Chapter 20
SIMONE SCREAMED LIKE A BANSHEE INTO her pink velvet throw pillow. After watching Ryan leave, she’d trudged to her apartment and collapsed face-first onto the couch, where she planned to stay for the next two weeks—or, quite possibly, until the end of time.
The question she needed to answer wasn’t how she felt about Ryan.
She obviously still had feelings for him—was obviously still attracted to him.
The question was whether she was ready to commit to a relationship with a straight guy so soon after coming out as bi.
What if she committed to Ryan, and they got married, and then she realized, too late, that she actually should have explored more with women before settling down?
Or what if she walked away, and Ryan met someone else, and then she realized, too late, that she’d never want anyone the way she wanted him?
This decision could very well dictate the rest of her life, and she only had fourteen days to make it.
She was running low on oxygen with her face jammed in the pillow.
Rolling onto her side, she grabbed her phone and dragged it off the coffee table.
Maybe the internet could assure her that everything would be okay.
Said no one ever, she thought, as she opened her browser and searched “bisexual woman in heterosexual relationship.” If she could just read about bi women who were perfectly happy to be in relationships with men, maybe she would feel more optimistic.
The first thing that popped up was a personal essay in The Guardian: “I’m a bisexual woman stuck in a heterosexual relationship.
” She sounds like she could be happier, Simone thought, clicking a Reddit post instead.
A bi woman explained that she’d recently come out to a seemingly supportive queer coworker, but when she’d mentioned that she had a boyfriend, the coworker had replied, “Well, that’s disappointing. ”
“That’s why I never tell people I’m bi anymore,” someone else wrote in the comments.
Much like whenever she googled her random aches and pains, Simone desperately wished she could unsee these search results. With a shudder, she exited the browser.
Maybe what she actually needed was therapy.
Simone had never done it before, although from what she understood, didn’t it usually take people a while to find a provider they liked?
And after that, to make actual progress?
What were Simone’s chances of achieving both of those things in the next two weeks?
She didn’t know, but she would try. She went and got her laptop, searched “queer-friendly therapists Toronto,” and scrolled through the results.
Private therapists weren’t covered under OHIP, Ontario’s public health insurance, so she went to her email and pulled up the documents she’d gotten from the Rainbow Museum when she was first hired—the ones that had all the benefits listed, and that she’d merely skimmed in her eagerness to be gainfully employed again.
Simone furrowed her brow. Surely a company whose entire identity was focused on supporting the 2SLGBTQIA+ community would offer robust mental health coverage to its employees—nearly all of whom were queer themselves.
She grabbed her phone and texted Lucy, Seth, and Nina: “Just looking at our health benefits—is it true we only get $300 a year for therapy?” While she waited for a response, she searched for the price of an average therapy appointment in Toronto.
Her stomach dropped. Three hundred bucks was not going to get her far.
“YUP, it sucks,” Lucy wrote back. “I’ve been pestering Frankie about it for a while now.”
“What does he say??” Nina asked.
“That it’s hard to get good benefits when your employee base is on the smaller side like ours, which is fair, TBH. But I still think he could be doing a way better job of negotiating with the provider—or finding a new provider.”
“I’m guessing that’s not super high on his priority list,” Nina wrote.
“Correct,” Lucy replied.
Seth chimed in with three pill emojis. “At least OHIP covers psych visits!!!”
Simone didn’t have it in her to laugh. Who did Frankie think he was, offering such stingy mental health benefits when he claimed to support the queer community? Simone was a bisexual in distress! She needed to talk to someone!
Let me know if you ever wanna hang out. I’d love to catch up. Suddenly, Simone had an idea. She navigated out of her Rainbow Museum group chat and opened the still-unanswered message from Bree.
What if she did have lingering feelings for Bree after all, and it was the reason she couldn’t quite commit to Ryan?
Simone must have read the message at least twenty times in the past two weeks, but she’d never had it in her to respond.
Too risky. But now, things were different.
Not only were she and Ryan on a break, but he’d encouraged her to use this time to figure out what she really wanted in her love life.
Biting her bottom lip, Simone read the message one more time. Then, at last, she typed a response.
AS SIMONE RODE THE ELEVATOR TO the rooftop bar at the Ace Hotel the following Friday, she had the feeling she was doing something wrong. You’re allowed to have cocktails with Bree, she reminded herself again, as the floors ticked higher and higher.
In no way was she cheating on Ryan, because for starters, this wasn’t a date.
And even if it had been, she and Ryan were on a break—a no-contact break, at that.
The day after their fight, she’d texted to say good morning and ask how he was doing.
“To be honest, I need space,” he’d written back.
“I think not talking for the time being would be best for both of us.”
Coming from someone who lately had made her feel so safe, the words were like a current carrying her out to sea alone on a life raft.
Without him, she was unmoored, but she guessed that was the whole idea.
To use her time at sea to find answers. Therefore, when she really thought about it, it would have been irresponsible of Simone not to meet up with Bree.
And it wasn’t as though she was being unfair to Bree, luring her ex out for drinks just for her own selfish soul-searching. Bree was the one who’d asked Simone to meet up.
The doors opened with a ding, and Simone’s heart rocketed into her throat as she stepped out into the bar.
The vibe was industrial and cozy at the same time: concrete floors and pillars with sumptuous leather furniture and Oriental rugs.
Bree was already there, sipping her go-to dirty martini on a love seat by the lit fireplace.
The flames glistened in her black hair, which she’d cropped into a sleek bob since Simone had last seen her.
When Bree spotted Simone weaving her way over, she set down her cocktail with a grin. She stood up in her heeled ankle boots, which she’d paired with black leather pants and a sequined top. “Hey, you.”
Hugging Bree was a disorienting experience, as the last time they’d seen each other, she’d been banishing Simone from her apartment.
Bree was wearing her usual rose-scented perfume, and as Simone breathed it in, she vividly remembered being in Bree’s bedroom, playing Good Girl as they applied to jobs. Her cheeks flushed.
“Come, sit.” Bree gestured to the love seat. Simone sat, and Bree settled in next to her, their knees touching. And then Bree’s slender fingers were on her arm. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” Simone was trying to remember how to talk. Bree had a commanding presence as it was, and seeing her now, after everything that had happened, was frankly overwhelming.
“I was so happy you got back to me.”
“Sorry it took me so long.”
“Don’t worry,” Bree said, rolling her eyes teasingly. “I’m well aware that you do things at your own pace.” She plucked a piece of paper off the table. “Here’s the menu, by the way. I already ordered us fries.”
Simone scanned the cocktail list, but her brain couldn’t compute what she was reading. When the waiter came by, she ordered the same thing as Bree. The waiter whisked the menu away and left the two women alone by the fire.
“So,” Bree began, with a knowing waggle of her eyebrows, “you’re a whole new woman, huh?”
Simone laughed nervously. “I guess so?”
“I’m proud of you.”
Simone relaxed into the love seat. “Honestly, it was all because of you.”
Bree arched an eyebrow. “Was it, now?”
“Do you remember the last thing you said to me before I left?”
Bree smirked. “Remind me.”
“ ‘You’re the one who’s gonna spend the rest of her life lying to herself.’ ”
“Ah, yes.” Bree sipped her martini.
The fries came, along with Simone’s dirty martini. Bree raised her own glass. “Cheers to me being right all along.”
“Cheers to me being a raging bisexual,” Simone conceded. She took a sip of her drink, wincing as she forced it down. She liked the buzz she got from a dirty martini, but she’d never gotten used to the brininess—it was like sipping salt water.
She set it down. “Joking aside, I’m so embarrassed about everything I said that day. I was terrified to admit that I was queer, so instead, I tried to gaslight you into believing I was straight. I’m so sorry.”
Bree snorted as she bit off the top half of a French fry. “As if I ever would have believed you were straight. But thank you,” she added. “I do appreciate the apology.”
“You must have been so mad at me. I’m so mad at me, just remembering it all.”
Bree thoughtfully nibbled the remaining half of her fry.
“Yeah, I was pretty fucking pissed off. But honestly, once I cooled off, I mostly just felt sorry for you. The fact that we were basically in a relationship, but you still couldn’t admit that you were queer?
That must have been really painful.” Her honey-brown eyes were full of sincerity.
“It was awful,” Simone admitted, reaching for her martini again. “And when you said you wanted me to be your girlfriend—”