“I know that wasn’t an easy decision to make.” Mom brings a hand to my face and she cups my cheek so gently, so softly it’s like she’s afraid to break the skin. I lean into it, wanting her to know I’m not as fragile as I used to be about this.
“It may have been difficult to make the decision in the first place, but it hasn’t been difficult to stick to it. I love my life with Maeve here, even with the weather.”
“Lord, yes, the weather. I know I’ve asked before but are you—”
“Yes, Momma, I’m taking my Vitamin D.”
“Good, good.” She nods before her gaze dips. “You’ve really made a go of it. Not just with Maeve, but with your work, with everything.”
I wonder if in the future Mom and I will be able to talk more openly about my work now it looks like I’m going to be changing directions in my career.
Since I started making Dublin my home, and honestly, since I met Maeve, I haven’t felt the same pull to make content anymore. At least, not the same kind of content I was making. Instead, I started to focus more on educational videos, namely offering all kinds of sex advice from hand job techniques to talking more openly about sex as a queer person. I have kept most of these videos behind the same paywall and I have definitely lost more than a few subscribers as a result, but I’m also seeing my following change. Now I have more engagement from people who want my advice to evolve as sexual human beings, to explore their sensuality, to improve intimacy in their relationships. This work has also helped me discover something about myself.
Ambiamorous. That’s what I am. Somebody who has the ability to be happy in either a monogamous or a non-monogamous relationship.
And yet in realizing this latest label that applies to me, I realized how I don’t need this or any label. I deleted them from my bio. I don’t talk about being aromantic or poly or even pan or non-binary much anymore online. I just live my life. I just am. And I try to encourage others to do the same.
I always thought helping somebody get off was a noble aim to have in my line of work, and I still think it is, but knowing that the content I’m making is helping people figure out who they are, what they want and how they want to live their lives is the second most rewarding experience I’ve ever had.
Because of course my most rewarding experience is Maeve.
I’m about to tell my mom more about how easy it’s been living here with Maeve. Not without its challenges, no, but still easy in that I am doing what my heart wants, I’m with the person who soothes my soul. I’m about to tell her how I finally feel like I’m living my life intentionally, purposefully, mindfully, but both of our gazes are pulled to the door when we hear three firm knocks.
“So sorry to interrupt but the photographer is here and would like to take some pictures of one of the betrotheds, rather than one hundred more of my boyfriend who is far too comfortable in front of a camera,” Rami says.
“I heard that!” a loud voice calls out and a moment later Jake is pushing his way into the room behind Rami. “But yes, she would like to come in and photograph you both because apparently she doesn’t deem my new Gucci loafers worth more than a single photo.”
We all look down at Jake’s shoes which are alarmingly shiny. He and Rami are wearing matching black suits with matching bow ties in black silk with red love hearts.
“She can come in,” I say with a smile.
“Julia, love.” Jake turns to shout. “You’re good to come in.”
A moment later, a petite and plump white woman, dressed all in black with dark brown hair tied up in a bun on top of her head, appears with two cameras attached to a harness that criss-crosses her body.
“So, you’re Loncey?” She approaches with her hand held out.
“I am.” I shake it and smile, possibly with a little blush as I notice her take in what I’m wearing. Once my hand is free, I reach for my suit jacket.
“No,” she says. “I think I’d like to take some just like this. With your mam, if that’s okay. Like she’s helping you get ready.”
“Well, their eyebrows could do with a little taming,” Mom says and she reaches for her purse and pulls out a small tub of coconut oil. “Allow me.”
And before I know it, Mom is smoothing Vaseline over my eyebrows and a little on the peaks of my cheeks. I close my eyes as she does so, feeling her breath on the tip of my nose and hearing the clicks of a camera close by.
“And what about a little mascara?” Mom asks.
I open my mouth and expect laughter and refusal to fall out, but they don’t. “Sure,” I say, instead.
“Look up,” Mom prompts.
There’s more clicking.
“Oh, that’s a lovely shot,” Jake says from somewhere to my side. “You should also come around this way and take some over the shoulder of Gabi because she is looking fabulous with that updo.”
“I went with Cynthia this morning,” Mom tells Jake. “She found this fantastic Afro-European hairdresser who could do us both at the same time.”
“Cynthia is a gem of a woman,” Jake says. “Ooh, now you should take some photos of Gabi kissing their cheek. You know, giving them her blessing.”
