If I had thought I was nervous before this evening, Brent was a wreck. I couldn’t help wondering why. After all, I was the one planning to come out to him. Could he have guessed I was gay, or perhaps even heard something on campus? Was he getting ready to tell me he didn’t want to be friends with me? No, if I’m any good at reading people, he really wanted this supper to be nice.
Finally I helped him get the pasta dished up, sauce ladled on it, rolls into a basket, wine glasses refilled, and everything, including salad, on the table.
He let out a big sigh as we sat. I raised my glass to him and said, “Brent, this looks great! It’s good to be here with you. Thanks for inviting me!”
He grinned. “Well, I’m not much of a cook, but I do know how my mother made spaghetti. I assure you this isn
