Chapter 23
ON SUNDAY, SIMONE GRABBED THE LAST can of black beans from the pantry and the remaining wisps of shredded cheddar cheese from the fridge.
She pulled out the only flour tortilla left in the bag and slapped it half-heartedly into the frying pan, where it landed with a familiar sizzle.
She’d lost count of how many quesadillas she’d made for herself this week, but this would evidently be the last one.
She’d have to go to the grocery store at some point, but that would mean leaving her apartment, which she’d managed to avoid doing since Monday.
She’d told her colleagues she’d come down with “that upper respiratory thing that’s been going around,” and had been working from home ever since.
Lucy had messaged Simone a few times to see how she was doing, but Simone hadn’t written back, convinced Lucy would be happier not having to deal with her at all. By Thursday, Lucy had stopped texting.
Simone always kept a well-stocked pantry, so she’d been able to feed herself all week.
She slid the quesadilla onto a plate and cut it into quarters.
She picked up one of the slices, blew on it, and took a bite.
It was hot, bland, and a little soggy. Whatever.
She was not in the mood to treat herself.
As she chewed the lackluster quesadilla, she wandered over to the pantry to see what supplies she had left.
Vanilla protein powder, slivered almonds, raisins, breadcrumbs.
Ugh. She would have to go to the grocery store today.
She finished eating and got in the car without bothering to shower or change out of her sweats.
She wasn’t trying to impress the staff or clientele at Loblaws.
Simone pushed her shopping cart down the aisles like a zombie, wondering how she would ever show her face at work again, when everyone probably thought of her the way Frankie did. Girl, you are basically straight. She grabbed another bag of flour tortillas and dropped them into the cart.
She was so lost in her own despair that she didn’t initially realize that someone was calling her name from behind her.
Not until that someone strode around to the front of her cart, so that she couldn’t take another step without running him over.
She clocked his bald head, his bushy white mustache, his whimsical round glasses. Total cool grandpa vibes.
“Glen!” she exclaimed.
Her Whistler ski buddy beamed at her. “I thought that was you! I saw you from over in the produce section, and said, ‘I know those ginger curls!’ ” She swept them over her shoulders, worried they looked more like a rat’s nest than anything else.
“You didn’t hear me the first few times I called your name,” Glen went on.
“The people in the store must think I’m senile. ”
“Sorry, I was totally distracted,” Simone said. “It’s good to see you! How are you?”
“Oh, you know, I’m fine,” he answered. She thought she detected a hint of sadness on his face, but maybe that was just her own misery tainting her view of the world. “Enjoying the spring weather!” He gestured at his outfit: He was wearing a fun floral shirt under a denim jacket.
“Me, too,” she lied, hoping it wasn’t terribly obvious that she hadn’t been outside in almost a week.
They briefly caught up in the grocery aisle: Glen asked how the Rainbow Museum had been faring in its first few months, and she told him about the company’s success; she asked how work was going at Loving Minds—his queer mental health nonprofit, which he’d told her about in Whistler—and he confessed they’d been having some fundraising challenges lately.
Simone remembered the chairlift ride when Glen had first told her about Loving Minds.
How she’d instantly connected to the mission on a soul-deep level, having recently gone through the mental agony of her breakup with Bree, her decision to come out, and her mother’s unhappy response.
No queer person should ever have to feel the way she did when she’d gazed over the railing into the icy water of the Don River.
Hell, no queer person should ever have to feel the way Simone was feeling now, like there was nowhere on earth she belonged.
So when she heard that Loving Minds was having financial issues, she raised her eyebrows in concern.
“Oh no! I wonder if there’s some way the Rainbow Museum could help support you. ”
Glen’s eyes widened behind his circular frames. “You think so?”
“I don’t know for sure, but the Rainbow Museum’s whole mission is supporting the queer community. We should talk.”
“That would be amazing.” Glen checked his watch, then flashed her a hopeful smile. “If you’re not in a rush, maybe we could grab a quick coffee or tea after this? There’s a place around the corner. My treat.”
Because Simone adored Glen—and also because she couldn’t bear the thought of turning another person against her—she agreed.
They met up again in the parking lot, then drove caravan-style to the coffee shop Glen had mentioned.
It was warm enough to sit outside, so they grabbed seats in the peaceful back garden, under a blossoming cherry tree whose buds were just beginning to open.
As they sipped lavender-hibiscus tea in the mottled sunlight, Glen explained how Loving Minds had relied heavily on funding from a certain corporate sponsor, but that sponsor had recently been acquired, and its new owners had different plans for charitable donations.
Simone had heard Frankie say that once the Rainbow Museum was turning a profit, he would donate a portion of its proceeds to 2SLGBTQIA+ charities.
She promised Glen that she’d see what she could do.
“Simone, thank you,” he said sincerely, cupping his warm mug. “You’re the best.”
You’re the only one who thinks so, she thought darkly.
“Enough about me, though. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” she said vaguely. “Work’s been busy.”
“And how’s our dancing queen?”
It took Simone a second to realize he was talking about Ryan, and when she did, her heart gave a painful throb. “Good,” she said, looking at a spot on the wooden fence over Glen’s shoulder. “He’s done with everything at the Rainbow Museum and moved on to other projects.”
“Aww. I liked him a lot. Good egg, that one.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, her throat suddenly tight.
“Can I tell you something? I hope this doesn’t sound weird—please forgive me, if so—but I always sensed”—he wiggled his fingers in the air—“a sort of vibe between the two of you.”
Simone closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Glen said quickly. “Maybe that was a weird thing to say.”
When she opened her eyes again, they were wet with tears.
Glen’s face fell. “Oh no. Honey, what happened?”
She hadn’t intended to spill her guts to Glen from her Whistler guide group, but at this point, she could either tell him the truth or sit here sobbing at him with no explanation, the latter of which seemed way more awkward for Glen.
So she told him the truth. “We just broke up,” she confessed.
“We got together after Whistler, and everything was great, and we were in love, and then I went and ruined it all.”
Glen leaned forward with an understanding look and reached a weathered hand across the table. “I didn’t buy anything frozen at the store.”
Simone sniffed. “What?”
He gave her a sad smile. “If you want to talk, I have plenty of time to listen.”
“Oh.” His kindness had brought on a fresh wave of tears.
“Hang on one sec,” he said, getting up and darting inside as fast as his legs could carry him. He returned with a wad of napkins for Simone to dry her eyes with. She dabbed at her face, spewing out a jumble of thank-yous and apologies. Glen waved them all off.
When Simone had collected herself, she shared more. “You know how I came out as bi a few weeks before Whistler?” Glen nodded. “Well, I had it in my head that I was finally going to live my best queer life. And then I fell in love with a guy.”
“Ah.” A knowing smirk played across his face.
“I know, I know,” she went on. “Being with Ryan doesn’t make me any less queer, but honestly, that’s what it feels like, since everyone sees you together and assumes you’re straight, which is really uncomfortable.
So then you feel this pressure to constantly declare your sexuality, which is also really uncomfortable, and it’s like, ugh—you can’t win.
And then I feel like a privileged asshole for getting frustrated, ’cause in the grand scheme of things, I’m an able-bodied cis white woman in a heterosexual relationship!
My life is like, ridiculously easy, relatively speaking—you know? !”
As she paused to catch her breath, Glen said: “I do.”
She furrowed her brow, then thought about the knowing smirk he’d given her a minute ago. “You do?”
Glen replied with a slow nod. He was silent for a moment, as though debating how much to share.
“I didn’t buy anything frozen, either,” she said.
That brought a smile to Glen’s face—but with a hint of sadness, like she’d thought she noticed in the grocery aisle.
“In Whistler, I think I told you about my current boyfriend, yes?” Simone nodded.
Byron, she remembered. “What I don’t think I mentioned,” Glen continued slowly, “is that I was happily married to a woman for twenty-one years.”
Simone’s eyes widened. “You were?”
“Let me guess: You assumed I was gay?”
Simone’s cheeks went as hot as her tea as she realized she herself had made an incorrect assumption about a fellow bisexual. “I did,” she admitted, wincing. “I’d, um—I’d love to hear more about your wife. Or, ex-wife?”
Glen gazed at the pink petal of a cherry blossom that had just fallen onto their table. “Rose passed away nine years ago. She had breast cancer.”
“Oh, Glen.” Simone put a hand on top of his. “I’m so sorry.”
“I appreciate that,” he said sincerely. “I think about Rose every day. Rose, and Jeff.”
Simone didn’t know who Jeff was, either, but she waited for Glen to tell her.