by Emery Lee
Becca’s giving me this look, and I can’t say I missed it all that much. It’s that look that says, I’m reading really deeply into your psyche right now into things you probably don’t even know about yourself. I raise a hand to shield myself from her gaze and say, “E’s just really sweet, you know? And it’s so weird because I know if I was in eir position, I’d be punching people’s faces in and sawing off half the US, but Devin’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s hard to think e’s ever hated anyone.”
Becca laughs, but I don’t know what the hell she’s laughing about because I really didn’t say anything funny. When I lower my hand and ask her what’s got her in a fit of giggles, she just starts laughing again. And honestly, it’s kind of nice to hear her laughing again, but it’s pretty infuriating that she’s laughing at me.
I groan, but really, I’m glad to have her back. There’s still this kind of tension between us, but we also feel closer than we have since I left.
I make her promise to keep in touch before finally hanging up, my whole body exhausted. I know Becca told me not to say anything, but I leave a quick post response anyway, basically just saying that the Diary would never post stolen stories. Then I knock out before I can even set my phone to charge.
Wednesday, June 27
Juleslovesny posted:
Um, so I guess the Meet Cute Diary is featuring stolen posts now?? How did this happen? Does anyone know of any alternative blogs because I’m tired of all the drama with this one. First we’re told it’s fake and now it’s stealing stories? Yeah, I’m out. The blog’s not worth the hassle.
Rosiesreallysmelllike replied: This breaks my heart. I loved that blog!
Uwuknifedaddy replied: So was anything about that blog real? Bet he didn’t even date that Drew guy.
Bolliehiliday replied: Who cares if they’re stolen! It’s on the internet! That makes it free!
The rest of the week blows by as I try to balance the Diary, Becca—who’s stopped answering again—and Drew, who’s reached the point of calling me the second I get off work and wanting to stay on the phone most of the afternoon. My only real downtime is the moment after the kids leave and I spend my time cleaning with Devin, who’s made bringing me lunch a regular thing on top of bringing me coffee like e’s got some horrible fear I’m going to starve to death before the summer ends. I remind myself that there’s nothing inherently nonplatonic about em bringing me lunch every day—even if e takes to baking cookies with cute little frosting designs on them—which means I’m not being disloyal to Drew, who, really, hasn’t given me enough alone time to even think about being disloyal.
Friday morning I oversleep, and after a car-ride lecture from Brian, I finally get to bounce out and head to the rehearsal hall. Devin’s already in there, and there’re a few long tables lined up around the room with little chairs in front of them. Devin lays out sheets of paper, glitter, scissors, and paintbrushes.
I freeze as I step into the room, a soft melody washing over me that I first mistake for some weird a cappella Shawn Mendes recording. Then I realize it’s Devin, singing softly as e lays shit on the table like some Disney princess.
I laugh, and e jolts, dropping the armful of art supplies as the little glitter bottles roll across the table.
“I didn’t know you could actually sing,” I say, remembering how terrible e was back at the campfire. I guess e just thought the bad notes were a great addition to the cheesy lyrics.
Devin looks at me, face flushed, and says, “I—I didn’t realize you were here. I don’t usually sing for an audience.”
“I was just running a little late.”
I help em pick up the dropped supplies before filling in the empty spaces along the table. “Are you good at everything?” I say.
Devin blinks and says, “I mean, I’m not particularly good at much—”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously? You sing, you play the uke, you draw—”
Devin’s blush deepens, and e says, “I’m sure you’re good at lots of things.” E’s pretty actively avoiding my eyes now, like e thinks staring at the ground will somehow make me disappear.
“Not really. I mean, I write on occasion, but it’s pretty mediocre.”
“Oh? What kind of writing?”
If e was anyone else, I’d think e was mocking me, but e just looks back at me curiously.
I shrug. “I just make up little stories sometimes. Nothing serious.”
“I’m sure they’re great,” e says. “I mean, you seem like the type of person who’d be a great writer. Have you ever considered pursuing it professionally?”
I shrug again. “It’s not really that kind of writing.”
I turn back to look at em, but e’s already moved on, sifting through some file folder. I kinda want to ask em what e meant by that, but I’m also worried I won’t like the explanation, so I put the last bottle of glitter down and say, “What’s all this stuff for, anyway?”
“I just thought the kids could work on some Fourth of July decorations, you know? Something to hang up around this place.”
Today’s Friday, which means starting on Monday, we’ll be settled with a whole new batch of kids. Personally, I find it refreshing. It’s a relief to know the kid who flung a pencil at me on Wednesday won’t be around much longer, and it’s kind of cool to meet new kids, each bringing something unique to the table. But I know Devin misses them. Even after the kids are long gone, e talks about each of them individually, like they’re people e knew for a lifetime instead of a few days. I guess it makes sense since e’s homeschooled now and probably doesn’t have a lot of friends.
“You didn’t ask me to draw anything nice,” I joke.
Devin cringes. “Yeah, about that. Your art is—well, let’s just call it a work in progress.”
I laugh. “About that party on Saturday.”
Devin turns to me, but eir eyes seem to be having trouble finding mine. “What about it?”
“I spoke to Drew about it, and he says he’s down to go,” I say.
And Devin’s face lights up as e smiles. “Really? You’re coming?”
I nod because eir smile kind of has me frozen. Drew thought the whole idea of a recycling party sounded corny, but I talked him into it by promising we’d go to a getty at his friend’s place beforehand.
“I’m so glad you can make it,” Devin says. E seems to suddenly realize that e was supposed to be working on something and jumps back to it. “I know you probably have a ton of other things you could be doing, but it really means a lot to me that you’re coming.”
“I’m excited about it,” I say, and I mean it. Devin and I don’t actually hang out outside of work, so I can’t help but feel like this party will determine our status as coworkers or friends. And I didn’t realize it before, but I really do want us to be friends. There’s something about Devin that makes em easier to talk to than anyone else I know. Maybe it’s because e’s the only trans person I know, or because e has this way about em where it always feels like e’s happy to be around me and open to anything I have to say. All I know is that e has the sort of energy that makes each day brighter. E’s like the human embodiment of a vanilla latte—warm, sweet, and exactly what I need to boost my mood.
When the kids come in, Devin sets them up with their art supplies, and then sits me down like a six-year-old and passes me some paper and a pencil.
“It’s easy,” e says, tracing some shapes on eir own paper. “I’ll show you how to draw simple stuff.”
And I watch em trace lines across the white, but wow, yeah, that’s not easy. I don’t know who convinced em it is, but it all kind of looks like nonsense to me, until a detailed flag starts appearing in all the graphite marks. I consider telling em that I’m a lost cause and art is definitely not my thing, but there’s something calming about watching em draw, humming a slow tune as e works. Almost like this is the one place Devin feels truly comfortable, and I can’t help but get lost in it too.
Inbox (1,627)
Anonymous asked: Dear Noah, there’s been a lot of talk about the Diary stealing stories recently, but this isn’t true, right? I’m a huge fan of the Diary, and I want to believe it really is a genuine source of goodwill for trans people. Please say that this is just some troll and it isn’t real.
Saturday morning, I get breakfast with Brian, who seems pretty done with my shit. I do feel bad since I’ve mostly used him as a chauffeur/chef the last few weeks and wasted all my free time with Drew. I’m leaving for California in just over a month, and I feel like I’ve lost most of my opportunity to see my brother. It’s not like Brian doesn’t have his own friends, so it’s not really my job to babysit him, but I also feel like I’ve been letting everyone in my life down recently, especially since I don’t have the answers for all the asks flooding my inbox. I feel trapped somewhere between running and being stuck, and I really just want to drown that feeling out with orange juice and syrup.
“Has Mom given you any updates about the house yet?” Brian asks.
No, she hasn’t, but it’s also my own fault because I haven’t called her in over a week. And I mean, sure, she could be the one to initiate the call, but she also knows that I’m busy with work and Drew and everything else I’m always putting before my family. It’s bad enough that I’m the worst brother ever, but now I’m the worst son too. I deserve a medal.
“You okay?” Brian asks.
And it’s pretty unfair of me to complain to him about my problems, which are nothing but my own fault, but I’m a terrible person, so I do it anyway. “I feel like I’ve been a really awful brother lately,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow. “Because you used my credit card and didn’t pay me back?”
Which, wow, okay, yeah, I did do that, but I came here to vent about my own problems, not get roasted.
I sigh, stabbing my poor French toast with my fork before saying, “Yeah, I guess. And just mooching off you in general.”
I look up to see Brian staring back at me with narrowed eyes. “Who are you, and where’s my brother?”
I roll my eyes. “Never mind, then.”
“Seriously, I don’t know why you’re getting worked up over this,” Brian says. “We’re family. It’s our job to mooch off each other.”
“Yeah, so when was the last time you mooched off me?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You’re letting yourself get too comfortable. You won’t be ready when I strike.”
I smile. “So you’re not mad at me?”
“If I was mad at you, it’d be for something more irritating. Like never setting a damn alarm in the morning.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m really annoying.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “You’ve always been annoying. Anyway, you’re welcome to hang out with Maggie and me later if you want to.”
I try to stop my lip from curling, but I’m pretty sure Brian sees it anyway. “Sorry,” I say, “but I’m going out with Drew.”
“Oh, right,” he says. “Well, it sure is a good thing that you have plans, otherwise I might think that you actually hate Maggie.”
I sigh. “I don’t hate her,” I say, which is mostly true. “Hate” is a strong word even if I really, really, really don’t like her. “I just don’t like that you’ve been different since you started dating her.”
Brian raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I’m in college. I moved across the country. It’d be a lot weirder if I hadn’t changed, and believe me, that has very little to do with Maggie.”
And on the one hand, I know he’s right, but I still kind of hate it. It feels like I’m losing control, and I know that’s not fair because Brian can do what he wants with his life, but it’s the same as when Becca told me she was talking to a TERF. I hate knowing that the people I love are only one relationship away from deciding I’m not that important anymore.
“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t get a cute dog instead.”
Brian laughs. “Okay, well, that’s not going to happen, so what’s bothering you? Is this about your boyfriend?”
“It’s Becca,” I say. “Well, and Devin, and I guess Drew a little bit too.”
“You’re not secretly dating all of them, are you?”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck off, Brian. You know Becca’s a lesbian.”
And really, I’m mostly gay. There’s only been a handful of non-guys who’ve ever tickled my fancy, and Becca is absolutely not one of them.
“I’m just trying to make sure we’re on the same page.”
But we can’t be, really, because he can’t know about the Diary, which means he can’t know about the intricacies of my relationship with Drew. He can’t know how we met or why we got together, or that we have to stay together because the Diary’s supporters care more about my relationship with Drew than my writing, so losing Drew means losing the Diary, and I can’t let that happen.
Inbox (1,809)
Breakyourheartsomeday asked: Hey, Noah, I know you’re probably super busy, but I was wondering when we’ll be getting more relationship updates. I know you’re dealing with the article, but I’d really love to see more relationship updates when you get the chance. They’ve got me hooked on the blog!
Drew shows up at the apartment just after five. We grab sandwiches from the deli down the street before heading to the get-together.
“I don’t trust them to have food,” he says. “They eat some weird shit.”
I laugh, biting into a turkey sandwich and kind of wishing I had some sriracha to put on it or something. Actually, I kind of wonder what the “weird shit” Drew’s friends eat is. Probably has more seasoning than plain turkey. “Don’t forget about Devin’s thing later.”
Drew smiles, wiping my mouth with his thumb. “Yes, I know, gotta go recycle plastics or something.”
Drew’s friend has an apartment, which I guess is part of why he’s having a getty and not a real party. Seven people stand around the heated pool on the rooftop patio of the building. It’s really nice, surrounded with twinkling string lights, an unused bar off to the side, and a railing leading to a breathtaking view of the neighborhood.
Everyone greets Drew as we arrive, a couple of people clapping him on the back, and some white guy in camo passing him a can of beer.
Much like the bonfire, there’s a startlingly small number of girls. Namely, one, who looks like she’s already pretty wasted as she hangs off the arm of this white guy who also looks pretty wasted.
“What’ve you been up to, man?” one of the guys asks. I gather he’s the one who lives there since he’s got a key card in hand. He’s lanky, with emo bangs that hang over his eyes and a tattoo snaking up his neck.
“Not a whole lot,” Drew says. He plops down in one of the patio chairs and pops open the beer. “Mostly just trying to enjoy the summer. One last hoorah before school.”
“Who’s the companion?”
Drew smirks over at me and says, “This is Noah, my boyfriend. Noah, this is Matt. We used to ski together.”
“Damn, dude, I didn’t know you were gay,” Matt says.
Drew laughs. “I’m not. Noah’s special.”
And I know he means it as a compliment, but it makes me feel kind of dirty, like I’m just not enough of a boy or too much of an anomaly to really be anything at all. I tug on Drew’s arm a little to mention it, but he shrugs me off, cracking some joke with Matt, so I just file it away for later. I mean, it’s not like Drew’s a trans rights activist. He doesn’t know better, so I’ll just mention it when I get a chance. No big deal.
I pull up a chair next to Drew and slip into it, but no one bothers offering me a drink or anything. I don’t know if they realize I’m way younger than them, or if they just don’t care since I’m really only Drew’s plus-one.
Matt lights up a joint and takes a drag off it before passing it to Drew, who, in my experience, has never smoked before. But he takes it anyway and breathes it in. Honestly, it feels like I’ve woken up in somebody else’s skin for a moment, and I’m
stuck trying to remember who I am, how I got there, and why there are so many people around me. I lean back in my seat and stare out at the lights, silently counting down until we finally get to leave and go to Devin’s place.
Drew seems pretty content to drink the night away, and I don’t know if he’s really having a good time with old pals or if it’s a reflection of how badly his parents’ divorce has been getting to him. Just after eight, I tap him on the shoulder and say, “You ready to go?”
He laughs, his words a little slurred as he says, “Wait, we’re just getting to the good stuff.”
Which seems like a pretty ridiculous thing to say considering they’re on their twenty-third round of Texas Hold’em. “Okay, but it’s getting kinda late, and I want to get to Devin’s party before everyone leaves.”
Drew rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, you already know it’s a shitty party if you’re worried about everyone leaving by eight o’clock.”
A couple people at the table chuckle, and I take in a deep breath before saying, “Either way, I promised em I would be there, so we should go.”
“Oh my God, Noah, lighten up,” he snaps. “We’re just gonna play a few more rounds and then we can leave, okay?”
“Man, where are you guys going?” Matt asks. He’s got another blunt to his lips.
Drew smirks. “Noah’s got a friend hosting some crappy-ass recycling party.”
The table starts laughing, and I hold my breath, reminding myself that Drew’s drunk and he’s just getting caught up in being around shitty people. He’s not normally like this.
“That’s worse than that anime watch party my ex invited me to!” the girl says, throwing her head back to laugh but almost falling out of her seat.
“Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing, right? I don’t know why Noah wants to go so much,” Drew says, throwing a glance my way as if giving me the opportunity to change my mind for this sea of assholes.