Edwin takes a while before he tells anyone about the divorce. The future conversations swell to monumental proportions in his mind and he is not ready to be perceived differently. He will not only be the divorced friend but the gay friend too. They might not see the Edwin they knew anymore. And maybe he wants these coming-outs to be better. He wants to know what to say, have a neat explanation at the ready.

No such luck. Ellen asks his permission to tell her friends the reason for their split and he has no good reason to say no. Once the right people know, the cat's out of the bag.

Caroline is the first to call, days after his talk with Tamara. When he sees her name on his phone screen, it soothes a hole in his chest that he hadn't noticed yet among the many dents these weeks have left.

"How are you doing?"

"I don't know." Of course she asks about his well-being first; she's been through a divorce herself. Just ask me how I'm doing, she had advised him when he'd cooked lasagne for her. She'd still accepted the dish. Now, her question dislodges so many emotional rocks he fears an avalanche. Just don't ask me how I'm doing, he wants to say. "It's been ... a lot."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Caroline's voice is soft and Edwin relaxes slightly. His practice is deserted at the end of the workday and he leans back in his chair, staring at the letters on the wall.

"Did you hear the reason for the divorce?"

"Sure did. Ellen didn't force you out of the closet, did she? She might have been your wife, but that won't save her from a lecture."

"She has the right to seek support from her friends."

"And you have the right to feel comfortable." Caroline's tone changes. "You could have told me."

"It was nothing against you. I'm still figuring things out. I only told Ellen and the kids."

"If you need help to figure those things out, I'm always up for a chat. God knows it took me long enough."

Edwin's brain comes to a screeching halt. "You –"

"I was 30 by the time I knew I was bisexual. I never told you?"

"You're bisexual." Edwin is dizzy with relief that twists into upset. Why could she realise it before him and why didn't she tell him? It's not fair. All this time there was someone. Someone who ... The thought trails off. It might have changed things. "Did Bart know?"

"Sure did. Even went with me to some events, before the divorce." Edwin is sliding down a slope. "But you can't compare your situation. I'm bi and Bart wasn't that bigoted to assume that meant I loved him less. We just went to social events. I only did the bars and flirting after the divorce." Caroline laughs.

"I'm not bi." Edwin's throat closes up. Maybe Caroline will see he is deceiving himself. That he's not really gay. Not gay enough. Or she'll tell him he's bi and he could have stayed with Ellen; she's the expert. He huffs. Get your shit together, Ed. "I'm gay."

"And I'm happy you've discovered that. Better late than never."

"I'm happy too." He doesn't feel happy, but if he doesn't believe he is, he'll never stop sliding down. He's scared he'll never reach the bottom, but he fears breaking his bones equally. "Do you still go to ... bars?"

"Gay bars? Sure. You want to go with me?"

"I want to make new friends." It's true, a little. He wants to feel gay. Seen and understood.

"Perfect! I know just the place in Antwerp."

"Could we go once I've moved?" Edwin imagines telling Ellen, or even Tamara, he's going to a gay bar. Not an option.

"Sure. You give me a call and we'll set up a date. I have some friends I can introduce to you."

"Sounds good." Better than going alone. He wouldn't even know where to go. He'd probably pick out a place with all young, confident guys in their twenties, who'd laugh at him for not having figured it out sooner.

***

Caroline's the only one to call for now, but the next day, he runs into Benjamin at the store.

"Edwin, my man! I haven't seen you at practice recently. Are you stopping now that you're gay?" He must've heard it from Nadia. Is there anyone who knows him who doesn't know yet? Everything moves so fast and he's standing still and watching the people blur in the vortex around him, inside him.

Edwin bristles. "I was gay last year too. I just didn't know." Even if it feels a little like he's become gay. Or even that he's not yet gay, but somewhere in the middle that can't even qualify as bi-curious.

"Last I checked, Ellen is a woman. You weren't gay." Edwin deflates. Isn't that what he still questions? He can reason all he wants, but at the end of the day, he genuinely believed he was straight. If his parents beat it out of him, he could blame trauma, but there is no gap in his memories. His parents are good Christians. They don't believe in violence.

He's not sure what planted the first seed of doubt. It must've been there before they watched Moonlight. They went to the cinema, he enjoyed the movie and the thought slipped in with the unbidden ease of the thousandth time: That's me. Nothing special happened in the movie, but there it was and it made itself comfortable and him uncomfortable.

Edwin shakes his head but doesn't argue. There is no point. How many more friends will he lose to bigotry?

"I have to say, I never pegged you as gay. You don't have the look, you know? It's a mystery to me why you'd want to be gay, but your choice!" I don't want to be gay, Edwin thinks. But he is, and he can accept that. That was the only choice he ever made. He can be gay. He can be so unlike a straight man nobody will ever doubt him again.

Edwin doesn't have to make up an excuse because Benjamin wraps up the conversation with a "see you soon" that's not true. He'll return to basketball practice, but the easy banter he exchanged with Benjamin a few weeks ago already belongs in another life, when he was still straight and not ... lost.

***

Edwin rents an apartment in the next town over, closer to his practice and closer to Antwerp. As an ophthalmologist, he's got a steady job and can afford it better than Ellen to move out. He's lucky like that, if he can call the wage gap in any way "lucky".

Ellen helps him with the move. Tamara is out with friends and Sandra is living her own life. She still comes to every Saturday dinner, but they haven't talked. Is she angry? It's an unfair anger, but some days, he fears he deserves it. He could have been less of an idiot. He could have gone better about his coming-out. He could have stayed silent. He could have tried harder to not be gay.

That's silly. He tried that, and he thought he wasn't, but it didn't change anything. He's gay. He's gay, and it's about the only thing he still knows. His clutch on this steep decline into ... gayness? The divorced life?

Sandra just needs time. She'll come around. She knows this was never his choice. He's been a good father. His parents and his friends moulded him into a man who only saw the paved road laid out for him and not the path that would take him down the bushes in the valley or up on the mountain.

The apartment is the perfect fit for a single person. Ellen and Edwin unpack efficiently and Edwin remembers when they first rented an apartment together. They were still students, but they had been together for over a year and their parents approved. He wonders now if his parents approved because he was with a girl and they suspected he wouldn't be if he had time to reflect. If he slept over at a girl's place, they raised hell. One time, they sat him down after such a night and his father paced in front of him. Marriage was sacred. He dishonoured his future wife if he ever slept with a girl. He was young and he would be tempted, so he had to sleep at home, where they could keep him in check.

There was no such sermon when he asked to move in with Ellen. She was a good girl. His parents loved her – still do. He hasn't told them about the divorce and he doesn't think Ellen has either. If it's up to him, he never will, but he's not that lucky. They were over the moon when he married. Young, unlike Arno who didn't settle down until his thirties. They pitched in for his and Ellen's house. That move was efficient too. They always worked well together. As friends, as a couple, as parents. They painted the walls together. Chose the paint, tried and failed. They bought the furniture. Decorated. Some of that furniture they are now lifting up the stairs and into other rooms, with other paint and other light.

When they drive back at the end of the day – Edwin's new bed hasn't arrived yet – their house isn't his home anymore. It's Ellen's house now. It looks different. Smells different, feels different. He doesn't have a home anymore because his apartment is for the new him and the new him has yet to be born.

***

The limbo of houses lasts a week. He sleeps at Ellen's house – in Sandra's room, as he has been doing since they announced the divorce. The few hours between his job and sleeping, he spends at his apartment. He cooks there, until it smells like a place he has lived. He looks at the armoire that used to exhibit the pictures of their children. Ellen has hung them on the walls now; he always was afraid to damage them. There are no pictures on his armoire, so he scrolls through the ones on his laptop and selects a dozen.

Late in the evening, Edwin opens the front door to a house shrouded in darkness. He unties his shoelaces and absentmindedly sifts through the mail, but there's nothing for him today. He should change his address. He walks up the stairs as a ghost in his own house; he has already left, but there are traces in the crack of the sink he never repaired, his muffled footsteps on the floor, his towel in the laundry. He and Ellen only exist in the same place, barely brushing the other's presence. It's odd, when they used to be close, used to live here. Maybe all they need is distance. Their own home, instead of this endless balancing act on a tightrope between houses, where they're both lost and every day, the fault line widens and they stare down the abyss.

His sleep is restless. He looks in a mirror and nobody looks back.