Diana nodded. “That’s allowed, you know.”
“I know.” I let out another sigh. “It just feels like whichever way I go,someone’s going to have an opinion about it.”
Diana huffed a quiet breath. “That’s because they will.”
I glanced at her. “That isn’t helpful.”
“I’m being honest,” she fired back. “Some people won’t think you’re ‘gay enough.’ Others won’t like the ambiguity. You might even get criticism from both sides.”
“That’s reassuring.”
She smiled sadly. “Welcome to not having all the answers yet.”
I looked back down at my coffee.
That was exactly what it felt like. Something I was supposed to have figured out already. Something everyone else seemed to understand.
Except me.
“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be working towards,” I murmured.
Diana leaned forwards again. “Maybe you’re not supposed to be working towards anything. Maybe you’re simply supposed to find out what fits.” Then she cocked her head again. “What about going further afield?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, surely there are gay men in Europe, right? I was reading about a World Pride event that took place in Madrid one year. So it stands to reason there must be gay men in Spain.”
“I can’t go to Spain,” I protested.
She blinked. “Why not?”
“Because I have to be available here.” Not to mention I’d never once set foot out of the UK.
Diana rolled her eyes. “And if they call to say they’re having a disciplinary hearing, you can be on the next plane home. They’ll give you enough notice, won’t they? And Spain isn’t exactly the other end of the earth, is it?”
I snorted. “Spain—in August? I’d burn to a crisp.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Highly unlikely. For one thing, the sun would struggle to find its way through all that hair. Best sunscreen ever.” She tilted her head to one side. “What about Berlin?”
I stilled. “I swear, sometimes I’m sure you’re a witch.” I’d been looking at photos of Berlin only that morning. Anything not to have to think about That Conversation.
She beamed. “Have I touched a nerve? And the only reason I mention it is because it seems to be filled with a lot of gay men who look exactly like you.”
It was my turn to blink. “And how would you know that?”
Another eye roll. “I’m trying to help you here.”
I gave her a warm smile. “And I do appreciate it.”
“You did German at school, didn’t you?”
I laughed. “The last time was in 1999. I’ve forgotten it all.” The closest I’d come to using any of it was during my studies of German classical music.
She tore off a piece of croissant and ate it, her expression thoughtful. Suddenly, she straightened. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you used to talk about one of your professors from when you were studying music? The one who sends you Christmas cards?”
I frowned. “Professor Mueller?” He’d been my mentor when I was nineteen, and we’d stayed in touch throughout the years.
“Yes, that’s him. He went back to Germany, didn’t he?”