I led him into my house, trying to keep the panic down to a low hum. I’d never told anyone. I’d never shared this with anyone. But it was important that he knew. If we were going to start a relationship, my first real one in a long time, I was going to do it right. There would be no lies to undermine our chances, or, as I was beginning to believe, my last chance, at happiness.
I took him up to my room. He paused at the door, uncertain for a moment, and then followed me in, looking wary and curious.
I crouched down and pulled a photo album out from under my bed. His eyes lit up (not in a good way) with recognition.
Him: You don’t have to show me this, you know.
I shook my head, he didn’t know it all. Not yet. Me: Yes I do. You have to know.
He sat down on the bed next to me, silent. I took a deep breath, opening the album. On the first page was a tanned blonde-haired boy grinning at the camera with his arm wrapped around me. This was when I still meant it when I smiled. Me: This is California.