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“Is there anything you don’t like?” she asks.
“What?”
“You asked me if there was anything I didn’t want you to do when we’re together, so I’m asking you the same.”
“Oh. No. I’m good, I guess.”
“Is there anything you like?”
“That I like?”
“Yeah. Is there anything you want?”
“I liked when we used the toys,” I say, slowly. I can’t help but think of the butt plug, the harness and what she could do with it. The darkness, at least, hides my blush.
“That was fun,” she agrees. “Do you...have you used toys a lot?” she asks. “You seemed knowledgeable.”
I shrug. “Sometimes,” I say. “A fair amount.”
She snorts. “We should use them, again. If you like them.”
I roll toward her. In the dark, I can only see the outline of her. It’s beyond past the time when we should have had “the talk.” But if I can’t see her in the dark, I can’t see the myriad of emotions that will undoubtedly cross her face. I’ll only have the quiet hitch of her breathing and her feet, cold against my shins.
Lulu is uncharacteristically quiet and still. Like maybe she knows I’m about to say something that will blow up this carefully crafted shell of a relationship we’ve created. I could ask herwhat am I to you?Maybe I won’t get back the answer that I want but more than that, maybe Iwill. Maybe Lulu will tell me exactly how she feels. In fact, I’m sure she would. Lulu always says what she’s thinking. But I’m not ready yet. Not ready to be the partner she deserves. I’ve barely been able to participate in our group sessions. Other than Lulu, I still haven’t made many friends in the study. I’m in a dead-end job and my grandfather still doesn’t know who I am. She deserves a whole person. Not these pieces I can scrape together.
So instead, I say, “I’d like that.”
“We’ve never really talked about it,” she says. Lulu finds my hand in the dark, squeezes. “Other than in the context of your grandfather.”
“Talked about what?”
“You,” she says. “And George.”
“You mean, that I’m bi?”
The blankets rustle as she moves closer. “Yeah. I just want you to know that you can tell me things, too.”
I squeeze her hand back. “I know. Thank you.” And then, because I can’t not ask, “Is that a... It doesn’t bother you, does it?”
“Definitely not.” Her voice is warm, soothing. Exactly the balm the fluttering in my heart needed. “What kind of friend would I be?”
But that’s exactly it. For some friends, girlfriends, it can be a problem. Since George I’ve dated, had sex with, men and women casually. I’ve never had a non-binary date but I’d say yes to the right person. Sometimes, it is a problem when even the most progressive of people have some casual biphobia they can’t seem to shake.
“What kind of friend would I be, especially when I’m not, like, exactly straight?”
I roll toward her in the dark, thinking I’ve misheard her. “You’re not what?”
I can practically hear her roll her eyes as she snorts a little laugh. “I mean, I haven’t... I’ve never... I just...sometimes when I...” She shimmies in the bed. “I don’t just think about guys.”
That’s how it always starts.
I roll back to stare up at the ceiling. “Cool. Well, thanks for telling me.”
“I’ve never told anyone that before.”
“Thanks for letting me be your first.” I mean it. I try to inject how much into my words. It means something to me that she feels safe enough to tell me things, anything.
She yawns and switches into Lulu Mode. She tells me about something funny George said tonight, about how cute Betty is. She tells me about an article she’s working on, and Audrey and Miranda and how she’s going out to dinner with them. Her words get slower, fewer and farther between. She falls asleep, my hand still in hers. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I can see her better. The cool tone of her hair in the dim moonlight, fanning out against my dark blue pillowcase. The curve of her nose. She frowns in her sleep, like she’s working hard at it, the way she works hard at everything. When I finally fall asleep, I dream of lavender and laughter and the sound of my grandfather saying my name, instead of my father’s.
