Three
CAPTION:
HOW I REALIZED I’M AN ASEXUAL LESBIAN
Replying to @Alisha’s comment
I’m also 27 and haven’t dated anyone! I have no idea if I’m asexual tho. How did you realize you were?
@ANGELA CLOSED CAPTIONS: On some level, growing up, I always knew I was different from my straight friends and family members. Yeah, I found some guys cute, but I never wanted to kiss or date any of them. When it came to girls, there was a lot of mental gymnastics going on in my mind to “explain away the gay,” so to speak. It didn’t occur to me until I was older that it maybe wasn’t straight to imagine romantic dates or holding hands with other girls.
As far as being ace, I’ve found it really hard to explain my identity without falling into TMI territory, so bear with me. I once heard someone say that sex for aces happens almost exclusively in our heads, and it’s like a lightbulb went off. Then I read a passage in Loveless by Alice Oseman that echoed the same thought. For me, what that means is I’ve never been actively turned on by another person, even someone I’ve had a crush on, or had sexual fantasies that include me in them. But I have had fantasies and I do have a sex drive; it’s just not activated by a desire to have sex with a specific person, if that makes sense.
So when you put together my history of romantic attraction to women and femme presenting people with my lack of sexual attraction, you get something like me: an asexual lesbian.
The first week of February, my parents leave for San Juan. Julian arrives the week after.
I almost don’t recognize him when I answer the door. His black hair is a bit overlong and curls against the collar of his T-shirt and a thick layer of scruff covers his cheeks. The bags under his eyes and dirty sweats tell me he’s been through it. I tilt my head before letting him through the door, not used to him looking anything other than clean-shaven and put together.
“Is that a hot Cheeto stain?”
He cracks a grin as he swats my hand away from the red patch on his shoulder. “Nice to see you again, too, cousin.”
“No prima? What happened to your Duolingo streak?” I ruffle his hair as he passes by me with a duffel bag. “And while we’re at it, when’s the last time you got a haircut?”
“That stupid green owl needed to die. If that means I’m a no sabo kid till I die, then so be it. And I’m a broke college student. You think I have money for haircuts?”
“Is that what this new look of yours is? Broke college kid couture?” When he avoids my gaze, something nags at me. “Are you doing okay, Julian?”
I meant it when I called him my favorite cousin, though maybe that’s not saying much. He’s the only one who never made fun of me when Briana and Esme found out I’d never been kissed. While they cackled behind their hands as they told the rest of our family, Julian was the one who found me crying in the guest bathroom. To comfort me, he confessed that he’d never been kissed either. Though it hadn’t meant much coming from a preteen, it was still nice to hear.
Maybe that’s why it’s hard for me to see him as anything other than that thirteen-year-old kid. It kills me that he felt the need to strike out on his own when his father refused to accept his identity. Lots of kids his age work through college, but I hate to think that he cut himself off from accepting help from anyone else in the family because of what his father said.
“Of course I am.” He finally looks at me, but I’m not sure I believe him. Less so when he diverts the conversation away from him. “I mean, I’m not TikTok famous or anything, but I’m getting by all right.”
“Julian—”
“How many followers are you at now?” he goes on before I can answer. “Just promise me you won’t forget the little people in your life once you’re rich and famous and too good for us common folk. You’ll need us around if you want to stay humble.”
“You’re hilarious.” I shake my head at him. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”
“Storage.” He shrugs, a maddening gesture that has me reaching for my phone. “I’ll get it later. Who are you calling?”
“Reinforcements,” I answer. “My best friend is dating a former Dallas Cowboy, so that ought to do it.”
“You’re friends with an NFL player?” His eyes bug out at me before he shakes his head with a bone-weary sigh. “We’ve already lost you to the fame monster, I fear.”
Marcela and Theo arrive twenty minutes later. With all our combined strength (but mostly Theo’s), it doesn’t take long to empty Julian’s storage unit and set all his belongings into the guest bedroom across the hall from mine.
“Moving sure takes a lot out of you,” Julian says once he’s all settled in, limbs sprawled on the living room couch in a dramatic show of exhaustion for someone who left most of the grunt work to the athlete in the group. Not that Theo complained once. In fact, he even offered to rearrange Julian’s guest room so the bed wasn’t blocking the desk.
“Glad to see you’re already making yourself right at home.” I smile dryly at him.
“Thanks again for letting me stay here,” he says, sincere for the first time since showing up. “I managed to find a part-time job that doesn’t conflict with my school hours. You’ll hardly know I’m here.”
I’m struck by a sudden wave of disappointment. It’s been months since we’ve gotten to hang out. I’d assumed we’d have more time to catch up while living together.
We don’t want you to be lonely.
I shake my mom’s voice out of my head. Whatever. I have my own life too. I have a new semester of school and work, though since all my classes are online I’m usually able to kill two birds with one stone by completing assignments during downtime. But I have friends I see every day—well, one friend, and Marcela has meetings that occupy most of her days. And now that she’s with Theo, I try not to ask her to hang out as much as I used to. As it is, I feel bad calling her for an emergency two weeks in a row.
“What about weekends?” I ask Julian. “I hope you gave yourself a break somewhere in your schedule. I burned out to a crisp and ended up switching fields after graduation, and that was without an extra job on top of student teaching.”
Plus, I don’t like the thought of being in the house by myself all the time. Maybe my parents are right to worry about how their trip will affect me. I’m desperate for human interaction, and I’m not even alone yet.
“I have Sundays and every other Saturday off. Though I imagine most of that time will be occupied grading and lesson planning. I can’t believe I willingly signed myself up for this stress.” He laughs good-naturedly.
“Kinda sucks that we’ll hardly see each other,” I say glumly. “We should find some time to catch up.”
“Definitely.” He grins slyly. “The only two queer cousins in this family need to stick together.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“But speaking of cousins…” His tone turns hesitant, and I know exactly what’s coming next. “Did you leave the chat?”
Marcela and Theo bound down the stairs before I can reply. My best friend always knows when to save me, even if she doesn’t actually know she’s doing it. Theo’s steps slow as he makes his way toward us, eventually stopping right in front of Julian. He looks sheepish as he rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “So, I sort of accidentally broke your dresser.”
“It’s a piece of crap.” Julian waves him off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. “I can buy you a new one. The thing just came apart as soon as I set it down—”
“Seriously, you don’t have to worry about it,” Julian says with a laugh. “It’s from Walmart, and it’s been with me since my first move. I was due for a new one anyway.”
“Well, let me at least give you my number in case you change your mind.” I watch them exchange numbers in awe. Theo and Julian don’t have enough in common to be friends, but I thought the same of Theo and me once.
“I hear you’re student teaching at Jefferson. I’m a football coach there,” Theo says, and there it is. The start of the most unexpected friendship I’ve ever borne witness to. “If you have fourth or sixth period off, we can get lunch together sometime.”
“I have fourth off,” Julian replies, eyes lighting up. “I’d love that.”
Marcela and I exchange glances as the guys trade phones to input their information into, and then again when Theo enters the garage and comes back with my dad’s toolbox and a look of determination.
“Your boyfriend destroys someone else’s property and makes a new best friend,” I tell Marcela as they head upstairs. “Should we be taking notes?”
“Probably. Especially since Theo’s school is getting a new assistant librarian, and I heard she’s our age.”
“Really?” I rub my chin in thought.
She nods. “I already sent her an email and followed her on Instagram. That’s not creepy, is it?”
“A little try-hard, maybe.” Her face morphs into panic. “But if we’re lucky, she’ll be as desperate for new friends as we are.”
“If it wasn’t for your little inconvenient crush, we could bring Krystal into the fold. I’ve almost invited her to brunch three times.”
“What? When ?” I ask. “Have you been going to the bar without me?”
“No.” She shrinks beneath my accusing gaze. “We just message back and forth on Instagram.”
The gasp I let loose is rife with betrayal.
“It’s nothing! We just reply to each other’s stories every once in a while.”
“You follow each other?” My voice is so quiet, I barely hear it myself. “ And DM each other?”
“I mean…”
“Where else do you follow each other, huh?” I cross my arms over my chest. “Do you send each other funny videos on TikTok too?”
“Angela, why are you so upset?”
A bone-deep sigh sinks my shoulders. From the outside, my life doesn’t look any different, but I’m different. I’m out. I’m not living the lie I once was for so long. But am I any closer to the life I want for myself? Is my mom right—should I be trying harder to find someone so I don’t end up alone?
“My mom is right. I’m going to be alone forever.”
“No, you’re not.” She takes a seat next to me as I plop onto the couch. “Why the hell would she say that to you?”
“She didn’t. Not in those exact words, anyway. Maybe it’s all in my head, but sometimes it just feels like my parents are pushing me into something I’m not ready for.” Though maybe it feels more like something I’ll never have than anything else. It’s been twenty-seven years and nada, after all.
“So what if you’re not ready for what your parents want?” Marcela says. “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never done something unless it’s what you wanted to do.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that’s how she sees me. I haven’t shown her, or anyone for that matter, the truth, have I?
“That’s not exactly true,” I say. “I waited twenty-seven years before coming out, Marcela. Maybe part of it was not knowing what identity fit me perfectly, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been lying to everyone, including myself, for years .”
“Oh,” Marcela says, looking surprised. “You never told me you felt that way.”
“Yeah, well. It was hard enough admitting as much to myself, let alone my best friend. You’re the one person who’s supposed to know me best, but how can you when for so long I didn’t even know who I am?” I pull in a shaky breath. “I’ve wasted so much time pretending to be someone I’m not. The amount of catching up I have to do feels insurmountable sometimes.”
“Angela, no one knows better than I do about wasted time,” she reminds me. “Does ten years pining over a complete douchebag ring a bell?”
“Right.” I return her smirk. “I guess we do have that in common, huh?”
“When it comes to experiencing romance, sex, or even your first real relationship, there isn’t a right or wrong timeline to follow. It’s okay to take your time until you figure out what you want.”
“I’ve taken more than enough time, Marcela. I’ve had literally nothing but time, and you know what? I’m over it. I’m ready for the next step.”
“What’s the next step, then? What do you want?”
If anyone could pull that kind of thing off, it’s you.
I can’t get Krystal’s voice out of my head, or the idea I pulled out of thin air after two and a half drinks. She’s right about one thing. There’s a reason I put myself out there, and I think it’s because I’m finally ready to do something. I want to be kissed. I want to experience all the romance I’ve carefully curtailed for years. I’m ready for something .
“I want…” I trail off, knowing Marcela is hanging on every word. That she’ll help me in any way she can, and I plan on cashing out the first chance she’ll allow. My smile must be as devilish as my thoughts, because her sympathetic expression is steadily ebbing to one of exasperated weariness. “To finally get some firsts out of the way.”
A plan not unlike the one I described to Krystal is forming in the back of my brain. A scavenger hunt, and the final clue leads directly to me. Five clues and five locations in total. A whole city to work with. But where to start?
I’ve gone twenty-seven long years without a trace of romance in my life. If I’m going to be getting all the firsts out of the way, they’re going out with a bang.
“I’m gonna do it.” I jump off the couch. “I’m gonna do it !”
“Wait, what?” I can hear the confusion in Marcela’s voice as I run up the stairs. She reaches my room by the time I’ve opened my laptop. “Angela, what’s going on?”
“One second.” It’s only after I’ve finished typing that I can finally put my idea into words. “Okay, done! I’m not simply going to get my first kiss out of the way. There’s no romance in that. I’m going to make them earn it.”
She looks at me sideways. “Come again?”
“The person I share my first kiss with will first have to prove themself worthy of my hand in a series of trials.”
“I’m sorry, when did we travel back into medieval times?” Marcela teases. “Trials? Worthy of your hand ? Who are you, a runaway princess in a fantasy novel?”
“No, not a fantasy novel. They’re all running away from weddings and arranged marriages in favor of independence.” I smile smugly. “I’m a wallflower, but I’m tired of sitting in the corner of every ball year after year. I want to be courted. I want suitors . A whole flock of them.”
“Wallflower.” She puts her hands on her hips, a flabbergasted expression firmly in place. “You really think that’s an accurate depiction?”
“You haven’t read a single historical romance I’ve lent you, have you?”
“Excuse me if dukes don’t quite do it for me,” she huffs, sitting at the end of my bed. “But go on. What scheme have you come up with, exactly?”
“Not a scheme. A scavenger hunt.” I turn my computer around so she can see the screen. “The first clue will be found at the bar in the form of a riddle that leads to a second location, where the next clue can be found. The third location will have another clue, and so on and so forth until the first person to reach the final location—where I’ll be waiting—wins my first kiss.”
I don’t need to tell her which bar. Havana Bar has been our regular haunt for years. And Krystal is the one who helped me come up with the idea in the first place. Maybe she’d be willing to help me pull off the first clue.
“Take a risk at the tallest point in the city,” Marcela reads from the Word doc I’ve been typing my ideas in. “The tallest point being, what? Tower of the Americas?”
“Bingo,” I say. “From there, they’ll spot the next clue in the form of my favorite art piece. Last time I was there, it took my breath away.” I scroll through my phone for the photo and then hand her my phone. “The picture doesn’t do it justice. We have to go back in person.”
The day my parents left, I also needed to leave. Just the house, at least. The walls were too empty, the halls too silent. So I drove downtown to do some sightseeing.
At the highest point of the tower are the city’s most breathtaking views. Some would argue it’s more beautiful at night, when the city is aglow with lights from other buildings downtown. I went during the day, which proved to be almost as monotonous as people say. There was nothing to see but concrete roofs and tall metal buildings, low-hanging gray clouds and no sun in sight whatsoever. Until I spotted a flash of purple graffiti on the side of a concrete building.
The mural was of a woman with a torn chest, holding out her own heart in raised palms. The offering in her hands was a slash of color—purple and black, more bruise than organ. Despite the wound in her chest bleeding white, she was smiling, almost wickedly. There was a knowing gleam in her painted eyes, as if she were all too aware of the power of what she held in her hands. As if she was daring the unknown person before her to take it.
“Wow.” Marcela tilts her head at the image. “That’s… Okay, yeah, I’m not even gonna try to understand what this painting means.”
I let out a laugh, unsurprised. “It’s okay. I’m probably interpreting it in a way that would make the artist cringe anyway.”
I take my phone back from her. I stare down at it again, flooded with a feeling I’m not sure how to name. “This is probably going to sound weird, but I feel like I can see myself in this woman.”
“The woman who tore out her own heart?” Marcela’s face twists with incomprehension.
“That’s not the way I see it. She’s raging into love the way soldiers rage into war. Love is an act of bravery to this woman. It doesn’t make her weak or vulnerable. It makes her powerful. She’s offering up her heart like it’s a challenge to be conquered.”
Marcela nods in understanding, even as her gaze turns wary. “She’s you.”
“She’s me,” I say. “And it’s not something I imagine many people will understand. To the people who do, they’ll dig deeper and discover the artist is local and showcases her work during First Friday. I haven’t figured out what comes next yet.”
“It looks like you’re really set on this wild-goose chase,” Marcela says. “You couldn’t just join dating apps like the rest of us?”
“Not a chance.”
“Are you sure this won’t have the opposite effect and put too much pressure on your shoulders instead? First times are awkward. Take it from the girl who accidentally shoved her tongue down her first boyfriend’s throat in an attempt to impress him with her nonexistent kissing skills.”
“You were also a teenager and didn’t know any better.”
“I was eighteen!”
“Nevertheless, I’ve wasted too much time to have all my firsts be that awkward.” I shudder. “How about we put it to a vote? Let’s see what my new followers have to say about this.”
“I can’t believe I know an influencer now.” There’s equal parts rancor and pride in her tone. But it only lasts for a moment before she says, “I know you joked about dating the internet, but are you sure you want to invite social media into this?”
I’ve made a few more videos since going viral, but they haven’t been nearly as successful as the update video I put out after deleting the accidental thirst trap. I wasn’t surprised. I never thought that I’d suddenly get a massive following and every video I did afterward would get the same numbers. However, I am gaining an audience. In the past month, I already have almost seven thousand followers.
“I get that you’re searching for community,” Marcela goes on. “I really liked the last video you put out, about figuring out your identity. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I’d hardly call myself an influencer.” Though I’ll admit, the prospect does sound exciting. “But I want to do this. I need to do this.”
Marcela heaves a long-suffering sigh. “There’s no chance I can talk you out of it, is there?”
“Not at all,” I say, pointing the camera at us. “Besides, what’s the point of searching for love if there isn’t any flare to it?”
CAPTION:
SCAVENGER HUNT: YAY OR NAY?
@ANGELA CLOSED CAPTIONS: I know I joked a couple weeks back about dating the internet, but I have an idea that just might be bonkers enough to work… if there’s anyone watching who’d be interested in being my first kiss, that is.
I explain the idea in much the same way I did to Krystal last week and Marcela now. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to happen once the video is posted. Definitely not to go viral again, but after two hours I have twice the normal amount of engagement.
Notifications flood my lock screen like a dam has broken. I’m stunned by all the attention, but far more pleased than anxious. Even so, I can’t help the niggle of anxiety that makes goose bumps erupt across my skin. Marcela’s nervous glances don’t help either.
@LetiIsTrying: This sounds incredible! Dying to join!
@Kylie: I love the scavenger hunt idea! What city is this happening in? How do we sign up?
@Priya: Wow, you really were serious about dating the internet. Hyped to see how this all turns out!
“Looks like I win,” I say, scrolling through the comments with a ridiculously wide smile on my face. The same rush I felt when I first came up with this idea hits me again.
But there’s also a pang of regret weighing on my chest. Here I am at almost twenty-eight years old, and it’s taken me this long for the shame I’ve harbored for years to finally begin to abate. I needed this normalized a decade ago, when I was made to feel embarrassed for my inexperience. When I made the choice to hide behind facades instead of embrace who I really am, unapologetically.
And then, inevitably, I scroll down to a rude comment.
“What’s wrong?” Marcela asks. When I don’t answer, she grabs the phone from my hands. “‘Who makes it to her age without being kissed? Don’t fall for it, she’s lying for attention,’” she reads aloud. Then she scoffs. “How do you delete comments on here?”
“Don’t delete it,” I say. “Five new ones will pop up in its place, anyway.”
“People online truly are the scum of the earth, aren’t they?” She hands me my phone. “So, you’re really going through with this?”
I nod, excitement and something else building in my chest again. Determination. “I’m gonna do it. Now I need to start planning.”