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Stalker Charlie: Hey, would you like to drop by my house for dinner one of these days?
I grinned at the text. A part of me had wondered if Charlie really wanted my help, or if he’d just gotten caught up in my plans without actually wanting to. I knew only too well that there were times I got too involved in things that had nothing to do with me. It was nice to know he actually wanted to hang out with me, and I hadn’t just forced myself onto him. I quickly typed out a reply, thinking forward to when I’d be free.
Me: How does Saturday evening sound to you?
Stalker Charlie: Sounds great. What kind of food do you like?
Me: There’s this sushi place close by that I really love.
Stalker Charlie:I was actually planning on cooking the food myself.
Me: Homecooked meal? Really? I’ll eat anything then.
Stalker Charlie: Okay, then. See you Saturday. 6 p.m. okay for you?
Me: Sounds perfect, Charlie. I’ll look forward to it.
Stalker Charlie:Night, Brady. Give Cherry some love from me.
Me: Night, Charlie. Cherry says thank you!
I put my phone away with a smile, loving the thought that Charlie remembered my dog’s name. But then again, she was pretty memorable, wasn’t she? I closed my eyes and cuddled her closer to me, sighing with satisfaction and looking forward to the weekend.
I spent Saturday morning running errands for Voice Out since the self-defense class had been canceled for the next two weeks in lieu of the Pride celebration. People were too excited about the party to want to spend time on the mat, and I could definitely relate. On weekends, the café was completely in the hands of Kasey while I did anything that needed doing for the nonprofit. Sundays were spent meeting kids from Voice Out and hosting support groups and carrying out tasks like stocking up the kitchens, rec rooms, and whatever else Mama D needed me to do. Considering Pride month was just around the corner, I knew next weekend would be spent buying glitter and flags and all things colorful to celebrate the month ahead, but for now, I was stuck buying arts and crafts materials for one of the workshops.
Voice Out wasn’t just a place queer kids came to when they were kicked out of their families or when they found themselves with nowhere else to go. Though Voice Out’s main focus was re-homing kids and helping them stand on their own two feet, it was also a safe space for any queer person—no matter their age—to hang out with other queer people and befriend them. There were workshops, night classes, hobby spaces—including a small garden that Mama D loved—and just about anything you could want.
Once I was done buying everything, I took a cab back to the Voice Out building, or the rec center, as the regulars called it. The three-story building didn’t look like much on the outside, but once you stepped in through the entryway, it was like you’d stepped into a completely different world. There were flags and streamers with colors of all the different queer spectrums hanging from the cream-colored walls. Couches and armchairs were strewn about the room, with coffee tables laden with books and pamphlets between them.
Hefting up the bags I was carrying, I made my way to the hobby room, smiling and greeting the people that milled around. The one thing this building never was was empty. There was always someone around, be it day or night. I looked around the bright space of the hobby room, waving at Layla, one of the women who taught the art class here.
“Hey, just popping in to stock up the supplies.”
“Thanks, Brady. The kids made a bunch of things the other week. Feel free to pick anything you like.”
Giving her a nod, I walked over to the baskets that held the supplies and started emptying things into their respective baskets. The kids—who weren’t actually kids and usually anywhere in their late teens to early twenties—used crafts as a way to express themselves, making everything from jewelry to pen stands to whatever struck their fancy. Most of the time, the kids kept whatever they made for themselves, but sometimes they left the things they’d made for someone else to take. I loved picking things out from here and using them to brighten up my home a little. Plus, they were sweet reminders of all the good that happened within these walls and the small part I played in it.
Once I was done emptying everything out, I walked over to the table that held the finished masterpieces. There was everything from misshapen clay pots to small sketches to woven jewelry. My eyes caught on a few woven bracelets. It was a set of three, with the only difference being their color. One was blue, one pink, and one purple. I remembered hearing in the enby support group about people using similar bracelets to denote the gender they were at a particular moment. Was that something Charlie would be interested in?
I picked up the bracelets and turned to Layla. “Who made these?”
“Oh, that would be Jo. He made a set for a friend and had extra yarn left so he made a second set. Do you want them?”
I nodded before turning back to the desk. Grabbing a post-it note, I scrawled,Thanks for the bracelets, Jo! They’re lovely. I signed my name at the bottom before sticking the note where the bracelets had been.
“Thanks, Layla. Gotta go!” I waved at her before leaving the room. Checking my watch, I saw that it was five fifteen already. Time to go home and get ready.
4
Brady
Ipressedthebuzzerto Charlie’s apartment building and waited for him to buzz me in. After a little contemplation, I’d picked a light-pink, floaty shirt that ended at my mid-thighs and paired it up with black leggings. I’d kept my makeup to a minimum and worn my heels, if only because I wanted to look taller than I was. I was also hoping that seeing my style would make Charlie believe more firmly that he could dress however he liked and no one would give a shit. There were always some assholes, of course, but I’d learned to ignore them a long time ago, and I hoped Charlie would be able to do that too.
The door to the building clicked open, and I headed to the elevators at the back of the lobby. I looked around as I walked and realized the building had a very posh feel to it. I hadn’t paid much attention while walking here, but it looked like the apartments here would be pretty expensive, if they were anything like this.
When I stepped into the elevator, my eyebrows shot up when I realized Charlie lived in the penthouse suite. Was Charlie rich? He’d just moved here, hadn’t he? Maybe he was a trust-fund baby of some kind?
I shook off the questions, admonishing myself. It didn’t matter if Charlie was rich or not. He’d had to hide his true self for years, and it didn’t matter how much money he had if he wasn’t happy.
