Wasting Time?

by Kit

On my way into the room where the wedding reception was to be held, I paused to check the board on which the table layout and seating arrangements were displayed. As expected, I was on the main family table, and I was relieved to find that I wasn't being seated among the children but between them and the adults. As I stood there, I sensed someone come up behind me just before I heard a familiar voice.

"Hi, Oops."

Even if I hadn't recognised Ollie's voice, I would've known who was speaking because he was the only one who still called me 'Oops'. He'd invented that nickname when he discovered that our mother was pregnant with me. However, when our parents found out about the name, they berated him so strongly that he never used it when they could overhear.

Despite the fact that he often teased me, Ollie was my favourite brother and second-favourite sibling. He had a playful personality and enjoyed teasing everyone he was close to, but it was never hurtful and was always gentle and good-humoured. In any case, I'd known him all my life, so what might seem quirky to others was perfectly normal to me.

When I was very small, he told me that he'd invented the nickname when he didn't know if I'd be a girl or a boy, so he picked 'Oops' as being suitable for either. When I was older, I realised that the name referred to the fact that I was born twelve years after Maggie, my favourite sibling, who was the closest to me in age. Rather boldly, I asked my mother about that, and she assured me that I was a happy surprise rather than a mistake.

"I see that you're sitting across from me," Ollie observed.

"Yeah," I replied, turning to face him, "but the Terrible Twins will be sitting next to us."

The Terrible Twins were the first-born children of the oldest of my four siblings, Rachel, who was nineteen years older than me. She'd been married when I was still a toddler and had soon gone on to produce non-identical twin daughters, making me an uncle before I was five years old.

"I don't understand why you always call them that," Ollie chided me. "They're nice kids."

"That's because you're their favourite uncle, and they're always on their best behaviour with you," I pointed out. "And I don't remember you having to babysit them like I do."

"You don't have to do it, and from what I heard, you get well paid for it."

"Where's Sally?" I asked, eager to change the topic of conversation. "I didn't see her at the church."

"Oh, we broke up a couple of weeks ago," he said, sounding as if it was something that didn't matter.

"Another one! You change girlfriends more often than I change toothbrushes," I joked.

"I don't want to know about your hygiene issues," he replied with mock distaste. "I just happen to be very picky about relationships."

"I guess that's why Maggie just got married, when it should be your turn," I quipped.

"It's not the sort of thing you take turns at," Ollie replied with good humour. "Anyway, maybe you'll be the next to get hitched."

"I doubt it!" I retorted.

At fourteen years old, the idea of tying myself to one person for the rest of my life was too horrific to contemplate. Also, although I hadn't told him directly, I was pretty sure that Ollie already knew I was gay.

When I was twelve, I'd told Maggie and begged her to keep it secret. As I'd expected, she was very supportive, and she'd been with me when I decided to come out to my parents the following year. Dad had accepted my announcement without comment, merely nodding his head. Mum looked a little embarrassed and mumbled something about it possibly being just a phase I was going through. Anyway, I asked them not to share the information, except maybe discreetly to my siblings.

Perhaps to outsiders, my relationship with Maggie might have seemed unusual. Not only was she my doting big sister, but she was also my best friend, and I trusted her more than anyone else in the whole world. We could talk easily about anything and everything, and I think I realised even before she did that she and her now-husband, Hugh, would be perfectly matched.

I'd recently toyed with the idea of coming out to Arthur, my closest friend at school, but I'd not yet had the courage to do so. Although we spent a lot of time together, and we shared many interests, I still wasn't sure how he'd react if I told him I was gay. However, I wondered if perhaps he might have already been given several clues, such as the fact that I changed the topic of conversation whenever he mentioned the attractiveness of various girls.

As Ollie and I made our way toward our assigned seating, I couldn't help contemplating with sadness the likelihood that in the future I'd be seeing less of Maggie. She was not only my favourite sibling, but when I was small, I sometimes thought of her as a second mother. Although my actual mother and father genuinely loved and cared for me, I got the feeling that after already raising four children, they were happy that Maggie was keen to provide a helping hand with me.

Fortunately, I also got on reasonably well with Hugh, who was in some ways even friendlier towards me than my two oldest siblings. Rachel had left home before I was born, and Peter had left home when I was still a toddler. They felt more like my aunt and uncle than my sister and brother. Their children, my nieces and nephews, were more like cousins, and they referred to me as "Uncle Ryan" only when they wanted to mock me.

After Maggie, Ollie was my second-favourite person to be around. I was nine years old when he moved out of our family home, and I had many happy childhood memories of him. His apartment wasn't far from our house, and even after he'd left home, he visited us at least once per week. He usually came around for Sunday lunch, especially when he was between girlfriends.

Ollie always had the ability to make me feel good about myself, and the mere fact that I existed seemed to be a constant source of amusement for him. He occasionally commented that spending time with me always cheered him up. I chose to take that as a weird sort of compliment and decided that overall, I was lucky to have such a family.

Although I'd been too young to remember Rachel's wedding, I'd been just about old enough to remember the wedding of my second-oldest sibling, Peter. He and his wife had quickly proceeded to contribute to my growing collection of nieces and nephews. This time, with Maggie's wedding, I was fully able to experience the festivities, and I was determined to enjoy it.

The reception was even more enjoyable than I'd expected. The Terrible Twins were actually well-behaved, and they were even pleasant toward me. The food was good, and I was allowed to have a half glass of champagne for the toasts. The speech of the best man, Hugh's younger brother, was filled with allusions and references that I didn't understand, but it was thankfully quite short. In any case, during the speeches, I was distracted by the sight of a teenage boy sitting with a woman who appeared to be his mother.

Two things initially caught my interest. One was the fact that they were seated alone at a small table placed at the periphery of the room. I wondered if their location implied that they were merely distant relatives of the groom or perhaps they might just be friends of his parents. However, if that were the case, surely it would have been better not to invite them at all rather than to banish them to the edges of the festivities.

The other thing I noticed was the fact that the boy, who appeared to be in his mid-teens, was very attractive. His dark hair was very short, he was slim, and even though he was sitting down, it was clear that he was relatively tall. He wasn't paying much attention to the proceedings, and when he wasn't looking at the woman or what was on the table, he appeared to have his eyes closed.

After the meal, speeches, and toasts, the caterers began to clear the tables, and the bride and groom made their way slowly through the room, greeting groups of guests as they went along. They were on their way to their hotel room to get changed into clothes that would be more suitable for the evening's less formal party. I chose a moment to approach them when they were near the exit and when few people were very close.

"Who are those two, sitting all on their own?" I asked Maggie quietly, tipping my head discreetly in the direction of the woman and boy.

"That's Hugh's Aunt Sheila and her son, Rory," she replied.

"You're wasting your time if you're interested in him," added Hugh, who'd overheard and already knew I was gay.

"So you know he's not gay, then?" I whispered, feeling very embarrassed and a little disappointed.

"I've no idea about that," he replied, "but he's just different. He doesn't make friends, and he avoids being with people. We seated them there so that they could make a quick escape if they wanted. We felt they should be invited but didn't expect them to accept, and I'm surprised they haven't already left."

"He's neurodivergent," Maggie said quietly, leaning close to my ear.

"Oh, like special educational needs," I offered.

I was reminded of a girl with Down syndrome who'd been in my class at primary school, and I knew of a boy in the year above me in my current school who'd been described as neurodivergent. That boy was on the autism spectrum and, apparently like Rory, usually avoided large groups of people.

"Special, but not how you probably think. He's a mathematics genius," Hugh said. Then he looked over his shoulder, noticed that the duration of our chat was attracting attention, and added, "Anyway, we need to go and get changed."

As they left the room, I looked in the direction of Rory's table and saw that it was empty. The boy and his mother were nowhere to be seen. However, my immediate feeling of emotional deflation was superseded by the physical discomfort caused by my inflated bladder. Although the queue for the toilets attached to the reception room wasn't too long, I didn't feel like waiting in line, so I decided to go to the toilets that I'd noticed on the other side of the hotel lobby.

Fortunately, there was no queue there, and after relieving myself, I made my way back through the lobby to the wedding party. Then I noticed Sheila and Rory standing by the hotel entrance; she was looking at her watch, and he was using a pencil to write in a small notebook. He was indeed quite tall, at least half a head taller than I, and in the brighter light he looked even more attractive. For the first time, I noticed the deep blue colour of his eyes, which, together with his black hair, accentuated his pale complexion.

I guessed that they were waiting for someone, perhaps a taxi, to come and collect them, and acting on an impulse, I approached them. Of course, I remembered what Hugh had said, but I felt that there were worse things to waste my time on than trying to get to know a cute boy. Perhaps the champagne had made me a little tipsy.

"Hi," I greeted them brightly. "I'm Ryan, one of the bride's brothers. I saw you at the reception meal. Are you leaving so soon??

Sheila looked surprised and perhaps even a little shocked at my effrontery. Her son was startled by my voice and looked up from his notebook. After Hugh's description of him as being unsociable, I expected that he'd avoid looking at me, or at least avoid eye contact. However, he actually studied my face as if it were part of some exotic creature.

"We're waiting for our taxi. The ones from the rank were all taken," she said warily.

I began to feel uncomfortable, not only because I couldn't immediately think of anything else to say but also because the boy was studying my face even more intensely than before.

"Hugh said that Rory's good at math," I blurted out nervously.

"You've been talking with Hugh about my son," she accused, her eyes squinting with disapproval and suspicion.

"I was interested because math is my worst subject, and I admire anyone who's good at it," I replied, trying to justify myself.

Telling her it was my worst subject was technically true, but perhaps it was a little deceptive. I did better in all my other subjects, but I was still about average in math.

"He's not just good; he's brilliant," she said with defiant pride, "and he's brilliant at other subjects, too. He's already got eleven GCSEs and will be sitting four A-Levels this summer."

"Maybe he could tutor me, then," I suggested impulsively.

"I don't think so," she replied dismissively. "It would be like you tutoring a preschool kid."

Perhaps she intended to insult me, but I didn't feel hurt. I was more interested in the way that Rory seemed to be examining me with such concentration. Suddenly, he looked away from me and whispered in his mother's ear. As she listened, her expression changed from irritation to surprise. When he stopped whispering, he returned to his study of my face.

"Rory says he'll help you, but you'll need to make arrangements by email," she said, frowning as if something puzzled her. "Is that okay with you?"

Perhaps the effects of the champagne were wearing off, but now the whole situation suddenly seemed surreal, and I felt a little weird. In any case, not wishing to seem ill-mannered, I agreed, and as soon as I did so, Rory took a pad of small Post-It notes from his jacket pocket. Then he scribbled something on the top sheet, peeled it off, and gave it to his mother. She looked at it and handed it to me.

"That's Rory's email address," she said with a disapproving tone. "Don't abuse it."

While I was still wondering how she thought I might abuse it and why Rory kept Post-It notes in his pocket, the doorman announced that their taxi had arrived. She gave me a dismissive nod and went out of the door, closely followed by her son. I folded the piece of paper and put it into my trouser pocket, then returned to the party, wondering if I could manage to get a little more champagne.

As the wedding took place in the middle of my school's Easter break, I didn't have any math problems that I could use as an excuse for contacting Rory. When the new term started, I wanted to wait until I had a really difficult problem before contacting him because I didn't want him to think that I was a complete dunce.

Shortly after the start of term, Maggie returned from her honeymoon, and a couple of days later, she called me just for a catch-up video chat.

"You don't look as tired as I expected," I quipped.

"What do you mean? Why should I be tired? I just got back from a great holiday, and I don't go back to work until Monday."

"Well, I thought you'd be exhausted from all the exercise getting to know your new husband," I teased.

"Don't be cheeky. You may be my favourite brother, but some things are too personal, even for you," she replied, her indulgent smile mitigating her stern words. Then, knowing that I'd understand her meaning, she added, "Anyway, I got to know Hugh long before he became my husband."

"By the way, I got Hugh's cousin's email address," I boasted. eager to change the subject. "I asked if he'd tutor me in math."

"Really?" she said in surprise before adding cautiously, "You need to be careful; otherwise, one or both of you could get hurt."

"What d'you mean?"

"Even if he's gay, he might not be attracted to you, and if you're looking for more than friendship, you could get hurt if he rejects you."

I had to admit to myself that she made a good point. My curly, light-brown hair tended to look untidy no matter how it was cut and combed, and my eyes were a boring brown, so I wasn't nearly as attractive as Rory.

"Remember," she continued, "he finds it difficult to socialise, and if he thinks you're only trying to be friends because you fancy him, then he could get hurt. The whole situation is full of potential problems. Like Hugh said, you shouldn't waste your time."

"Well, it's my time to waste," I replied a little petulantly. "Anyway, if he gives me some tuition, at least I could get better at math."

"I know you're not really as selfish as that sounds. But what does he get out of all this? Are you going to pay him for the time he spends tutoring you?"

"He didn't mention me paying him, but I suppose he may want something. He said he wanted me to contact him by email, so I suppose he may just want an email pen pal."

"Okay, but you still need to be careful."

A couple of weeks after the start of the school term, I sent an email to Rory.

Hi Rory!

This is Ryan from Maggie & Hugh's wedding.

Thanks for agreeing to tutor me in math. Just now, the toughest thing for me is calculus. Because I can remember the rules and formulas, I can usually get the right answers to problems. But I don't really understand what it's all about.

I don't know why you said to contact you by email, but tutoring by email would be complicated and take more time. Can we talk on the phone or maybe meet in person?

Ryan

It was more than twenty-four hours before I received a reply, by which time I was beginning to wonder if there would be any response at all.

Hello, Ryan.

I didn't really expect you to contact me.

There were a few reasons I said to use email. One was because I knew agreeing to tutor you might be a mistake. Telling you I changed my mind would be easier by email.

I've decided to try to tutor you, but I'll stop if it doesn't work out or is a big hassle.

You're right about email not being good for that. If you have WhatsApp, send me your contact info. Desktop or laptop is better than using a phone so we can be hands-free for taking notes.

Weekdays are usually busy for me, so weekends are better. But if it's important, you can get in touch on weekdays after I finish studying (about 9 pm) and before I go to bed (about 11 pm).

Rory

As soon as I finished reading that, I sent him my contact information, but then there was an agonising two days of waiting until Friday evening when he got in touch. Given his desire for initial contact by email, I expected merely a text message, but it turned out to be a voice call. He surprised me even further by immediately asking me to include video so that he could see my face.

He was even more handsome than I remembered, and he looked very smart with his neatly combed hair and formal shirt. By contrast, my tousled hair hadn't been combed since I'd arrived home from school and changed into my leisure clothes, consisting of a grey sweatshirt and sweatpants. Of course, if I'd been expecting his call, I would've taken more care of my appearance.

Without any preamble, he went straight into tutor mode and asked me what I found most difficult to understand about calculus. It was obvious that he was taking notes as we spoke, but I couldn't tell if he was using the notebook that I'd seen previously. That thought prompted me to bring up the topic.

"I saw that you had a notebook at the wedding reception," I said. "Do you always have it with you?"

"Almost always, but not in the shower."

His voice and facial expression were neutral, but the twinkling of his eyes indicated that he was being playful.

"What do you need to make notes for?" I asked.

"Math stuff and personal stuff," he replied as if it should have been obvious.

"All in the same notebook?" I questioned. "Doesn't it get all mixed up?"

"Of course not," he said, rolling his eyes. "The right-hand page is for math, and the left-hand page is for other stuff."

"Oh, okay," I said, not really understanding why he bothered with notes at all. "And what about the Post-It notes? Do you always keep a pad of those?"

"Yes," he replied. Probably expecting a follow-up question, he added, "Those are for temporary things that I don't want to clutter up the notebook."

At that point, it became obvious to me that he was getting frustrated by my seemingly irrelevant questions, so I turned the discussion back to my math problems. When he wasn't looking down to make notes, he was looking intently at his screen, as if studying my face. At first, that made me feel a little uncomfortable, but after a few minutes I got used to it. In fact, it made me feel less self-conscious about the attention I paid to his beautiful eyes.

After a few minutes probing what I did or didn't understand about the subject, he announced in a very businesslike tone that he'd get back to me when he'd worked out a schedule. When I thanked him, he just nodded and appeared to be about to break the connection.

"Can we chat for a bit?" I asked hurriedly.

"What about? What for?"

"Erm, well, you're going to a lot of trouble to help me, even though I'm almost a stranger," I replied, improvising, "And spending time just talking about math can get a bit boring. Wouldn't it be easier if we were friends?"

"Friends?" he echoed, as if he were testing how the word sounded in his own voice.

"Yeah," I said. "I mean, we don't know anything about each other. I don't even know how old you are."

"Fifteen," he replied bluntly. Then, in a slightly accusatory tone, he added, "I thought you already talked to Hugh about me. Why did you ask him about me, and what did he say?"

"I was curious and asked him who you were. There wasn't much time for him to say much."

Rory was silent for a few seconds, and I fully expected him to follow up by asking further questions such as why I'd been curious and what exactly Hugh had told me. However, much to my relief, he asked me how old I was. That was followed by a series of questions and answers, with me asking the majority of the questions.

He gradually became less formal and more relaxed as the exchange of information progressed, though even by the end of that call, he never appeared to be totally at ease. I got the impression that getting to know a new person was a novel and uncomfortable experience for him. Meanwhile, I'd grown accustomed to having him study my face so intently and was even beginning to be almost flattered by the attention.

For about a month after that initial chat, we had two or three video calls per week, and each one followed the same general format. At his insistence, we always started with a math tutoring session before going on to discuss more personal matters. However, the 'personal' topics were mostly superficial and nothing that I would consider particularly private.

During that time, I gradually built up an impression of his character as well as learning something about his background. Apart from being intellectually brilliant and very pleasant to interact with, he also had a very distinctive and subtle sense of humour. Sometimes it seemed that he was poking fun at me, but I could never be completely sure. Even if he had been, it was always in a relatively kind and gentle way that wouldn't have offended me.

After a while, he began to mention a few personal matters, but that was only after I'd satisfied his curiosity about my own life. For example, he was particularly interested in my experience as part of a relatively large family, which he contrasted with his own life as an only child of a single parent. Almost in passing, and as if it didn't really matter, he told me that his parents were divorced when he was very small and that he'd not had any contact with his father since then.

"It must have been crowded in your house. Did you have to share a bedroom?" he asked on one occasion, giving the impression that he thought it would be a horrible situation to be in.

"No, I never had to share. Rachel and Peter had both left home by the time I was a toddler, and now I have her old bedroom. Now that Ollie and Maggie are gone, we actually have a couple of spare bedrooms."

In fact, Dad was considering turning one of those spare rooms into what he referred to as an office, but Mum was resisting that idea because she said it would probably become his 'man cave.'. Rory shared a two-bedroom flat with his mother, so I was of the opinion that his living conditions would be more crowded than mine were even when Ollie and Maggie still lived with us.

Eventually, it became clear that I no longer needed any real math tutoring for my schoolwork. My understanding of the subject had increased considerably, but unlike Rory, it wasn't a subject that I actually enjoyed studying. I was the one who expressed what I believed we were both feeling.

"The maths help has been really useful, thanks," I said gratefully, "but I've also really enjoyed just chatting with you. I feel that we're friends now, and I'd like to stay in touch even without any tutoring. I hope you feel the same."

"Yeah," he said simply, smiling.

"Maybe we could meet in person sometime," I suggested boldly.

"I'd have to ask Mum if you want to come here," he replied, frowning slightly. "But before I do, I want to ask you a question."

"Okay," I replied.

"Did Hugh tell you I was autistic?"

"No. He said you don't like socialising, and I think the word 'neurodivergent' was mentioned."

"Well, whatever he said, I'm not on the autism spectrum," he said. "I just have a problem with faces."

"You mean you can't recognise faces?" I asked.

"Recognising them isn't a problem, but interpreting them is."

He went on to explain that even babies can instinctively understand the emotions behind facial expressions, but that he couldn't. He'd had to make a conscious effort to learn to do what others could do automatically. For example, to understand the meaning of a curving of lips, he had to observe how it was modified by other changes in the face. Then he had to decide if it was a genuinely happy smile, a forced smile, a quizzical smile, a sarcastic smile, a wry smile, or any other variant.

Thus for him, deciphering facial expressions took considerable effort, and when there was more than one other person involved, the task became virtually impossible. Even more stressful were the occasions when his interpretation of the face contradicted the words being spoken. He could never be sure if his interpretation was wrong or if the person was lying.

"So it's a bit like being blind and not being able to see faces," I suggested.

"No, it's not the same," Rory replied with mild irritation. "Imagine that people showed their feelings by flashing cards with words written on them. If you're good at reading, it's easy to understand, but if you're not good at reading, then you have to really concentrate. If they change the cards quickly, or if lots of people are flashing cards, then it's impossible to read anything, and then you're too distracted even just to listen to what they're saying. But blind people aren't distracted by flashing cards."

"But your face works like normal," I said. Realising how clumsily I'd spoken, I quickly added, "I mean, I can understand your expressions."

"Yeah, that part's automatic and seems to work like everyone else. When I was young, sometimes I'd sit in front of a mirror and watch my face as I had different feelings. But that didn't work well because I usually had to fake the feelings."

"Honestly, I can't even imagine how tough that must be for you," I admitted. "No wonder you don't like socialising with people."

"Well, it's easier when I'm used to spending time with one person, like my mum. Some people like you aren't as difficult as others. Maybe that's because they don't try so hard to hide how they really feel."

"Thanks, I think," I replied. "Well, I hope that's a good thing."

"It's what persuaded me to give you my email address, though there was something in your face that made me wonder about what you really meant when you said you'd like math tuition."

"Er, well, to be honest," I said, blushing, "it just suddenly came into my head. It was truthful, but it was only part of the truth. The other part was that I just wanted to get to know you."

Fortunately for me, he didn't go on to ask why I'd wanted to get to know him, and I quickly shifted the conversation away from that.

"I guess it must be tough at school," I said, "trying to read lots of faces."

"I don't go to school now. Primary school was okay. I got used to being the weird kid. Sitting at the front of the class, I just saw the teacher's face. But in secondary school, people expected me to socialise more. When the other kids realised that I was much better than them in every subject, some of them got a bit nasty."

He paused, frowning, before continuing, "It got very stressful, and I'm not good with stress, so I was homeschooled. I managed to get some good tutors, mostly on video calls. Fortunately, my otherwise useless dad's well off, and Mum forced him to pay."

Over the course of a few more chats, he gradually got to trust me more. On one occasion, he admitted that the prospect of going to university soon was a bit daunting, especially as he'd be the youngest student. He also said that he was relieved that the local university was excellent, so he could remain living at home while attending courses there.

After that, although my problems with mathematics were occasionally mentioned, most of our conversations were just for fun. It quickly became clear that we enjoyed spending time in each other's virtual company, finding out more about our similarities and differences. For example, we both loved science fiction and fantasy, but we agreed that we usually disliked time travel stories.

It turned out that 'Ender's Game' was one of our favourite movies. Although I'd also read the book on which the movie was based, he'd also read all the other books in the series. In fact, in all genres, he'd read many more books than I had.

"Doesn't your problem with faces make it difficult when you go to the cinema and watch TV?" I asked when we were discussing favourite movies.

"I never go to the cinema," he replied, "but if there's plenty of action and a good plot in a movie, I don't really need to study faces. After all, you can understand what the parents of a kidnapped kid are feeling, and you know that a guy being chased by an alien monster is scared."

Of course, some of our interests were quite different. He preferred classical music, especially Bach, but I preferred more modern music and had a particular interest in Korean boy bands. He was fascinated by mathematics and sciences, but I was more interested in history and archaeology. He had no interest in sports, whereas I liked playing football. However, I did it only for fun and didn't take it seriously enough to get onto a formal team.

Because I'd been busy getting to know Rory, I hadn't been spending as much time with Arthur, and at first I felt a little guilty about that. However, it turned out that he'd started getting close to a girl he'd met during the Easter holidays, and he said that he hadn't even noticed my lack of availability. When he referred to her as his 'new girlfriend', I suppressed a smile and refrained from pointing out that as he'd never had any previous relationships, she wasn't actually 'new' but in fact his 'first' girlfriend.

During one of our video calls, Rory suggested we play chess, and I agreed. As I'd occasionally played on my school's team, I thought I might be able to beat him, but it quickly became clear that he was a far better player and that I never had any possibility of winning. At my instigation, we managed to set up and play some video games over the internet, and it turned out that I almost always won games that required fast reactions or good hand-eye coordination.

The mismatch between our abilities meant that we quickly gave up the idea of playing games until I pointed out that perhaps it would be better if we tried games that involved a degree of chance. That also gave me an opening to say that games with cards or dice would be better if we were physically in the same place. He agreed, but he didn't go on to offer a date or time for us to meet in person.

On a couple of occasions after that, I repeated my suggestion that as we were now friends and enjoyed spending time together online, maybe we could meet in person. Each time, he said that he'd need his mother's permission before I could visit him.

"Well, maybe you could visit me," I suggested, feeling a little frustrated. "Or we could go out somewhere. Do you have a bike? If the weather's nice, we could go cycling in the countryside."

As it turned out, he did have a bike, but for him it was just a form of transportation and not a source of enjoyment. After some persuasion, I managed to get him to agree to go riding with me sometime. However, he said that his mother would want to speak with me first.

A couple of days later, Rory's mother called me, but that was only to ask for my mum's phone number and enquire about suitable times when she might be available. She quickly ended the call as soon as I gave her the information. The following evening, my mum came up to my room.

"You didn't tell me you've been in touch with Hugh's cousin, Rory," she said.

"He was helping me with my math problems, and I didn't think I needed to tell you that I was in contact with my cousin-in-law."

"I'm not sure that 'cousin-in-law' is a real thing," she replied, frowning, before continuing hesitantly, "Anyway, I'm sure you know that Rory's, erm, special."

"Yeah, he's a genius, especially at maths."

"That, too," Mum said, her eyes narrowing a little. "Well, his mother is very protective of him, and she spent the last half hour on the phone grilling me about you. Apparently, he's never had any close friends before, and she doesn't want to risk him getting hurt."

"Why would he get hurt?" I asked, my initial indignation quickly giving way to a warm glow of happiness at the thought of being his first close friend.

"I'm sure I don't know, but you should be careful, especially with his mum the way she is."

Without clarifying that warning, she turned and left the room, and before I could give it much thought, I received a call from Rory's mother.

She questioned me in detail about my background, and she gave a long list of things I shouldn't say or do with her son. I didn't write anything down, so even if I'd wanted to obey those rules, they were quickly forgotten. By the end of the call, I felt sorry for Rory, and I thought that it wasn't surprising that he'd not had any close friends if she interrogated potential friends like that.

Presumably, Rory's mother was satisfied that I didn't pose a risk to her son because he later called me and invited me to visit him the following Saturday morning. After riding for about twenty minutes on my bike, I arrived at their apartment. When his mother greeted me at the door, she was superficially pleasant, but I detected an air of wariness. However, Rory's pleasure at seeing me was clearly genuine.

His room was meticulously tidy, and everything was arranged in a very orderly fashion. On a shelf next to his computer desk was a line of notebooks, each with a set of dates written neatly on the spine. It was a good thing that he hadn't visited me first, because my own bedroom would have seemed like a disaster area when compared to his.

He broke the ice by suggesting a game of cards, referring to my earlier proposal that a game of chance should put us on a more even footing. I was puzzled by the smugness of his smile as he made that suggestion, but I later understood the reason for it. His mathematical abilities enabled him to calculate probabilities almost instantly in his head, so he even beat me in the vast majority of games involving chance.

After that, we got together on a regular basis, usually at his house, sometimes outdoors, and only rarely at my house. Our mid-week video chats also continued, but during term time, our in-person meetings were only on weekends. Although his mother no doubt strongly influenced the timing, frequency, and location of our meetings, I appreciated that Rory himself would also want to concentrate on preparing for his upcoming A-level exams.

When his exams were finished and my school was on summer break, we went cycling or hiking in the local countryside as often as the weather allowed. Before I'd met him, Rory hadn't been interested in spending time outdoors, but under my influence, he began to enjoy it and even to look forward to it. Our friendship continued to grow, and we began to spend even more time together.

His mother still gave me the impression that she didn't really trust me and maybe didn't really approve of me. However, she did tolerate me, and I wondered if that was because her son was clearly becoming more sociable. No doubt she realised that improved social skills would be helpful when he started at university.

One morning, when I arrived at Rory's apartment a little earlier than expected, his mother told me that he was still in the shower and that I should wait in the living room. She actually seemed quite amiable and not only offered me a drink but also invited me to sit on the sofa. I was even more surprised when she confided in me that her son was behind schedule because he hadn't slept well after having had a bad nightmare.

"You and Rory seem to be getting on quite well," she said as she sat down opposite me.

"Yeah," I replied cautiously. "he's fun to be with."

"And he enjoys your company."

"Well, sometimes I wonder if I'm boring him," I admitted, half joking. "He sometimes keeps his eyes closed when we're chatting, and I thought he only did that when there are lots of people around."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "Well, yes, he does that in crowded social surroundings, but he also does it when he's alone with someone he trusts and feels comfortable with. So it doesn't mean that you're boring him."

After that, the way she behaved towards me changed a little, but it would be an exaggeration to say that she actually became friendly. Her previous frosty suspicion was replaced by a wary acceptance that eventually caused me to feel slightly less uncomfortable in her presence. In fact, she even invited me to join the two of them in celebrating his sixteenth birthday.

As it turned out, the 'celebrations' just involved the three of us. His mum and I sang 'Happy Birthday,' he opened presents, and we ate big slices of his favourite cake that she'd made for the occasion. To my surprise, Rory appeared to be quite comfortable with his mother and a new friend performing a happy birthday song followed by the ceremony of him blowing out the candles.

After the cake, we watched the first 'Dune' movie with Timothée Chalamet, whom I'd had a crush on ever since I first saw him in 'Call Me By Your Name.'. I'd seen the 'Dune' movie twice at the cinema when it was first released, but Rory hadn't seen it yet, so I gave him the newly released Blu-ray version as his birthday present. He enjoyed it, but it was obviously not to his mum's taste because she left the room just a few minutes after it began. The most enjoyable experience for me was sitting on the sofa close to Rory.

Toward the end of the summer break, I went to visit Rory, and I immediately noticed the slightly sour expression on his mother's face when she opened the door. I was surprised and saddened to think that her negative attitude toward me might have returned. Fortunately, Rory quickly came out of his room to greet me, but despite his smile, he seemed to be uncomfortable. That combined with his mother's demeanour made me wonder if I'd done something wrong. However, I couldn't think of any way in which I might have offended either of them.

Under his mother's watchful gaze, I followed Rory into his room, where he turned and looked at me with a worried frown. As he'd be starting at university in just a couple of weeks, I wondered if that prospect might be making him feel anxious. In his usual direct manner, however, Rory immediately addressed the topic that was really troubling him.

"Mum says she heard that you're gay," he said in what seemed to be a deliberately neutral tone.

I was surprised and annoyed that someone had been talking about my private matters, and I wondered who had told his mother and how the topic had arisen.

"I am," I replied, trying not to show any emotion.

"Are you attracted to me?" he asked.

"Yes, but I'm not in love with you."

That was only partly true; in order to be completely true, the statement would have had to end with the word 'yet'.

"But I'm not gay, and I don't want a boyfriend," he replied, frowning more deeply. "I just like you being my friend."

"That's fine. I'm happy with being your friend," I said, trying to think quickly and find an appropriate response. Thinking that a little light humour might help, I added, "And don't worry, I won't reject a friend just because he happens to be straight."

He studied my face carefully before responding.

"Good," he said, smiling and apparently reassured by my response. Then, in what I thought might be an expression of his subtle humour, he added, "Mum says she doesn't mind us being friends as long as you don't try to do anything gay with me."

My relief at his easy acceptance of my sexuality was tinged with disappointment that there would be no possibility of him becoming my boyfriend. However, despite that disappointment, I wasn't unhappy. Being friends with Rory might not have been the exact prize that I'd had in mind, but it was definitely a prize worth winning, and my time befriending him certainly hadn't been wasted.

Iomfats.org

Wasting Time?

by Kit

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