“You know,” I say to Mark one day, “there’s one way to find out if you’re gay or not.”
He lifts his head and looks at me quizzically.
“We could try having sex… that’d tell you, right? Or tell me, maybe. One of us would be bound to know, right?”
“Ummm… that’s a hell of a proposition, Maisy…”
“I know. But not knowing’s killing me, so it’s gotta be worse for you – am I right? And hey, if you’re not gay then worst case scenario, we get married, right? Then all’s forgiven?”
“Gawd – talk about trial by fire, girl!”
He sits and thinks for a few minutes.
“No. No bloody way. Fuck me and find out? What the hell are you, a gaydar doll?”
“Shut up. Just -” he shuts his mouth on whatever he was going to say, grabs his bag and strides off, looking majorly pissed.
I just sit there, feeling stupid.
Later, I sit at home stirring a hot chocolate, wondering why the hell I opened my mouth.
“Hi, wanna have sex? Don’t worry, if people find out I’ll marry you!” I mutter sarcastically. He must have thought I was nuts. And stalkery. And a total bitch. Is he ever going to want to talk to me, let alone stay friends? I drain the mug, then beat my head gently on the table. My mother, of course, picks this moment to get home.
“Honey, everything OK?”
“Just offended my best friend,” I say, and manage a half-smile.
“What happened, Maisy love?”
Oh God. There is no way I could ever explain that conversation to Mum in a way that wouldn’t cause me to be grounded until she dies.
I just shake my head, and she comes over to give me a quick hug from behind.
“A good friend will forgive you, honey, no matter what, if you’re truly sorry, OK?”
I hope she’s right.