Nothing too embarrassing happened on the ride home either, aside from when the #1 song at the time, “Stay With Me” by Sam Smith, came on the radio and my mom asked, “Who is this again? Jimmy Johnson? I love him.” Otherwise, we mostly talked about our jobs, pointed out Philly landmarks as we sped by the city to our outer suburb, and planned activities for the day ahead. It was probably one of the most basic conversations I’ve ever had, but I was beaming as if I were talking with Princess Diana, George Michael, and Adele (the three people, living or dead, I’d like to have dinner with, obviously. I have a thing for the Brits, OK?). I could have never imagined this happening when I was younger and deep in the closet.

About a half hour later, we pulled up to our ranch-style house, red leaves strewn about the front yard. “This is it!!!” I, again, practically screamed. As we walked out of our garage, I wanted to give Danny a kiss because I was so elated that they were hitting it off. Except, suddenly, I hesitated. Are my parents watching? Would they feel weird? Would I feel weird? A quick kiss might seem minor, but when you’re in a same-sex relationship, public displays of affection require much more courage. Each one is like an act of rebellion in a world that labels you “other.” But before I could sort through my momentary crisis, I remembered my dad needed help getting his walker from the trunk of the car. He has multiple sclerosis, a neurological disease that has steadily deteriorated his vision and mobility over the years. “Gimme a minute,” I said to Danny, avoiding the situation altogether and cursing straight couples who don’t have to think twice about a simple smooch.

I helped my dad get inside and then began my tour of the house for Danny. We ended with my childhood bedroom, complete with my small twin bed that eliminated the inevitable “Are my parents going to let us sleep in the same bed???” song and dance that can be stressful for all couples, let alone queer ones.

“So, this is where I spent most of my time listening to Fall Out Boy,” I said, gesturing vaguely to my bedroom floor. “Oh, and please note the crucifix above my door.” It was surreal letting him inside a space that, for so long, had been mine and mine alone, where I had spent so much time working through my identity and whispering “I’m gay” to myself under the covers when I had finally reached self-acceptance. How far I had come.

“What’s this surfing poster?” Danny asked. “Wait, do you know how to surf??”

“Oh, god, no. It was just an excuse to have a shirtless man on my wall.”