Certain Requirements

by Elinor Zimmerman

  I grimaced. “Yeah, I overemphasized a pretty small part of my family history there for a while.”

  “You were trying to impress Carolena,” he said.

  “Her dad was a migrant worker, and all she talked about on our first date was Marx! What could I say?”

  He shook his head and laughed. “She was so weird.”

  “You loved her.”

  “I did! I thought she was great. But Carolena was so serious all the time. And she could not rap for shit. Her hip-hop aspirations were painful.”

  “In fairness, she wanted to be a revolutionary rapper, and how many words rhyme with ‘proletariat’?”

  John cocked his head and considered. “Chariot,” he said. “Harriet. Carry it. Bury it. Marry it. Really, a lot of verbs followed by ‘it.’”

  I laughed. “Okay, okay.”

  “But really, Kristen’s good for you? It’s not an adjustment?”

  “I will remind you again that I didn’t grow up poor, and while Kris has made an absurd amount of money, she’s not exactly the one percent.”

  “I mean, is it an adjustment coming from who you used to date and where you used to live?”

  “Well,” I said slowly. “Sort of. But we’re not dating. I mean, we don’t talk that much. I think it was weirder with most of my ex-girlfriends, actually. Because they had their problems, whereas Kris is…”

  When I didn’t elaborate, he asked, “Kris is what?”

  “An unknown. We have what we have, and outside of that, I barely see her.” I bit my lip and changed the subject. “Remember Beth? Remember that time we were talking about student loans and she said, ‘Wow, you’re still paying off student loans’? Her parents had just written a check for her tuition, no big deal.”

  John laughed. “A barista with family money. And that time you said you were Chicana?”

  I traced the rim of my mug with my finger, remembering. “We were talking about where we were from. I said New Mexico, and she did that thing people do, that ‘But where originally?’ thing. She said, ‘Gomez, is that a Mexican name?’ I said no, I’m Chicana. And do you know what she said?”

  “‘Chicana? Is that part of Mexico?’” we quoted together, cracking up.

  “And then you gave her that speech! Oh my God, that speech.” John straightened his back and imitated me. “‘No, actually both sides of my family can trace their heritage back three to four hundred years in the Southwest, and for most of that time they were technically citizens of Spain, but for a little while that land was owned by Mexico. The United States took over the area shortly after that. My family is part Pueblo on one side, and the Pueblo Nations are Native American. Mostly, though, I’m part of a unique ethnic group that speaks a slightly different dialect of Spanish than other people. We didn’t cross the border, the border crossed us.’”

  “I was channeling Carolena,” I said.

  “You were channeling your dad. I have met the guy once, and he gave me that speech. And I knew what Chicano meant! It wasn’t prompted by anything.”

  I laughed. “That’s my dad. My mom will just give you a book about the subject passive-aggressively.”

  “And how exactly did you think Beth was going to fit into that family picture?”

  “I don’t know. She wasn’t just that. She could also be really kind, and she was funny. She was open, I guess. Emotionally open in an incredible way, until she got scared and shut down completely. I mean, girlfriend-wise I’d had the most cerebral person in the world, and then somebody who made every personal thing super political. And then Ronnie, who was all about kink and running and dogs and getting stoned in nature. Ronnie was so physical, and so only about that. Beth was, I guess, the first person I dated who was a balance of qualities, even if they weren’t the best qualities. Being with her felt like being with a whole person, a whole, imperfect human. I really loved her. And she loved me too, however limited she was.”

  John exhaled noisily. “You were a lot more patient with her bullshit than I was. She was old enough to look up what Chicana means if she doesn’t know, instead of making it your job to teach her. She didn’t need to make you feel bad about your kinks.”

  “She didn’t know they were my kinks.”

  “She didn’t need to dump you at the end of your vacation.”

  “Better than at the beginning?”

  John rolled his eyes. “This is why you got trampled in most of your relationships. You’re too nice.”

  “Well, even if I am, I’m living in this place rent-free, so I must be doing something right.”

  “That’s right. I was asking about Kris and then you deflected. So, how’s it different? If Amanda was the brains, Carolena was the politics, Ronnie the body, and Beth the asshole, what is Kris?”

  “A mystery. Or, no, just compartmentalized. She’s the sex and the kink and the money, period. At least to me.”

  “What do you think she’s like outside of that?”

  “I think her world is pretty limited. She knows a couple of things really well, and then everything else, not so much. It’s like she doesn’t even know how to cook or live in her house or have people over, you know? There are some parts of adulthood she excels at, and other parts she doesn’t engage with at all.”

  “Isn’t that boring?”

  “I’m not looking to her for deep emotional connection.” I patted his hand. “That’s what I have you for.”

  “And when I leave?”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Phe, our going-away party is on Saturday. We’re getting in a car in a week and driving to another time zone. You and I aren’t going to be hanging out for a long time.”

  My eyes welled up. “Uncool, friend. Don’t make it something real.”

  He squeezed my hand. “I just want you to take care of yourself. Please don’t get swallowed up by this thing you’re doing with Kristen. I love you and I know you’re amazing, and I don’t want you to forget that.”

  “I won’t,” I said. “It isn’t a big deal.”

  “Come on. Do you really think that this is healthy for you long-term?”

  “It isn’t going to be long-term. Besides, it’s fun. I’m having fun. What’s wrong with that?”

  “You’re living with someone who isn’t there for you. You’re making huge changes in your life right when your network of support is shrinking. It puts you in a vulnerable place.”

  “Ugh, stop. The world ‘vulnerable’ is making me gag.” I followed this with exaggerated faux retching.

  “No, I will not stop. I want you to take this seriously. I love you, but you have a blind spot when it comes to girls you’re sleeping with. You’re still defending Beth a year later, and she was not worth it. I worry about you.”

  “I’m not a codependent mess, John. I can handle myself.”

  “I know you can. But I also know that not everybody is careful with your heart and you don’t always see it. This situation, it sounds intense. Even if it isn’t love, feelings are going to come up. I don’t want you to be alone when it happens. I think it’s important for you to have people who really see you. You are a wonderful person, and I’m worried that you’re living with someone who doesn’t get you.”

  “I have Sasha. I have Meghan.”

  He sighed. “Okay, that’s a start. But promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

  “I’ll try.” I rolled my eyes. “But I think you’re worried about something that isn’t actually a problem.”

  “Even if I am, try, okay?”

  “Okay.” I hugged him again.

  “And you’re coming to the party?”

  “I won’t miss it for the world.”

  “Bring Kristen,” he said. “I want to see whose hands I’m leaving you in.”

  “Sure.” I tried to sound casual. “Won’t be a problem.”

  Of course, I knew it would be a problem. Part of our agreement was that outside our activities, Kris and I had separate lives. I doubted she’d join m
e at the party. Would I have to go to John’s going-away party alone? The thought of coming home to a lonely house by myself after saying good-bye to John made me want to cry. What had I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Nine

  John and I first met in an art history class our sophomore year. I was heartbroken and lonely from my breakup with Amanda over the summer. When I’d headed to San Francisco State University at eighteen, Amanda had gone to the University of California at Berkeley just across the Bay. For my first year of college, she was not only my girlfriend and my best friend, but my only friend. Amanda was kind, and even though she was blooming in college and finding people who shared her interests, she devoted a lot of time to me our freshman year. I knew we were growing apart and we’d need to break up, but I also knew she wouldn’t leave me when I was so unfocused and alone. When we were back home, I ended things. Amanda was relieved—she wanted time to explore her interests and for the new people she was meeting, plus our sexual relationship had pretty much ended after the failed bondage attempt that spring. Though we weren’t unfriendly after the breakup, she wanted some distance. I went back to college that fall without a single friend.

  That’s when I met John. John was probably the easiest person to talk to in the world. He welcomed me into his life from the first time we spoke. He encouraged me to try new things. He invited me to my first aerials class. He weathered my breakup with Amanda, me falling for Carolena before I was ready for a new relationship, and the heartbreak that ensued. He helped me set up my online dating profile after that, and later put up with goofy Ronnie and insufferable Beth without pretending he thought either were good for me. Everyone should have a friend like John.

  Best of all, from our senior year onward, John was happy to be my roommate. He was the main person in my life for most of my adulthood. Though I got wrapped up in girlfriends, John brought me back to myself and reminded me not to neglect the other people in my life. Through his example, I established some pretty good habits by my mid-twenties, habits that kept me from having the sort of post-breakup friendlessness that I’d experienced after Amanda.

  I called my parents every week, and Connie almost as often. Seeing them at Christmas was usually my only vacation, other than occasionally camping with Meghan and Bill. When I wanted to talk about pursuing my dreams, go out dancing, or see a performance, I turned to Sasha. When I wanted to talk kink or get a levelheaded perspective, I called Meghan. For adventure, I went on day trips with John and Ollie. For everything else, I knocked on John’s door.

  John also came with a social network like you wouldn’t believe. Literally any time I asked, he knew “just the person for that!” Did he know anyone who’d want to spray-paint and glitter some headpieces for a performance if I bought them coffee? Of course, he’d call the Queer Femme House he knew through his most beautiful coworker. They had household glitter and would love to. Did he know anyone who could revive the miserable herbs we were trying to grow on the windowsill? Obviously, he’d text the green-thumbed vegans he knew from volunteering at People’s Grocery. Where could I get a haircut? His cousin did hair and lived just down the street. My car was making a weird noise? His best friend from high school was a mechanic less than a mile away. I needed to mend a costume and Sasha was out of town? Let’s stop by his mom’s. Should I be worried about this spider bite? His nicest ex was a nurse. You name it.

  The flip side of this was that when we hosted parties, I invited maybe eight people, half of whom showed, and he invited thirty, who all came with a date and a couple of friends. He had to have three separate going-away parties: one just for family (almost all of whom lived in Oakland), one at the preschool where he worked that kids and parents could participate in, and one for his many, many friends. Like me, Ollie sometimes got swept along for the gregarious ride, so his going-away party would be combined with John’s third one.

  There wasn’t enough room in the apartment for that party so one of John’s college friends offered to host it at the giant Berkeley housing co-op she lived in. I’d only been there once before, and was impressed and slightly repulsed by the place. On the one hand, the housemates had four bedrooms plus a little converted shed in the back; a huge yard with a fire pit, raised bed garden, and a couple of chickens; and common areas that combined to be bigger than the whole of our West Oakland apartment. On the other hand, nine people lived there with three cats, and most of the furniture had been pulled in from the street. Everything was sort of shabby and dirty. There were people everywhere, cat hair on every surface, and a faint sweaty weed stench even when no one was smoking. How did anyone live like that?

  But I had to say one thing about the house: it was perfect for huge parties. The lack of anything expensive or completely clean made the place seem immune to trashing. The giant yard and abundant common space allowed for tons of people. The free couches, harvested from Bay Area curbs, meant there was always a place to sit. And while the college student-style living grossed me out, it also provided with seemingly limitless alcohol. Plus, weed for anyone who wanted it.

  The thing was, I hated huge parties like that. I hated them even more if I didn’t have anyone to go with. Meghan and Bill were going to be out of town, and Sasha had other plans. I knew John and Ollie would be swamped with good-byes and wouldn’t be much company. Desperate not to go alone and remembering my promise to John, I invited Kris. I waited, though, until I’d gotten firm “nos” from everyone else. I knew that asking her last minute would almost guarantee that she’d say no too, but I tried to steel myself by remembering that she wasn’t my first choice companion for my good-bye with my best friend.

  After we finished playing on Thursday, as we were getting dressed, I tossed the idea out like it was nothing. “Hey, it’s no big deal, but my old roommate and his boyfriend are moving to Boston in a few days. They’re having a going-away party, and I wondered if you wanted to go with me. It’s no big deal if you can’t.” I approximated nonchalance as best I could.

  Kris ran her hand through her hair. “When is it?”

  “Saturday, starts around eight.”

  She frowned. “It’s our night off. I made plans with a friend.”

  Kris had friends? I was completely surprised but tried to act cool. “It’s not a problem. I know it’s last-minute.”

  “I mean, is it important to you?”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” I said quickly.

  “Okay. Yeah, I can’t make it. Sorry.” She sat on the bed and buttoned her shirt. Kris paused just as I went for the door. “Actually, Phoenix, I think we should talk about something.”

  I forced myself not to sigh. I knew I shouldn’t have even asked. “All right.” I leaned on the door.

  “This is a new arrangement for both of us, and it’s easy to be unclear about the boundaries. It’s important that we decide what those are, outside of what happens here, or what you do around the house. We need to be on the same page emotionally—and socially.”

  “Is the part where you say we can’t be seen together in public? Because that’s fine. I was just asking.”

  “I’m not saying that. But we need to have the same expectations.”

  “We’ll keep it professional,” I said coolly. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Phoenix, I’m not saying that. We can be friends, if that’s what you want. But we haven’t discussed doing things together outside of our dynamic, and I don’t want to confuse things. What do you want? That’s all I’m asking.”

  “What do you want?” I was being a brat, but I didn’t care.

  “I’d like to spend time with you, when it works out, and get to know you outside of this. I’d love to see you perform. I don’t want to go on dates. I don’t want to be your plus-one. I don’t like parties, and I don’t want to go to any unless they’re play parties. I don’t want to pretend we’re a couple, and I don’t want to be in social situations where we need to pretend we aren’t sleeping together either.”

  “So were you just trying
to get out of the invite when you said you had plans?”

  “No, I’m going to have dinner with a friend,” she said calmly.

  “Like a date?” I played with my hair. What was wrong with me?

  “Phoenix,” she chided.

  “What? Are we dating other people or not?”

  “Of course we can date other people if we want. As long as we use barriers if we have sex with anyone else.”

  “I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about dating.” I pouted. I had no real interest in dating anyone, but I was offended that she might be seeing someone else when she barely had time for a conversation with me.

  “I’m seeing a friend. It is not a date. But Phoenix, what do you want?”

  I felt unexpectedly stung by her impatient tone. “I don’t want to have to explain our situation either.” I straightened my shoulders. “I don’t want to date you.”

  “Good. Do you want to spend time with each other as friends?”

  This was a weird question from someone who’d been shoving fingers inside me and pulling my hair fifteen minutes earlier. “Yeah,” I answered with a noncommittal shrug. “Sure.”

  “Okay. Was that so difficult?”

  I shook my head. But honestly? It was. It was one thing to say you had no illusions about a situation. It was another to have reality laid out starkly without flattery.

  Back in my room, I wondered about my reaction. I didn’t want Kris at the party, so why was I upset when she said she didn’t want to go?

  * * *

  The party was just as rough as I’d expected. I felt awkward and out of place. Some guy tried to hit on me. I spent most of my hour there standing around by myself and trying to catch John or Ollie whenever I could. They were both glad I came and apologetic that they kept getting pulled away. I understood, but it didn’t make it any easier. John was upset that Kris hadn’t come with me, and I was too sad about him leaving and miserable about the party to offer much reassurance about my situation. I cried the whole way home.