We could call you an ambisexual. A duosexual. A—”
“Do I really have to find a word for it?” Kyle interrupts. “Can’t it just be what it is?”
“Of course,” I say, even though in the bigger world I’m not so sure. The world loves stupid labels. I wish we got to choose our own.
We pause for a moment. I wonder if that’s all—if he just needed to say the truth and have it heard. But then Kyle looks at me with unsure eyes and says, “You see, I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”
“Nobody does,” I assure him.
