Chapter 8 #3
Simone tucked her knees up against her chest, which was difficult to do in snow pants and while holding a hot beverage.
She managed it anyway. Not only was it weird to be crushing on Ryan, her former nemesis, but more importantly, she was on a mission to meet women, and she wasn’t about to lose focus.
“I didn’t think I’d feel like this again,” Ryan said to Simone as they both gazed into the flames. The rest of their friends were engulfed in their own conversations.
“Feel like what?” she asked.
“Like my life might not be a pile of shit forever.”
“Ah.” She was still curious to know what he’d been through, but she was scared to ask him outright.
Not because it might make him uncomfortable—she kind of liked making him uncomfortable, to be honest—but because she didn’t want to bond with him any deeper.
“So,” she began instead, “how did a straight, IPA-drinking guy like you end up so comfortable in queer spaces like this?”
“By having two moms.”
Simone raised her eyebrows in surprise. “No way!” she said brightly, and maybe a little enviously, too.
Growing up, she’d had exactly zero exposure to what a happy life as an out queer woman could look like.
“That’s so cool. And it makes sense now why you’re so comfortable—you’ve been around queer people your whole life. ”
“It’s all normal for me. Honestly, I was scared to tell my parents I was straight.”
She snorted. “Must be nice.”
“When I was a kid, and they’d ask me about my crushes, or if I was taking anyone to a dance, they’d always be super inclusive about it: like, ‘So, Ry, is there a special girl or guy or any other person you’re thinking about asking to semiformal?’ ”
“They call you ‘Ry’?” she interjected.
“Uh-huh. If I ever hear ‘Ryan,’ I know I’m in deep shit.”
“It’s the same when my parents use my first name and my middle name together.”
Ryan smiled. “What’s your middle name?”
Simone wrinkled her nose. “It’s awful.”
“C’mon.”
“It’s the preppiest name in the history of the world.”
“Now I need to know.”
She grimaced. “Tinsley.”
His smile became a grin.
“It’s not funny!” she protested.
“I’m not laughing,” he replied. “I think it’s cute. Simone Tinsley.”
She waved him off, trying to ignore the way her heart had swelled when he’d used her full name. “I interrupted you. You were saying how your parents would always be super inclusive…”
With another sip of beer, he picked up his story.
“I always knew I was free to be with whoever, which was great, but I also knew pretty early on that I was straight. So, this one summer in high school, we were at Pride, and this guy was handing out buttons with different labels on them. I took one that said ‘ally,’ and my parents were like, ‘Oh, honey, we’re so proud of you for living your truth!’ ”
“Oh my God.”
“I know. I came out as straight to my lesbian moms at Pride.”
“That’s hilarious,” she said, and she wanted to laugh, but there was a tinge of envy getting in her way.
If she’d grown up the way Ryan had, she would have always known she was bi, and she never would have been ashamed of it.
She probably would have had all kinds of sexual and romantic experiences by now.
Instead, she was a twenty-nine-year-old who couldn’t even tell when women were flirting with her.
“For the record, I’m aware of how privileged I am that I got to ‘come out’ to my parents as a straight man. I do think they were a little disappointed,” he added as an aside, “but in no way am I comparing my situation to yours.”
She sighed.
“You okay?” he asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.
Simone hadn’t wanted to get all deep with him, and yet, there was something about the way he gazed at her that made her want to do just that.
She explained what her parents were like, how she’d had almost no exposure to queerness growing up, and why it therefore took her so long to realize she was bi, and even longer to embrace it.
Ryan listened intently until Simone was finished. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. And I’m happy you ended up finding the Rainbow Museum.”
“Me, too.” She drained the rest of her drink and gazed into the bonfire, grateful their conversation had reached a natural end point. She’d been getting way too comfortable opening up to Ryan. “Now I just need to meet more women.”
Pleasantly lightheaded from the mulled wine, she leaned back and stretched out her legs.
She was that perfect level of buzzed where she could feel herself loosening, like warm honey was oozing through her limbs.
And then an idea popped into her head. Something brilliant. Something devastatingly platonic.
“Ryan,” she said, turning to face him head-on, “you should totally be my wingman.”
He blinked at her. “Me?”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. You are, famously, fun sometimes.”
He swirled what was left of his beer and raised it to his lips, but he kept his eyes on her face—which was definitely only warm because of the bonfire, and not because of anything to do with Ryan. “All right,” he said slowly.
She beamed at him. Thank God he’d agreed. “Cheers!” she exclaimed, raising her empty cup. “To my new wingman.”
“Cheers.” Ryan wasn’t smiling the way Simone was—but then again, was he ever?