52. Failed Stealth Check #2
“So far we've talked about what we need to contain.
What we shouldn't say. Whether Dex needs to change how visible he is.” I shake my head.
“I completely agree that our private life stays private. I am not putting our sex lives online. Nobody needs to know what happens in the basement, who sleeps where, who calls who what, or any of the rest of it.”
Dex opens his mouth.
I point at him.
“No relationship diagram.”
He closes it.
“But I'm not ashamed of this.”
Griffin's hand finds my knee under the table.
I cover it with mine.
“I've spent enough time worrying about whether being myself makes somebody else uncomfortable. My parents. Other people's families. Clients. Random strangers who have absolutely no investment in whether I'm happy.”
The words come easier as I say them.
“I'm willing to be private. I'm not willing to lie.”
Micah nods slowly.
“I don't want us cropping people out of pictures because the explanation is easier. I don't want Dex calling me a friend if someone directly asks who I am. And I really don't want Ronan becoming ‘the roommate’ because he doesn't have a marriage license connecting him to anyone.”
Ronan looks down briefly.
That lands.
Good.
“We can tell the truth without handing strangers the keys to the house,” I finish.
Griffin nods first.
“I'm good with that.”
Micah shrugs. “My family already disowned me, and I just married a man in front of everyone else I care about. Fuck it.”
Dex smiles at him.
Ronan is quiet for another few seconds before he inclines his head. “Agreed.”
Dex turns toward me. “So, marketing girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Public relations wife?”
“Also no.”
“Communications cleric?”
I pause. “Marginally better.”
He grins.
I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
Before I write anything, I call Alexis.
Not for permission.
For another professional opinion.
I explain what's happening while Dex wanders behind me making increasingly unhelpful suggestions.
Alexis listens until I finish. “Do not write a press release.”
Dex points at the phone. “I like her.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“You were thinking in bullet points.”
“I was organizing.”
“Same disease Ronan has,” Dex says.
Ronan doesn't look up. “No.”
Alexis laughs.
Her advice is simple.
Tell the truth.
Don't overexplain.
Don't apologize.
Establish the privacy boundary once.
Then stop feeding the conversation.
We spend twenty minutes writing something all five of us can tolerate.
Dex says my first version sounds like corporate reputation management.
Ronan says Dex's version reveals unnecessary information and contains too many exclamation points.
Micah points at one paragraph and says, “Nobody talks like that.”
He's right.
I delete it.
Eventually, we get there.
Dex chooses one of the wedding photos with all five of us.
Then he posts.
Apparently some of you are better investigators than musicians.
Yes, Micah and I got married. Yes, we're ridiculously happy.
And yes, the people you've seen with us are our family. We're a five-person polycule. Cami and Griffin are married. Micah and I are married. Ronan is equally part of this family even though there isn't a legal marriage attached to his place in it.
We aren't hiding, and none of us are ashamed of the life we've built.
That also doesn't make every part of our relationship public information. We're happy to be honest about who we are. The rest belongs to us.
Thanks to the people who've been kind, curious without being invasive, and supportive.
And no, we're not making a relationship chart.
Dex reads it one more time.
“I still think the chart would get engagement.”
“Post it.”
He does.
For maybe five seconds, nothing happens.
Then his phone starts vibrating.
“Oh, shit.”
Mine lights up next because he's tagged all of us.
So does Micah's.
Griffin picks his up from the table.
Ronan looks at his screen like it has personally violated a boundary.
The comments multiply faster than I can read them.
THE RELATIONSHIP CHART DISCLAIMER.
Honestly? Good for all of you.
Wait so Ronan isn't “just the roommate”? Love that for him.
Dex gasps. “They know my boy's name now.”
Ronan closes his eyes.
Another one appears.
Ronan fan club checking in.
Dex practically climbs across the table.
“YOU HAVE A FAN CLUB.”
“I do not.”
“It literally says you do.”
“One person is not a club.”
“That's how clubs start.”
Micah takes Dex's phone before Ronan kills him.
Then a verified comment appears.
Austin Fletcher.
Knew all five of them for about twelve minutes before realizing they were disgustingly in love. Congrats again, boys. Everybody else stop being weird.
Dex freezes.
Then makes a noise loud enough that Griffin flinches.
“HE COMMENTED.”
“Yes,” Griffin says. “We have eyes.”
A second member of Signal Saints replies to Austin.
Then another known musician Dex has played with.
Then people from Grave Intentions' local circle.
Lair 47’s official page comments.
A tattoo artist from Micah's shop.
Someone who was at the wedding.
The tone shifts quickly.
Not because Austin's approval magically makes our relationship more legitimate.
But because he makes the conversation boring.
Yes, he knows us.
Yes, it's real.
No, this is not some secret scandal.
Move along.
There are still weird comments.
A few invasive questions.
One guy writes:
Dex winning at life, five people???
Before I can grab the phone, Dex answers.
relationships are not Pokémon but thank you
I take his phone.
“You lost comment privileges.”
“That's censorship.”
“Correct.”
Later that night, I update my own website.
Not with our relationship structure.
My professional site doesn't need a family tree.
But I've been thinking about what visibility actually means for me.
Under my About page, beneath the paragraph about content strategy, writing, and client work, I add:
LGBTQIA+, ENM, and kink-friendly. Inclusive work is not a niche here.
I stare at it.
Then add one more line.
This is a safe space for people whose lives don't fit neatly into somebody else's template.
I send the screenshot to Alexis.
She hearts it almost immediately.
Laugherty won't care.
If anything, Alexis will probably ask why I didn't put it up sooner.
I share the wedding photo on my personal socials too, with Dex's post linked beneath it.
My caption is shorter.
My family. Proudly. Privately. Honestly.
Then I put my phone down.
Griffin sits beside me on the couch, one hand resting warm on my thigh.
Across the room, Dex and Micah are arguing about whether Ronan's newly discovered “fan club” requires merchandise.
Ronan is informing them with increasing specificity that it does not.
Nothing feels different.
That's the strange part.
A small and remarkably nosy corner of the internet knows now.
And the house is still the house.
Dex's shoes are still directly in the middle of the walkway.
Micah is eating something that I'm almost positive came off my plate.
Griffin's thumb is moving lazily against my leg.
Ronan looks approximately four minutes away from reaching his people quota and disappearing to his room.
Being public doesn't mean belonging to the public.
It doesn't mean every private thing becomes a secret waiting to leak.
It just means I'm not pretending the people I love disappear when somebody else is looking.
Dex glances up from his phone. “Someone asked for the chart again.”
Ronan doesn't even turn around. “No.”
“I really think there's a market.”
“There isn't.”
“There demonstrably is.”
Micah leans over and kisses the side of Dex's head.
Griffin squeezes my knee.
I look around at all four of them.
No chart required.