tells me, “I’m sorry.”
I glance over at him but he’s still glaring at his food, like it’s to blame. “Me too,” I say, and I am, God I am, so damn sorry, he just doesn’t know.
The cooler’s by the door. I dig two more cans out of the melting ice and shake the water from them as I walk back to where Dan waits for me. He and Ray don’t look at each other, don’t speak—all that needed to be said is out, isn’t it? Nothing left to go on about. Sinking down between them, I hand my lover a beer and give him a tight grin. “I drank your other one.”
“That’s okay,” he tells me. And suddenly it is. I feel loose and wobbly and frighteningly thrilled, the way I felt after the first time we ever had sex. Mine, I thought then, my mind racing with the possibilities that one word conjures up. He talked with Ray and things didn’t go bad, my brother apologized, things are going to be okay. Why? Because of Dan. He says it’s okay and it is.