A dozen other camera feeds have already joined. I spot one other meeting room—from the Dublin office—but the rest are all folks working from home with their own individual cameras.
Two realizations hit me at once. First, I’d never even considered remote work—didn’t know it was an option. Well, it’snotan option if I want to be in the lab. And Ireallywant to be in the lab.
Second, the group is entirely femme. I don’t want to presume they all identify as women, but… definitely femme. I hold out hope as a few more faces trickle in.
Then the meeting kicks off, and it’s official.
I’m the only conspicuously assigned-male-at-birth person in the group.
I immediately feel awkward, like I’m intruding. Jayda meant well, but since she’s not an omega, she maybe didn’t know that omega spaces tend to be largely female or femme spaces.
“Hey girlies,” chimes a woman, who I’m inferring is the group leader. “And folks,” she quickly adds.
I give a shy wave.Oh, fuck, this was a mistake.
“I see we have some new faces here,” the woman says. “Maybe let’s do intros?” Nods reply across the two dozen camera squares.
I want to hide under the table. But I also don’t want to bring any attention to my discomfort. Don’t want to center my male experience in a group for femmes. So, I’ll just have to suck it up and not be too awkward.
“I’ll kick us off,” the group leader says, introducing herself as “Jenny in accounting.” She lives near a major city a few states over.
I’m happy to forget myself as each person introduces themselves. They’re in data, ops, software engineering, finance. All jobs that are super remote-friendly. The only other scientist is the person from the Dublin office. With how they each describe where they’re located, it sounds like a lot of them are in omega havens like Pleasantwood.
My mind kind of wanders. Mom could do a job like this, she’d be really good at it. She loves managing the hotel, but the job requires being on your feet all day. She hasn’t wanted to admit it, but she can’t do that forever. She runs their books, hires people, manages the whole operation—I think she could do great in accounting, recruiting, or ops.
“Oh, Jamie, is your audio working?”
I jump as I hear my name for the second time. Shit.
“S-sorry, technical difficulties.”
“Oh, you’re still on mute,” Jenny says helpfully.
I’m blushing. I manage to unmute myself and stumble through an introduction.
“Oh, I know you!” Jenny almost squeals. “You’re the omega who’s going to be doing fireside chats with Morgan, right? That’s so cool!”
“I-I’m just really grateful for the opportunity,” I say. “I can only give my perspective, but… I hope it can help people.”
“You’re a brave omega,” another woman chimes in. “We’re like, fundamentally bad at outreach.”
“We’re notallintroverts,” another says, with the familiar teasing of a luncheon group.
I wonder how long they’ve been meeting together like this. I get a sort of primal longing feeling—an echo of the come-down.
They’re a pack, I realize. They have each other’s backs.
“Speaking of outreach,” Jenny says, “how’s the fundraiser planning coming along?”
They settle into an easy conversation. I’m sort of able to follow along, but there’s still a lot of lingo that’s new to me. At one point, Jenny complains about friction with another department, somebody trying to take credit for her ideas.
“Men, right?” someone chimes in.
The group laughs, and I know they’re not laughing at me, and I’m glad they’re not holding back on my account, but I also know that I don’t belong here.
I’m not…a man, per se. But I still have male privilege, even if I’m an omega. Intersectionality, and all.
There’s also an LGBTQIA+ support group, but I’m not sure I’ll fit in there either. I have a… complicated relationship with queer community. Folks are welcoming, for sure, but there are still a lot of… assumptions. People kind of want me to be intheir group. I get it. I really do. Back at the university, I attended queer events for a while and started to make some friends. But then a trans femme started making comments that I was an egg, that I should embrace my true self. I know she meant well. I don’t want to hold it against her. But painted nails and long hair aren’t…stepping stonesto me. They’re just me.
