- Molly Ringle
- September 3, 2019
- Fiction – LGBT / New Adult | 320pp
- Trade Paper 978-1-77168-167-4 $15.99
- Ebook 978-1-77168-168-1 $7.99
All the Better Part of Me
Fulfilling demand for quality love stories with gay and bisexual characters, this quirky and endearing tale will capture readers’ hearts.
It’s an inconvenient time for Sinter Blackwell to realize he’s bisexual. He’s a 25-year-old American actor working in London, living far away from his disapproving parents in the Pacific Northwest, and enjoying a flirtation with his director Fiona. But he can’t deny that his favorite parts of each day are the messages from his gay best friend Andy in Seattle—whom Sinter once kissed when they were 15.
Finally he decides to return to America to visit Andy and discover what’s between them, if anything. He isn’t seeking love, and definitely doesn’t want drama. But both love and drama seem determined to find him. Family complications soon force him into the most consequential decisions of his life, threatening all his most important relationships: with Andy, Fiona, his parents, and everyone else who’s counting on him. Choosing the right role to play has never been harder.
I’m not gay.
When I said that, I wasn’t lying to my parents, nor to anyone else who happened to ask for the rest of high school. It was far less complicated to like girls. I’d been attracted to lots of girls. So clearly I wasn’t gay. The possibility that I could be something else—say, bisexual—didn’t seem to occur to anyone. Not even to Andy; or at least, he never asked. It didn’t even occur to me.
If I’d been attracted to him during that one kiss, well, I couldn’t quite process it, considering the kiss had been derailed so spectacularly with my parents walking in on us. The memory felt more like trauma than desire.
The day after the kiss, at our locker, Andy asked if I got in a lot of trouble. I said yes, but my parents didn’t know he was gay and weren’t going to call his parents. He thanked me quietly, his gaze cast down. For a while it astounded me that they hadn’t told his folks. But gradually I understood why: they didn’t want other people to know. They wanted to hush up the whole thing, hide the shame. It made me despise them more than ever, but Andy and I weren’t exactly eager to broadcast it either, so I let it be.
Andy and I rarely talked about sexuality for the rest of high school, and didn’t talk at all about having kissed each other, but we were cool. We remained best friends. I told myself that any fondness I felt for him was simply a result of our long-standing friendship. I wasn’t gay, couldn’t be.
Although . . . okay, bi-curious, maybe. I hadn’t ever said that out loud either; only inside my head when finding myself over-fascinated with, say, two guys kissing in a movie.
Someday I might say it out loud. I might also someday be brave enough to try more than one kiss with another guy.
But I didn’t have to figure any of that out yet. As for flirting in messages with him, it was okay if I got some secret pleasure from that. He took comfort in it too at a time when he was hurting. I was just being a good friend. Maybe it didn’t even have anything to do with sexuality.