Enrique and I walked along the strip at the center of Shirley Heights, and we stopped for pancakes. We found a booth near the back to sit in the small diner. Enrique ordered Pepsi while I got a glass of water.

Enrique smiled. "I'm glad you agreed to come."

"I'm glad I came, too."

There was still a part of me that felt guilty. Gyan and I seemed to be doing great. We weren't arguing, and I felt closer to him, but I couldn't shake off the dissatisfaction I felt. Something was missing, and I knew what it was, so I didn't know how long I could ignore it.

"What do you want?" Enrique asked as we skimmed the menu.

One thing caught my eyes. "They have tres leches pancakes?"

"Where?" Enrique looked for it. "Wow." He looked up at me. "Wanna try it?"

"Yeah," I said. "I love tres leches."

This place had very interesting pancakes. They had birthday cake. They had cheesecake and so much more.

"Let's buy one to share," Enrique said.

"You don't want your own?"

"These look humongous," he said. "I think one will be good enough for the both of us."

I arched a brow. "I'm pretty hungry."

He planted his elbows on the table. "How about this. We order one to share, and if it's not enough, we'll get another one."

"Do you just wanna share with me?"

He hid his smile. "Maybe." I shook my head in amusement. "Let's order."

The waitress approached us, and we ordered our food. When she left, I focused on Enrique.

"If they had horchata, it would have been perfect," he said.

"You like horchata?"

"I love it," he said. "There's a Mexican restaurant near Shirley Town Center. I'm going to take you there one day."

"Is it authentic?"

He thought about it for a second. "I say it's okay. More authentic than most. Honestly, Mexican cuisine is amazing. I wish people knew more than just tacos and burritos."

"At least they eat some Mexican cuisine," I reminded him. "There are a lot of foods from other cultures that Americans miss out on."

"That's true," he said. "Most Americans don't know about a lot of Eastern European meals. Or sub-Saharan African meals that aren't Ethiopian."

I swirled the straw in my water. "I have to ask. How do you identify?"

"I'm bi," he said. "But I lean more towards guys. It's a little tough, though. A lot of gay guys are bi-phobic."

"It's ignorance," I said. "I admit, I myself am ignorant when it comes to bisexuality."

I was only learning more about it through Kenji.

"I can't fathom the idea of only being attracted to one gender," he said. "I may like guys more, but I still appreciate girls. That's another thing, there's a lot of misogyny in the gay community. It's like a lot of gay men pride themselves in not being attracted to women. There's nothing wrong with embracing your sexuality, but that doesn't mean you're better because you don't like women. Women are great, too, and men aren't superior to them. I hate the whole gold-star thing. As if you're less queer just because you've been with the opposite sex. It's ridiculous."

He had a point. I loved my community, and I stood by it a hundred percent, but I couldn't deny the bigotry that plagued many gay men. Racism. Misogyny. Bi-phobia. It was especially prevalent in white gay men.

"More reasons why I've never been on Grindr," Enrique said.

"You're not missing out on anything," I reassured him. "I've been on it a couple times, and it's all sex. It's not a good place for romance. Plus, I'm white passing, but Hispanic men who aren't have it harder."

Enrique nodded. "Like me. It's hard being a person of color in the gay community." Then he paused. "I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Have you ever been with a woman?" he asked.

"No," I answered. "Never slept with one, dated one or even kissed one."

His eyes widened. "Really? So, you're a gold-star."

"Like you said, it's not like an accomplishment. Me not being with a woman doesn't mean I'm missing out on anything, but it also doesn't mean I'm on a higher pedestal than gay men who have been with women."

"My point exactly," Enrique said. "Also, sexual behavior doesn't always correlate with sexual orientation."

Gyan was gay, but that didn't stop him from being engaged to a woman or from kissing and sleeping with one. When we dated in college, I knew that he'd been with girls in high school. I wasn't intimidated by it because I knew a lot of gay men who'd done just that.

Our food arrived, and we thanked the waiter. Then we dung in, and I moaned in delight. "It's so good," I said, and Enrique nodded. "It's really sweet, though."

Enrique quirked a brow. "What do you expect? It's tres leches."

"I know, but I'm not used to pancakes being this sweet," I said. "Usually, I only eat my pancakes with melted butter."

"No syrup?"

I shook my head. "Even butter itself isn't all that healthy, but it's savory, which I like." I ate the pancake, anyway. "I have weird eating habits."

"Like what?"

My face heated up. "I do things like eating pizza with a knife and fork."

"What? Are you serious?"

I nodded. "I don't like finger food. It gets my hands dirty, and I don't eat salad with dressing."

"That's not salad then," he said. "That's lettuce."

"Dressing is just fat," I said. "I don't like the way it tastes. I also don't like soda or most chocolate."

"That's just wrong," he said. "How can someone not like chocolate?"

"The only chocolate I can tolerate is dark chocolate," I confessed. "It's less sweet, and I like the bitterness."

Enrique chuckled. "Your habits really are different."

"What about you?" I asked. "Tell me something interesting."

"I'm a simplistic guy," he said. "Everything I do, I do it thoroughly because otherwise, it's a waste of my time. And I know English, Spanish, French and Italian."

My eyes widened. "That's impressive. Are you fluent?"

"I'm fluent in Spanish and English," he said. "I'm mostly fluent in French, and I'm moderately fluent in Italian."

"That's still good," I said. "I only know English and Spanish."

"Most people don't know even that."

"I'll still love to learn another language," I said, "but I'm getting old. It gets harder to learn with age." 

"It's never too late," he pointed out. "An old dog can learn new tricks. People who say otherwise are trying to find an excuse to be stuck in their ways."

"What else?" I put my fork down, full. Enrique was right. It was a lot of pancake, and I was glad we decided to share. "Tell me something weird about you."

"I'm obsessed with beef jerky," he said.

"Really?"

"I know it's dried meat, and it may seem disgusting, but I love it," he said. "I always keep a bag in my car, so I can munch on it while taking long drives. That's another thing. I love car rides. It makes me feel so at peace and free. Also, I get to listen to music, which makes it better."

"I don't like music."

Enrique looked offended. "You're not listening to the right music, then. Tell you what. I'm going to make you a playlist of my favorite songs, and I want you to listen to it. If you still hate music, then I'll know there's no hope."

I snickered. "For you, I'll give it a try."

"So," he said while leaning back in the booth, "I know what you don't like, so what do you like?"

"I like crime shows." Surprise flashed over his face. "Missing cases. Homicide. I'm especially fascinated by serial killers. Anything that's dark and scary, I love, even though it scares the shit out of me."

"You like being scared?"

"It's like a high," I replied. "It doesn't seem like a bloke like me would like this stuff, but it's a guilty pleasure."

"There's nothing to be guilty about," Enrique said. "It's not like you snort cocaine on the weekends."

We laughed. "I don't like substances altering my body. The only thing I can tolerate is alcohol, but things like drugs, coffee and medication doesn't work for me. I only take medicine when I absolutely have to."

"Wow." Enrique shook his head at me. "You can drink alcohol but not coffee?" I nodded. "Coffee usually doesn't kill you. Alcohol can."

I shrugged. "What can I say? It's another guilty pleasure."

"You're interesting, Gabriel." He smiled. "I kind of like it."

"I know I'm weird."

"No," he said. "Just because you're different doesn't mean you're weird. Everyone is different in their own way. We all have similarities and shared experiences, but all of our experiences together is what makes us special. One thing alone doesn't make you special. Eating pizza with a knife and a fork doesn't make you special. You as a whole person is what's special."

I watched him. "Thanks."

It was one of the best things a person had ever said to me. I knew that I struggled with self-worth. I was disappointed in myself and where I stood in my life. I meant everything I told Gyan at the lake. I wasn't "successful" the way I wanted to be. I wasn't special in a sea of over-achievers. But maybe Enrique was right. My job or my GPA in college wasn't what made me special.

Maybe I was special because everything made me who I was. It made me Gabriel Acosta.

I said this, but that dissatisfaction persisted.

"I don't understand how people can be complacent," I said. "How they can be satisfied, especially when it comes to a situation they wish was different."

"Like what?"

I hesitated. This was our first date. It was a no-no to talk about exes. "There's a friend I have," I said. "I care about them, but I wish things were different. Our relationship isn't where I want it to be, and at this rate, I don't think things will ever change."

"If you do nothing, it won't change," Enrique stated, matter of fact. "If we want change, we have to seek it. We have to make tough decisions. We have to demand to be treated the way we want to be treated. If you keep doing the same old thing, nothing will be different. I don't know your friend or your relationship to them, but if you allow them to keep things the way they are, you'll never be happy."

"So, what do I do?"

"That's up to you," he said. "You can either keep hoping they'll get the memo, or you can do something about it. That something can be as dramatic as ending the relationship or as subtle as telling them what you want out of the relationship. If they refuse to give you what you want, you may have to walk away. Some people need to lose something to realize it's worth."

That was the thing. Gyan told me he cared, but I didn't know if I was worth it to him. If I walked away, would he let me go like he did when I left for Australia? Or would he fight? I wasn't sure, but I didn't know if I was ready to let him go.

At the same time, this couldn't continue. I felt like I was losing my mind due to the frustration.

Enrique and I continued talking for another hour before we left the diner. We sat in his car in the parking lot with the windows down, and we watched YouTube videos. I showed him a short clip from one of my favorite series—Deadly Women. He was receptive, and he even took out his bag of beef jerky, and we ate it while watching the videos. We laughed, ate and talked before he drove us to Shirley Town Center. We walked around, enjoying the weather and each other's company. Enrique even bought us shave ice, and it was one of the best dates I'd ever been on.

He dropped me off around six, and I smiled as he stopped at the flat. "I had a great time," he said. "We should do this again."

"I did, too," I agreed. "And I'll love that."

I wasn't sure how things were going to go, but I was glad that I gave Enrique a chance. He wasn't Gyan, but he was available. I had fun with him, and he was great to talk to.

When his eyes dropped to my lips, I opened the car door. "I'll see you later." I hopped out and waved. "Thanks for this. I appreciate it."

His face dropped. "Oh..." He forced a smile. "Later it is then."

I closed the door and hurried up the stairs. It shouldn't have been a big deal. A kiss was nothing. Most gay men did way more than that on first dates, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

When I entered the flat, Gyan sat at the dining table playing chess. "Hey." He didn't look up at me while I removed my coat. "Where've you been?"

I approached him. "With a friend."

"Kenji?"

"No," I said, and he finally looked up. "I have other friends."

"Like who?"

I frowned. "What's up with all the questions?"

His face relaxed. "Geez. Didn't mean to upset you. I'm just asking."

He returned to his game, but my eyes remained on him. Nothing was different. It was the same thing every day. The more time passed, the more I felt like a side piece. I was here for his convenience. I wouldn't have been surprised if he didn't take this seriously. The other person was always a joke to other people.

Maybe I was a joke. Me allowing this to happen made him think it was okay. It made it look like I didn't deserve better.

I did. I deserved more than Gyan was giving me.

"Is this it?" I stopped beside him, and his attention shifted to me. "Is this all I'll ever get? A few moments here and there. Sex."

His brows furrowed. "What's this about?"

I sat opposite him, taking in a deep breath. "You say it's casual, but it doesn't feel casual. Our time together means something, but you treat it like it doesn't. You say you don't want to be with me, but when you are with me, we act like a couple. Why am I good enough to sleep with but not date?"

"I never said that."

"You don't have to," I said. "Your actions say it all. What are we going to do, Gyan? When you get married. Are we going to continue this? Will I always be the man on the side? The one you spend nights with but always leave to go back to your wife? Eventually your kids? Do I not deserve those things, too?"

"You do," he said, pushing the chess board to the side.

"Then how can we be together if I'm with someone else?" I asked. "I'm not a cheater. The way things are looking, we're wasting each other's time. We're reaching a dead end. I don't know how long I can keep this up—pretending the inevitable isn't going to happen. There are two options right now. You end this with Anushka." I swallowed. "Or you end this with me."

Gyan brushed his hand through his hair. "Gabriel."

"You can't have us both," I said.

Enrique was the reminder I needed that this couldn't work out. If we became more serious, I would have no other option but to end things with Gyan. Things would only get harder from here.

Maybe it was time I spared us both.

When he said nothing, I stood up. "I guess that's my answer."

I made my way to my room. "Where're you going?" Gyan got up and followed me. When I entered the room, I grabbed a suitcase and began stuffing my clothes into it. "What are you doing?" Gyan grabbed my arm, but I freed myself and moved to the bathroom to grab my supplies. "Gabriel." Gyan followed me everywhere I went. "Talk to me."

I turned to face him. "I have to go."

"What?" I continued gathering my things. "Why?"

"Being here only makes it harder," I said. I only had a few things, but it was enough to spend a couple days in a motel. Unlike before, I had enough money to stay longer. I would get the rest of my things another time. "I can't stay here anymore."

I zipped my suitcase close. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"Because I can't do this," I said while motioning between us. "There is no us, and it's time I accepted that. This thing between us is temporary, and I can't wait to watch it crash and burn." Tears collected in my eyes, and I willed them away. I had to do this. "I have to do what you can't."

I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the room. I found the address for the motel I stayed at previously, and I got an Uber. Gyan followed me into the living room. "Don't do this," he said while we faced each other. "We'll figure it out."

"No, we won't," I disagreed. "We keep acting like it will, but we're too comfortable. We're comfortable with an impossible situation."

I was complacent when it came to Gyan. Every part of me wanted to stay with him. Wanted at least a part of him if not all, but I would never be happy like this. Gyan was choosing unhappiness, but that didn't mean I had to as well.

My Uber was close by.

"Where're you going to stay?" he said. "You're being impulsive and irrational."

No, I wasn't. I'd known what needed to be done for a while now. I was just in denial, but I couldn't deny the truth anymore.

Gyan and I weren't some fairy tale. Angelica was wrong. We weren't endgame after all.

"I'll figure it out," I said. My Uber had arrived. "I have to go."

He grabbed my wrist before I could walk out the door. "Please." His expression softened. "Don't leave."

I didn't want to leave him again, but if I didn't do it now, I may never get the courage again. This seemed unexpected and rash, but there was no other way this was going to end. Gyan and I were doomed the instant he agreed to marry Anushka.

"You've made your choice," I said. "Good luck with your wife and future kids."

I walked out. "Gabriel!" he shouted, but I was already walking down the steps. "Gabriel!"

When I entered the Uber, that was when Gyan ran down the stairs, continuing to shout my name. When the Uber drove off, I peeked back at him to see him watching the car leave. I looked ahead, not able to stop a single tear from falling.

This felt so wrong, but there was no other way. There was no Gyan and Gabriel. That ended years ago.

There was only Gyan and Anushka.

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* This is a shift in the story. What do you guys think will happen next? What about Gabriel's decision? What's in story for Gyan and Gabriel?

* Sorry for the delay, but I'm on winter break now, so hopefully there'll be more frequent updates. 😊