“What are you thinking about?”
“Do his parents know?”
“That Dhaval is gay? I doubt it.”
He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and blinked his eyes to Delilah. “How does that work? You share a house with someone and don’t know something so important.”
Delilah shrugged, feeling like the context of the conversation was eluding her. “I don’t think he wants his parents to know yet. He just wants everyone else to know.”
“What would your parents have done,” he asked, “if you had snuck in drugs or had a wild lesbian orgy at Saint Benedict’s?”
Delilah shivered, unable to stomach the idea of being romantic with any of her former classmates. “Ugh, no.”
Finally, this made him laugh. “I’m not asking you what girl you would have been with. I mean, what would your parents have done?”
“Flipped out. Completely.”
“What does that mean? What do they do when they flip out?”
Delilah wanted to ask him, for about the millionth time, what his parents were like. Didn’t they flip out on him? Wasn’t he keeping at least some secrets from them? She wondered if this was where the game of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” came in. She didn’t particularly like talking about her family—there wasn’t anything interesting to say, really, and it always made her a little sad that her parents were so unaffectionate and awkward, particularly when compared to Nonna’s exuberant love—but if opening up showed Gavin that his family couldn’t possibly be any weirder than hers, she was willing to try.
So with a shrug she said, “My parents are. . . hard to describe.”
“How so?”
“I don’t actually know them very well.”
He seemed to digest this for a few breaths. “Because you were gone a lot, you mean?”
“That, and I think they aren’t very good at talking, or connecting to other people. They have this little marriage bubble, and I’m their kid, but to them it means I’m a joint project. Like building a birdhouse together is the same as raising a daughter and redecorating the kitchen.”
“That’s. . . too bad.”
“Don’t get me wrong. They care that I’m raised right and want me to be safe. They just aren’t very warm. They don’t ever ask whether I’ve done my homework, but they have very strong opinions about boys and dating and sex and even thoughts.”
“You can’t have thoughts?”
“I should try not to, is what my mother says. There’s no use thinking about things I can’t do yet anyway. My dad is just. . . a dad. He works; he eats; he watches TV. He works; he eats; he watches TV.”
“No sleeping in there?” Gavin asked with a small smile.
“Maybe a little. My mom is sort of charm-free. Nonna always called her ‘Belinda Bluenose.’ I finally had to look it up to realize she was calling my mother uptight. And it’s true. I think my mother would fall over dead if she ever thought I masturbated.”
Gavin had been listening intently to all of this, but when Delilah said this last bit, he ran a hand over his face and coughed out a laugh. “Good God, Delilah. You’re going to kill me.”
“What? How?” she asked, suddenly distracted by a line of black words that peeked out from beneath the cuff of Gavin’s sleeve. She wondered what thoughts and ideas he found so important he would draw them in ink across his skin.
He shook his head, and instead of answering, he asked, “Have you never had a boyfriend?”
“Um, no. Were you listening to the flipping-out bit? I’ve kissed a few boys, but each of those stories is in my collection of secrets.”
“Not anymore.”
She deflated, having broken her one cardinal rule. “I didn’t tell you the details.”
“Hey,” he said, touching her arm. “I promise I won’t tell anyone you kissed a boy.”
Her eyes narrowed and she noted the brightness in his eyes. “You’re making fun of me.”
Gavin laughed. “I am. Completely.”