Chapter 7 #2
Mia’s talking about metabolism, Puck realizes.
But her response hits them in a softer place, too.
Back at Emory, it was easy for Puck to believe their life was just like Mia’s, just with a twist. A queer garnish on a classic cocktail.
In the hermetic bubble of a college campus, separated from broader civilization, a straight girl and a lesbian going through some gender trouble could feel more proximate to each other than they otherwise might.
However different they might have been on the inside, most of their day-to-day lives took place in the same two-hundred-square-foot room, a world away from the world.
But after graduation, when Puck stayed in Atlanta and Mia moved to New York with Zander, phone calls weren’t enough to preserve that feeling.
Their friendship didn’t weaken right away.
But there was a gradual undertow Puck could sense as the structures of their lives started to diverge.
All the friends Mia and Zander made in New York were other straight couples; they didn’t adopt some new queer weirdo to occupy the hole Puck left in their heart.
It sometimes made Puck wonder whether Mia’s support back in school was accidental.
If Residence Life had paired her with a College Republican, would she have been just as nice to her? Did she even want a gay friend?
Not that the same principle didn’t apply to Puck in reverse.
They dove headlong into Atlanta’s lesbian scene after graduation.
And they didn’t try to find some normie but surprisingly funny hot blond woman to serve as a substitute for Mia.
In fact, outside of Homewreckers, they almost never have occasion to interact with straight people anymore.
Being queer, Puck has come to realize, is like living abroad in your own country; you mostly hang out with the other expats.
By age twenty-seven, shortly before Mia broke up with Zander, Puck could tell they were starting to speak different languages.
On those rare visits in person over long weekends, the old magic was still there.
But otherwise, Mia was unironically using phrases like “biological clock,” while Puck was dealing with a new wave of younger lesbians complaining about a “top shortage.” Mia was deep into a years-long relationship, dealing with trust issues and shared utility bills; meanwhile, Puck was entertaining a revolving door of fleeting partners Mia could barely track.
Sometimes they laughed about the differences between their life paths.
But in Puck’s worst moments, the disparity fed their deep, almost unutterable insecurity that queerness was a sort of perpetually delayed adolescence.
It felt sometimes like heterosexual life at least had the dignity of evolving seasons, while being queer was a sort of eternal summer, pleasurable but ephemeral, and ultimately meaningless.
So, it’s hard not to feel like this Robyn girl has replaced them.
Like she represents Mia’s commitment not just to this wedding, but to an entire universe that doesn’t include them.
Indeed, as attracted as Puck is to Robyn, they have to admit she looks like the mascot for straight girls, and Mia is signing up for varsity.
“Well, maybe I’ll take up croquet as a workout when I get back home,” Puck jokes to Mia, returning to the conversation. “How much do you think a mallet weighs? Five pounds? Think I can get bulging triceps like Peter?”
But it seems Mia’s not in the mood for humor, either.
She looks down at her drink, picks off the lemon rind from the rim of her glass, and plunks it down in the bowl next to Puck’s unused lime wedge.
A grand piano starts playing in the background.
Mendelssohn, maybe, if Puck’s memories of playing flute in orchestra are still intact.
“Listen, Puck,” Mia says, her tone more sober than Puck wants to be right now. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation in the hallway yesterday.”
“And?” Puck doesn’t like where this is headed.
“And I want you to know that I’m happy,” Mia continues, her voice hitting a pleading note that catches Puck off guard. “Really happy.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t—”
“You didn’t have to,” she interrupts. “I know what you’re thinking. And I know how it looks: me moving here with him, me not working. But it’s not forever. Damon just came into my life at a time when I needed a break anyway.”
A “break” is how it starts. Treating a trip to HomeGoods like the main event in a day?
That’s how it ends. It’s jarring to hear her talk like this, as though her life is a lazy river and she can just float along until she feels like rejoining the rapids.
Puck doesn’t have and never will have the luxury of kicking back while a husband provides everything.
And Mia—the old Mia—wouldn’t have wanted that either.
She sounds uncannily like the hundreds of women who have come on Homewreckers over the years and tried to persuade the producers that they’re head over heels in love with the world’s most mediocre men.
But this could be a situation in which she is looking, at least subconsciously, to be questioned.
If you’re really sure of something, you shouldn’t need to persuade anyone else to believe it too.
They can level with Mia now. They don’t want to be too reckless, but there’s space for some real talk, and they decide to take it. The plan can get thrown in the bin if this works. No one ever needs to know what Puck was prepared to do.
“So, you really want to get married? To Damon McLeod? At the Athenian?” they ask, hopefully keeping their exasperation within acceptable limits. “Do you know how crazy that would have sounded to us back at Emory?”
Mia looks hurt, like she wasn’t expecting Puck to double down on their doubts.
“But we’re not back at Emory,” she insists.
“We graduated nine years ago. And Damon’s really sweet, actually.
I want to marry him, and yes, he just so happens to come from money, and yes, his family just so happens to be able to afford this big, beautiful resort.
But you know I couldn’t care less about all this stuff, right?
I’m not some snobby bitch. I’m still me. ”
Puck could say that no one should ever describe the man they want to marry as “really sweet, actually.” They could say that “coming from money” is a hell of a way to acknowledge that Damon belongs to one of the wealthiest families in the United States.
And if they were feeling extremely uncharitable, they could say that Mia might not be a snobby bitch, but she’s certainly figuring out how to blend in.
Befriending Robyn is a pretty good start.
But if they’re going to keep their cover, and it looks like they’ll have to, Puck decides it’s best to play it cool right now.
There was a window for honesty—the old kind they once shared during late nights back at the dorm—but it has passed.
Mia’s so deep in this thing that there’s no reaching her with conventional methods.
Just like those Homewreckers girls, she needs to come face-to-face with what she actually wants before she can admit she’s been telling herself a lie.
It’s only Monday. There’s still plenty of time left.
“And I’m still me, I guess,” Puck says with a shrug. “Kind of an asshole.”
The peace offering hangs in the air.
“Not an asshole,” Mia offers. “But a little blunt. Always have been.”
It’s true. By virtue of being the only queer person in their friend group, Puck always had something of a permission slip to utter uncomfortable truths.
It was the one area where their outsider status was an advantage.
But it may not work as well outside of Emory, they’re realizing. At least, not with Mia.
“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday,” Puck says, gesturing around at the columns and the varnished wood cabinetry behind the bar. “This is just a lot. You can acknowledge that, I hope. We used to do six-dollar Mondays at Moe’s, and now look where we are.”
“I know,” Mia says. “But we’re roomies … right?”
There’s a shakiness to the question—a quaver in Mia’s voice that she maybe doesn’t intend, but doesn’t go unnoticed.
Twice during this conversation, she has made a point of reminding Puck that they’re not in college anymore, but now that she wants to brush everything under the rug, they’re “roomies” again?
That’s how Puck can tell Mia is at war with herself.
But the time for diplomacy is over. The kindest thing Puck can do for Mia is form an allegiance with the deeply buried part of her who knows this is a bad idea—who like Puck is probably already seeing and bracing for disaster.
Puck scoops their terrible drink off the bar and holds it aloft. “Cheers to you and Damon.”
Mia regards them warily, then decides to accept the olive branch. She grabs her cocktail and clinks it against Puck’s glass. “Cheers.”
There’s probably a curse for toasting a union you plan to disrupt. For now, this drink is punishment enough.