by Kris Ripper
“It’s so expensive, though,” he said. “At least when I’ve looked into it, it was.”
“Exactly. I still have student loans from undergrad, how can I sign up for more?”
They lapsed into a conversation about the ins and outs of financial aid for graduate school and I listened with only half of my brain reporting for duty. I was pretty sure the “humans only use 10 percent of their brain” thing was a myth, but whatever the percent, I was using quite a bit less than that on tracking my companions’ conversation.
Mostly I was thinking about how great it would be to have more queer therapists in the world. Or more specifically, how great it would have been for me to have seen a queer therapist after the whole attempted-wedding-freak-out thing. Not that my straight AF therapist had been bad! She’d been nice! But I didn’t think she’d totally understood the, like...cultural phenomenon that was suddenly being allowed to get married. It was 2015, it was legal, everyone was doing it, so it seemed like we might as well. It wasn’t that I didn’t love Mason. I loved him a lot. I loved him so much that I failed to realize until it was too late that I didn’t really want to get married at all.
Then I was there, and he was there, and everyone we knew and loved was there, and I couldn’t breathe. The rest of my life was a blur of impossibility because I didn’t know if I was going to get through the next thirty seconds. I didn’t calm down until the limo was miles away. The therapist eventually told me that thinking you’re going to die right where you’re sitting is some kind of classic panic attack thing, but I didn’t know that then.
What I knew was that not getting married felt better than getting married. So I’d decided to save myself and everyone else the hassle of ever going through that again.
No more romance. Full stop. The end.
If that wasn’t the end, if I was going to try doing this again, how could I ever ask anyone to put their faith in me? Most days I could only commit to getting out of bed if I had to go to work. I regularly skipped breakfast because I hit snooze too many times.
I’d left my last boyfriend at the altar. How do you ever prove you’re trustworthy if you’ve done something like that?
Sidney laughed, bringing me back to our second favorite table at The Hole, back to this moment, in which I was nursing a Coke and ruminating over the past. Not the best idea.
I leaned forward and said confidentially to Sidney, “Do you want to hear about the time Mase moaned so loudly we thought the gay history professor was going to bust in on us while we were having sex in the empty office next to his?”
They grinned. “Hell yes.”
Mason pulled out all the dignity he could manage while slumped into a bar booth. “I still maintain that he would have joined in, which means technically I should have been louder. He was super hot.”
Sidney and I laughed. After a second Mase gave up the stoic act and grinned. Weirdly, I thought old Sidney might make it back to drinks again. Maybe the trick was not banging any of the Motherfuckers. Good plan, I thought at them, and started another story.
Chapter Three
I wasn’t sure what to expect, walking up to Sidney’s apartment for the first time. A huge building? A duplex? An old-fashioned boarding house with a landlady who forbade overnight visits from “members of the opposite sex”? (I’d always wondered if that rule ever worked out in favor of queers. Obviously the “opposite sex” deal had been debunked as an actual thing, but I still liked to imagine queers having sexy overnighters while their hetero counterparts languished with only the pleasure of their preferred hand for company.)
The apartment ended up being a lot closer to boarding house than skyscraper. The building was a converted single-family home, and Sidney’s apartment was a studio. Since “studio” sounds better than “room with a sink, a toaster oven, and a very small bathroom.”
I’d done some research—I’d meant to only check out a video or two, but three hours later I was still watching—and I was a little surprised that the actual space was so small. I’d imagined they had a whole room set aside for filming, but the recording area was only a corner in what would have been the living room part of the single room. Two folding shades were posted around what I assumed was their bed. Most of their videos were in their last apartment, so maybe that had been...bigger?
Apparently I was just, like, standing there taking it all in while they watched. “Um, sorry, I know I’m almost late, I meant to get here earlier because I didn’t know if we needed to do a sound check or something, but I got held up at work. Sorry.”
“We’re okay on time. What held you up at work?”
I waved a hand. “My boss keeps offering me a permanent position. Some people just won’t take no for an answer.” It was a weak joke and they didn’t bother laughing politely. “I’m a temp, see? I’ve been with this same agency for almost five years. Getting a permanent job is supposed to be the holy grail, but I enjoy what I’m doing right now, so.”
Insert coin, listen to Declan ramble.
They didn’t seem bothered. “What I’m hearing is you have a fear of workplace commitment.”
“Oh my god. Um. I never thought about it that way before.” Jeez, talk about a head case. “But no, it’s more like your thing with dating, right? You don’t do it because it didn’t work for you and what you’re doing now—by not dating—is working for you. Right?”
“Hmm. Not quite, I don’t think? My not dating practice is more of a guideline than a rule.”
“Oh.” For a long moment we just looked at each other. I wanted to know so much more. It probably wasn’t the right time to bombard them with a thousand questions. Was it? No, I told myself firmly. “But for real, what’s our plan? We don’t need a sound check?”
“Nope. I used to have guests regularly, so I think the set-up will be okay. This is a new place, but I can’t see how having a guest will throw everything off.” Their right shoulder—no—my right side, their left shoulder rose in a rather charming half-shrug. “Then again, the whole thing might fall apart. I’ve committed worse crimes on YouTube than the sound being a little wonky. Do you need the bathroom or anything before we start?”
I was tempted to say yes just because I’m a nosy bastard and always want to poke around in people’s bathrooms, but we probably did need to get started with the actual...shoot? Show? Stream? Whatever it was. I shook my head.
“Sweet. Let me show you where we’ll be sitting.”
Since I’d already seen other videos I thought I had a pretty good idea of what I was in for, but they surprised me again. Big lights were set up, pointing at an L-shaped desk, which sectioned off a corner of the room. And: “Dude. Is that a fucking green screen?”
“Yep.”
I did a theatrical double take at them. “You are so pro right now.”
“You can get the fabric on Amazon. Do you want to see the graphic I designed for the series?”
Did I? Considering I was still feeling tool-like for making myself the subject of a dating advice show, I wasn’t sure. Except I was also totally curious. “Show me.”
Their eyebrows did a little hop, as if I’d said something suggestive. “Okay, come this way. Welcome to my studio.”
“Yeah, like, the place is kinda small, and the hot plate kitchen gets old, but you seem to have everything you need, so hey.”
“I meant the place where I record and edit videos.”
I winced. “Uh yeah. Me too? No, sorry, I meant your apartment.”
“It’s okay.”
I wanted to believe they were trying not to smile, but the thing about the expression a person makes when they’re trying not to make a different expression is that it could be almost anything. And why not smile? Smiling was good! Which meant it was more likely they were trying not to scowl. Or no, I couldn’t picture Sidney (or anyone) scowling with those glasses on.
I sat down in the chair they wer
en’t standing in front of. Good clue. They sat down after I did, like a gentleman. “So, uh, this is where the magic happens?” Three minutes until their thing was scheduled to start, I couldn’t help but notice.
“Yep. Are you nervous? A lot of people are nervous the first time they’re on camera. Especially a livestream. The important thing to remember is you’re safe. No one is looking at you.”
“You mean except you?”
They paused. “Okay, good point. I’m looking at you. It might seem a bit strange if we did a whole video and I never looked at you.”
“I’m okay with you looking at me. And I don’t know if I’m nervous about that or—” I made a too-hot-soup hand gesture. “You know. It’s just a new thing, I guess.”
“I understand.” They did a thing on their computer and pulled up an image. Light pink background with white dots at random intervals and the title THE LOVE STUDY at the top in an X-Files-style typewriter font. “What do you think?”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what I’d expected but it was kinda...classy. “I like it.”
They nodded. “Good. Pink is not my thing as a general rule, but I was playing with backgrounds and I wanted something a little subtle and a little evocative.” They switched windows to—oh god—a shot of us, then they did something else which made it look as if we were sitting in front of a very pale pink wall with white dots on it and THE LOVE STUDY printed at the top.
“Wow. Okay, that’s cool. Seriously cool. Like magic.”
“The first time I set up the green screen and got it to work felt like magic to me too.” They turned squarely to me, both eyebrows rising above the line of their glasses. “You ready to do this?”
“How would I know if I wasn’t?”
“As long as you’re not going to vomit, you’re probably within the normal bounds of ‘ready to record.’”
I ran a hasty internal check. “Nope. Stomach contents staying where they are.”
“Good. All right. Here goes. I’ll hit the button and it will count down from three, then we’ll be live. When we’re live, it will always say ‘live’ right here in the corner.” They pointed to a spot on the screen. “I’ll be monitoring questions as we go, but we don’t need to address all of them. Talk about whatever you’re comfortable talking about, say ‘off-limits’ about anything you don’t want to talk about. Okay?”
Deep breath. “Okay.”
“And talk to me, not the camera. You can look at the camera, of course, but I think it will be less overwhelming if you treat this like we’re just having a conversation.”
“Um, us and your legion of followers?”
“My legion of followers, ha. Yeah. You still with me?”
“Yep.”
“Let’s go.” They clicked a thing. The numbers three...two...one were superimposed over the picture of us against the pink background. A little red circle appeared right where they’d said it would with the word “LIVE.”
And poof: I was on YouTube.
“Hello and welcome to Your Spinster Uncle, the advice show where we combine forces to answer questions sent in by viewers like you. Today is a very special day because we’re starting a new series called The Love Study, in which we’ll explore dating and queerness and all the complexity therein through the lens of one person’s personal experience. And the subject of that study is our very important guest, Declan. Everyone say hi to Declan.”
I waved at the camera. “Um. Hi, everyone. I’m, uh, Declan. Obviously.”
If I had wondered what it looked like when Sidney smirked—and I’m not saying I had—my answer would have been on their face when I reintroduced myself seconds after they’d first introduced me.
Oh god, five-point-two seconds on YouTube and already blushing. I hoped my friends were drinking to that.
“Our first order of business is getting to know Declan, and then composing a dating profile so we can find him dates.” They turned slightly more toward me. “I have a few questions for you to that end—and I’m sure everyone else does too—but before we do that, why don’t you tell me a little bit about your dating history. And can I share with the audience how we were initially introduced?”
How we were...oh right. “Okay.”
They held my gaze for a long moment, as if making sure, then looked at the camera. “I met Declan through a mutual acquaintance, whose first words about him were to tell me he’d left his last boyfriend at the altar. Before anyone reaches for a pitchfork, I’ve met the so-called jilted fiancé and they remain close friends. Sometimes we make plans that don’t work out, y’all.”
That seemed like a point to the audience that I didn’t think had much to do with me, so I kept my mouth shut and focused on the way they were talking to me but not excluding their viewers, which was cool. They also had a slightly different tenor to their voice, maybe a little lower, almost practiced. Did they rehearse for their show? I should ask later.
“But here you are, submitting yourself to The Love Study.” This time the smirk was only on the side of their mouth facing away from the camera. (Impressive smirk control there.) “Tell us what’s led you to this moment.”
“Um, well, I didn’t really date. For a long time. I mean since then. That was what you might call a low point for me and relationships.” I hesitated, creepily aware of all the people who might be watching.
“How did it change your approach to dating?” Sidney asked gently, as if tossing me a lifeline.
“Right, I guess I just stopped. Figured sex was good enough and I didn’t have to mess with romance. Which it was, don’t get me wrong. Sex is good. Super good.” Shit, shit, shit, I could practically hear Mason laughing and shouting, Drink! “Um, but yeah, I don’t know, it seemed like I wasn’t adult enough for romantic relationships so I just didn’t go there. Like, other people wanted to go out for fancy dinners and I wanted, I don’t know, to stay home and bake cookies together.”
Sidney nodded. “That makes a lot of sense to me. It’s a frustration I’ve heard expressed before, that romance as we’ve constructed it seems alienating on some levels.”
“Yeah, like, I don’t know how to want things I’m not really into. I mean, marriage is great for the people who want it? But if you want something else, it’s harder.”
“Okay. Do you consider yourself personally against marriage? Do you think you might eventually find someone you’d want to marry?” They spread their hands out in front of them, an open sort of gesture. “How do you feel about the role of marriage in your life now?”
“Um.” I contemplated. Oops. Probably not supposed to have long thinking silences on YouTube.
They cracked a smile. “Only the easy questions, right?”
“Ha, yeah. I haven’t thought that much about all this. I know that what I was doing before, six years ago, didn’t work that well for me. And I didn’t know I could...not do it but keep dating. So then I spent six years not-dating. And now... I don’t really know what I want.” I made a face. “Um, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, that’s perfect. That’s what we’re conducting The Love Study to find out, right? What you really want.”
Were we? Did that make me more of a tool?
They knocked one of their knees against mine below the camera’s range and when I looked up, their eyes were bright and clear in the white lights. “Should we move on to the questions?”
“Yeah. Sounds good.” I shifted in my chair, ignoring the screen showing me a mirror image of the movement.
“I have a few questions, and I’m sure you all have a few questions. Remember our aim is to find out what Declan’s looking for. You’ve already said all genders and all ages over twenty-one—sorry, young’uns—so tell us something you’d consider a date dealbreaker. Could be anything.”
“Fashion glasses,” I said promptly.
They grinned.
* * *
The show only lasted twenty minutes. I couldn’t believe it when I looked at the clock. “I feel like I’ve been talking in front of that camera for an hour.”
“It either feels long or short to people. Sometimes it flies by. Sometimes it drags.” They hit the button on the monitor of their computer. “Sorry, if that’s up I’ll just keep messing with things and watching the comments.”
“Oh my god, I forgot about the comments. Are people destroying me?”
They shook their head. “Well, it’s YouTube. You always have some percent of people who are doing death threats and rape threats and spewing homophobia. And some percent of people who are glowing adoringly. The middle ground is where things get interesting.”
I made a vigorous go on motion with my hands.
“People like you. You’re charming and attractive and friendly. My brother has accused you of ageism, but he’s mostly joking.”
“Ohmygodyourbrother?” My whole body contorted totally without my permission.
“He comments as YourSpinsterOwl, which is a nickname I used to call him when he was a baby because his eyes were so big and he watched everything.” They waved a hand. “Don’t worry, he’s eleven and therefore well below your dating pool.”
“Aww, he’s eleven and he watches the show? That’s super cute.”
“Yes, it’s...one of the reasons I felt I could move. Now that he’s old enough to message me and Instagram at me and comment on videos, we won’t lose touch. Um. Anyway.” Their voice got slightly higher, as if they were flustered. “A rather larger portion of my regulars have volunteered to be your dates, which I probably should have expected but didn’t, so that’s interesting.”
“Hey!” I pinched up my face in comic anger. “You thought people wouldn’t want to go out with me? That’s super cold, Sidney.”
Their cheeks colored. “I didn’t mean that. I meant, er, the volume of people who specifically volunteered surprised me a little. Not because of you, because of them. Some of them like to pretend they’re wizened old cynics, but I think you wooed them with your talk of hating long walks on the beach.”