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Simon made sustained eye contact with River, something that didn’t happen that often.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. I was myself. Not that I had a choice," he added wryly. "I was myself and he was himself and slowly, through a lot of awkward shit—a lot, River—he kept trying to understand. And I kept trying to show him. And …" Simon shrugged.
"That’s it," River said, disappointed. "You were both yourselves."
"Well. Yes."
"You’re useless to me, Burke," River said.
Simon grinned. "So I’ve heard." He scraped up his last bite of pie thoughtfully. "What’s the issue?"
"You know. Shit’s hard."
Simon nodded. He wasn’t really someone you could bullshit, so River didn’t try.
"Okay, so, um. I guess I don’t know what his deal is with … gender stuff? And me. And um. I dunno if he … I dunno if we … I just don’t know if I …"
"Right, sure, got it," Simon said.
"Shut up," River laughed. "Ugh, okay. He knows my pronouns and he’s never misgendered me. Which is good. But I don’t know how he thinks of me, or what his preferences are, and … it just. Freaks me out."
Simon nodded.
"So sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you have to talk it through with him."
"I was afraid you were gonna say that," River grumbled.
"Yeah, I know, it’s the fucking worst."
"Another round to soften the blow of having to talk to people?" River asked.
"Definitely."
River went to the counter and got another piece of pie for each of them: blueberry for Simon and peach for River.
Pie procured, they looked at one another, and shared the deep sympathy that’s the provenance of those who have to navigate atypical existences in a world that doesn’t make space for them.
"I think it’s a three-round problem," Simon said.
"I couldn’t agree more," said River, and rose to procure a third slice of pie.
CHAPTER 11
River
The final morning of Craftmas dawned cold and sunny in Garnet Run, and as River woke, showered, dressed, and prepared for the day, they had imaginary conversations with Cassidy Darling.
By the time they saw the real Cassidy Darling, they figured, they’d be comfortable with him.
This was a method Simon had suggested the night before over their fourth round of pie. (It had proven to be a five-round evening and River had arrived home in good spirits and with a vague conviction that they should learn how to make pie.) He’d done it when getting to know Jack and they’d been blissfully happy together for three years now, so River was willing to try.
They had not expected that the real Cassidy Darling would roll up to his booth in worn black jeans that were frayed at the ankle where they hit work boots and clung to his ass, and a worn black T-shirt that seemed as if it’d shrunk slightly in the wash, so that the entire thing shifted when he moved, worn cotton slipping over smooth skin and rounded muscle like satin when he bent or stretched or twisted. The T-shirt had a small dot of bleach near the collar in the back and it had worn through to show skin beneath it.
The outfit made the words dry up on River’s tongue and bunch together, so that when Cassidy said hello and asked how their night had been, River said a string of words that concertinaed into an incomprehensible slab of sound.
They thought back to round five (pecan for River; key lime for Simon) and Simon’s guide to how to be yourself in two steps. Step one: act like you would if you were alone; step two: when you realize that you can’t act like you would if you were alone, get as close as you can.
River absently cursed Simon and attempted to turn back the sands of time so that they hadn’t spoken at all.
"Sorry, what was that?" Cassidy asked politely, as if he had simply failed to hear River.
"Pie," was what came out of River’s mouth then. And they threw a thumb’s up sign in there for good measure. Clarity, that was really what it was all about.
"Pie," Cassidy echoed. "Pie sounds good."
River nodded miserably.
Soon after the doors opened to the public and capitalist pandemonium began, Simon and Jack approached, looking extremely out of place. Jack wore jeans and a black hoodie, his brown hair wild and his mien clearly communicating Don’t fuck with me. Simon was holding his hand and seemed to have attempted to fit in by wearing a hand knit scarf in wild shades of green and pink.
River smiled thinking of him choosing it, saying, Pink is basically red, but lighter.
Simon was subtle and made for River with only a passing scan of everything to either side of them. Jack, had no such subtlety, giving Cassidy an up-and-down look that might’ve been a come on (if he hadn’t clearly had eyes only for Simon) or a threat.
