“No, it’s not. It’s cute,” I say and then, fearing I’ve said too much, I go back to the original point I was trying to make. “Anyway, in that video you were talking about how ‘other’ you felt growing up in a world that is very sexualized. You said how you felt different, and how you didn’t always know how to fit in.”
“I still don’t,” she says with a light snort. “But that’s completely different. Sexuality, or the lack of it, is not the same as being disabled.”
I pull in another deep breath. “I disagree. Asexuality is something that has a lot more stigma than many other queer identities, and I say that as somebody who occupies a number of other queer identities.”
“But…” Maeve says firmly but then no other words follow. I look at her and she speaks again. “But you’re Black. I’m pretty sure you experience a fuck-ton more prejudice than I do.”
I shrug. I can’t argue with her.
“Just trust me,” I say, redirecting the conversation. “And trust yourself that you’ll know what to do when it comes to looking out for your niece. Besides, you’re a Cancer.”
I expect a harsh retort to that last comment but Maeve is quiet for a few minutes as we walk. I keep stealing glances at her, noticing a thoughtful expression on her face. I’m going to ask about her keynote speech tomorrow but then the slightly garish front of Elvis Burgers is suddenly there and she’s reaching for the door. I start to think she’s not going to respond or make a single comment. Then she pauses and, with her hand still on the door, turns to face me.
“So you think you’ve got me all figured out, do you? Just because you know my birth chart?” she asks and she dances soperfectly on the line between accusatory and playful that I have no clue where I stand or what the right thing to say is.
As I so often do in situations like that, I opt for the truth.
“No, Maeve, I don’t have you all figured out. Not at all. But I’m having quite a bit of fun trying.”
Her green eyes narrow on me again and I brace myself for another one of her snappy responses.
“Come on, I’m bloody starving,” she says instead and then she pulls the door open and gestures for me to go in in front of her, which I do gratefully because this way I can hide my smile from her.
*****
I learn a lot about Maeve during our time at Elvis Burgers, where all staff members have Elvis quiffs, are dressed in rhinestone-studded white flares and greet us with a very lacklustre “Uh-huh-huh” as their top lip curls. I learn what her full name is. I learn that her dad just recently retired but her mom still works part-time as a receptionist. I learn that she’s very close to her brother and his partner, and also to the partner’s brother, Jake, who is about to go on a world tour with his DJ boyfriend, who I almost can’t quite believe is DJ Lunar.
I also learn that a triple cheeseburger, large fries and strawberry milkshake are absolutely no match for Maeve Rosaline O’Martin.
“Are you going to finish that?” She points at my discarded burger and the handful of fries still on my plate.
“All yours,” I say, pushing the plate forward.
“I’m still fecking ravenous. I must be coming on or something,” she says as she stacks my plate on top of her empty one. She looks up abruptly with wide eyes. “Was that TMI? Are you the kind of penis owner who freaks out about periods?”
I laugh lightly. “Periods don’t bother me. I live with two menstruating humans, remember?”
“And you’re also a porn star who probably thinks nothing of having sex with someone on their period.” She pops one fry in her mouth before getting another.I study Maeve for a moment before replying, once again unable to determine if she actually wants to talk about this.
“Periods don’t bother me in that way either, that’s true.”
She flinches. It’s small, but it’s there.
“Do you… do you put videos of that online too?” she asks without looking me in the eye.
“It’s not allowed. Blood is a no-no on MyFans.”
“What… what are your most popular videos?” she asks and I look at her again. She’s still chewing fries and her eyes are on mine, but there’s something about her sloping shoulders and the way her voice gets a little quieter that gives me pause.
“We don’t have to talk about this, Maeve, if you don’t want to.”
She throws down the fry that was in her hand. “I want to. I mean, I think I want to.” She sighs. “I feel like I need to get better at talking about sex, and what better way than to talk with someone whose job is sex?”
I feel my neck straighten a little. “My job isn’t just sex.”
Maeve waves a hand around. “Fine, it’s kink. It’s foreplay and fucking and education about orgasms and the like.”
“No.” I lean closer over the table. “My job is just as much about intimacy. It’s about physical affection. It’s about connection and care.”
