by Kris Ripper
I sipped and managed not to sputter water all over my host. When I could straighten up, eyes still full of tears from coughing, they were leaning all the way over, holding out a little plastic pack of tissues. “’M so sorry,” I mumbled.
“I should have offered you water in the beginning. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Um.” I dabbed my eyes with a probably overstated attempt at dignity. Have mad coughing fit live on YouTube: CHECK.
“You were saying that you have a friend. Who has feelings for someone. And that someone doesn’t usually date?”
“Right, yeah.”
“And you’re...asking advice. For your friend.”
I winced. “Okay, this is dumb. Obviously the advice is for me. Which I get we all know and are playing along, but let’s not.” I looked into the camera. “I have a crush on someone who doesn’t usually date. But I don’t want to pressure them. Or disrespect them. I don’t want to slobber all over them with my feelings or whatever, but also, if there’s any chance they might be interested, I want to let them know that I’m interested. If that makes sense? I guess the question is, what’s the most respectful way to express interest in someone if you’re not sure, for whatever reason, that they might return it?” I sat back, feeling a little dizzy.
And avoiding Sidney’s gaze.
For like five seconds, but then I couldn’t help but look up at them.
Today they had on a slick black buttoned shirt with the cuffs rolled halfway up their forearms, which I found...um...weirdly tantalizing. The contrast of black against their pale skin, maybe? Or just, like, them. In general.
Looking at me thoughtfully. So. Not repulsed, I didn’t think?
“That’s a complicated question,” they said slowly.
Oh fuck me. I gnawed hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from taking it all back.
“Not everyone will feel the same way, of course. Speaking for myself, I think it’s entirely possible to express your feelings in a way that makes them...non-aggressive.”
With a silent apology (or maybe thanks) to Mara, I stole her words. “Yeah, um, I don’t want to sound like I’m entitled to anything. It seems like kind of a hard balance.”
They nodded. “That’s exactly the right idea. And I think people can feel it if you’re approaching them with a feeling of entitlement, versus when you’re not. But yes, speaking strictly for myself, I think I would want to know if a friend of mine had those feelings. Better to have the information than not have the information.”
Was my face glowing bright red? It felt like I was lit up Rudolph’s nose-style. “Okay. Um. Thank you for your advice. Also, you never told me that your OG fans called you ‘Spunk.’”
Now both of us were blushing. “It didn’t come up. In fact, that should never have come up.” They looked at the camera. “People telling tales out of school will be eliminated from the pool of volunteer dates. And I will so get you back, Date #3. Revenge will be mine.”
I mouthed Sorry at our invisible audience, where I hoped Mara was watching, and cheering for me. Or maybe...cheering for us.
Sidney cleared their throat. “Okay, I think we’ll leave it there for today. Blah blah blah, links, likes, you know the drill. See you next week.” They waved and cut the video.
Holy anal beads, Batman. I nearly choked in the act of swallowing my own spit again and grabbed for the bottle of water. Sidney’s bottle of water, now that I thought about it. They gave me their bottle of water in my hour of need.
Which I eyed them over as I took a very slow sip.
They were just...sitting there. Staring unseeing at their monitor.
Were they about to politely invite me to never darken their doorstep again? Or tell me off for confronting them on camera? Or...
...continue staring at their monitor as if I wasn’t there?
The silence unspooled around us, growing more intense with each passing second. Should I be saying something? Had I said too much? On one hand, I really, like, needed them to talk. On the other hand, it was kind of a relief that they weren’t demanding anything of me, like answers, or an explanation.
What would Mason do right now? What would Mia do? Or Ronnie? Not Oscar, though. Definitely doing the opposite of whatever Oscar would do.
My mind was flying in all different directions so I ended up doing what Declan would do, which was fumble putting the cap on the water and drop the rest of the bottle in my lap. If only YouTube could see this performance, people would be throwing themselves at their computers trying to date me. Hashtag clumsy dumbass makes fool of self again.
“Sorry,” I sputtered. “Sorry, sorry, I drank most of it, at least it didn’t land on the keyboard—”
“It’s okay. Let me get you a towel.” They were calm and competent and didn’t look in any way disturbed by either my advice request or my spilling water in my lap. Just another day making YouTube videos, right?
I managed to mop myself up and awkwardly hang the towel over the back of the chair to dry, which left me standing so as not to sit on the chair with the wet towel hanging off it. But Sidney had started to do whatever they usually did at the end of a video, and while last week I’d blithely slipped behind them to get out from the studio area, this week that seemed somehow intrusive, so I just stood there. Hovering.
“Sorry, give me just another minute,” they said distractedly. “Do you want to finish off the chocolates?”
I clutched at my stomach. “Oh god no. I’d throw up.” Brilliant play, Dec. “Um, but thank you?”
They, like, chuckled. “We don’t want that.”
“Yeah, if I were going to make myself sick, it’d be better to do it live for views, right?”
“All in all, I’d prefer no throwing up. Not even for views.”
I cringed. “Sorry, that sounded assholey.”
Silence but for some clicking and typing. And then...
“They’re all going mad in the comments. If this keeps up hashtag-Sidlan is going to be trending. What goofballs.”
Cue: nervous laughter. “Uh. Yeah.”
They looked up at me. “I...you took me by surprise. I um. I’m processing? Sorry, I feel like I should be immediately responsive but I think I just need a minute here.”
I put up both of my hands. “Totally okay. I get that. Completely. No worries at all. Can I...like...do you need me to leave?”
“Not at all. I mean, I’d invite you to stay for dinner, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have any food.”
“You must have something. I mean, what would you eat otherwise?”
“My neighbor hates leftovers, so she’s always dropping things off. And I eat a lot of stuff out of boxes.” They paused, still fiddling around on their desk. “You could look if you wanted? I think you might be more food inclined than I am.”
“Okay.” This was strange. Was it strange? Yes. Poking around in a new friend’s kitchen was strange. I could put together dinner at Mason’s or Mia-and-Ronnie’s. But usually I was friends with someone for ages before they sent me into the wilds of their pantry.
Sidney didn’t have a pantry. Sidney had one cabinet and a set of bookshelves with food in it. The fridge was free of dead produce this week, but also free of anything else resembling a meal. The freezer, though, held a package of frozen broccoli, a half-filled ice tray, and the better part of a pound of coffee. I switched back to the fridge, which did hold (somewhat shockingly) a bulb of lemon juice. And the toaster oven had two mini baking sheets.
I stuck my head up. “How do you feel about broccoli?”
“I have broccoli?”
“In the freezer.”
“Oh. Um, good, I guess? I like it as a vegetable. I think that package has only been in there a few weeks. You think you can make broccoli into dinner?”
“Ye of little faith. Though no, not really. But I can...roast bro
ccoli. And we can eat it. If you want.” Did they want? They’d invited me, right? I didn’t think I’d imagined it.
They smiled, biting their lip again.
I smiled back.
“That sounds nice. Thank you. Do you mind if I’m no help at all? I want to monitor the comments a little while longer.”
“No problem. This is not a team-lift cooking situation anyway. You’re okay with lemon too?”
“I have a lemon?”
I laughed. “Um. No.”
“I didn’t think I had a lemon. I like lemon, though.”
“Got it. Give me twenty minutes, half an hour at the outside.” I preheated the toaster oven and tossed the still-frozen broccoli with oil, salt, and pepper, hoping that the fact it was still frozen and that I was using a toaster oven wouldn’t totally screw up roasting it. Fresh lemon would have been better, and garlic would have definitely helped, but what the hell. Roasted broccoli with lemon juice on top was good even with subpar ingredients.
And especially when the point was spending time with someone. Not really eating so much. Which I was at least pretty sure was the point of me making food.
“Can I ask what you’re monitoring for?” I asked once the broccoli was in and the timer was set.
“Anything that gets popular attracts a lot of homophobes and misogynists, so I’m flagging anyone who’s replying to other comments with poison. If they’re just commenting on their own, I don’t worry about it. But I do try to at least protect my people.”
“That makes sense.” Since Sidney was still studiously doing computer things, I went back to a more thorough investigation of their kitchen. They had basically given me carte blanche. And anyway, it was better than like...staring at them. In that shirt. With the rolled-up cuffs. What was it about the rolled-up cuffs? How were rolled up cuffs almost suggestive? But they totally were.
So, the bookshelf pantry. Pasta, more pasta, no sauce, unopened jar of green olives, dusty box of mac and cheese, dusty box of cereal. A bunch of what looked like thrift store appliances, all dusty: rice cooker, toaster, plug-in grill. I considered and rejected the idea of making a You could run an appliance store out of here joke. For one: it wasn’t that funny. For two: they were busy. For three: I was mostly just trying not to freak out and if I started rambling I might never stop. They’d have to walk me down to my car, still going, and lock me inside, waving with forced cheer from the sidewalk as I drove away, my car full of the sound of my voice going on and on and on and on.
It could happen.
“I have to stop looking at this, they’re losing it. My regulars will hold down the fort. Probably.” They cleared their throat. “I can’t believe you’re producing food from my kitchen.”
It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it. No.
I’m a genie, rub my belly and see what else I produce. Oh my god, NO.
“Well, I...yeah...” I squeezed my eyes shut really hard, hoping that time would skip back fifteen seconds and I could rewrite that line.
They cleared their throat again. Closer this time. “So you have a friend who needs advice? Sorry, I know you said we weren’t pretending, but I don’t know how else to like...start this conversation.”
I opened one eye, and yes, they were looking at me. Obviously. On the me side of the desk so they were essentially in the kitchen now. “Um. Well like. Okay. So um.” I took a deep, slow breath. “I am totally not trying to in any way invade your space, or your not-dating guidelines, or anything. But it has come to my attention that I’m like...attracted. To you. Errrrrr...so yeah. FYI. I’m open to talking about it. Or not talking about it. Either way, I’m making broccoli with lemon juice.”
“Ohhhh, I had a plastic thing of lemon juice, right?” They shook their head. “Sorry, that was in no way a good response to what you just said. Um. Do you want to sit in actual chairs? I feel weird standing here awkwardly.”
“Cool. Yes. Let’s do that.”
Then we were sitting in actual chairs. Both of us looking at our hands. I was looking at my hands in such a way that I could tell they were also looking at their hands.
“I like your shirt,” I said.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“The, uh, rolled cuffs thing. Is a...thing I like. I guess? I mean, yes, I must, because I do. On you.” I covered my face with my hands. “Oh my god, this is ridiculous. Please put me out of my misery.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“I don’t want to...”
Oh no, they were trying to let me down easily, this was the worst, dammit, I’d messed this up, I should have known I would totally mess this up, why would anyone want to date someone whose claim to fame was leaving their last boyfriend at the altar, oh my god—
“...give you the impression I’m creepily preoccupied with you. Because I’m not. I don’t think.”
Wait. What?
“But it has also come to my attention that setting you up with other people is not exactly working in my best interest.”
“It’s not? I mean, I thought the show was going okay?” I peeked through my fingers.
“Oh, the show is great. I meant to show you the email I got from my contact with the company sponsoring, it’s really supportive. And views are up.” They seemed to kind of pull back. “But I meant it’s not working for my personal interests.”
I waited, but they didn’t say anything else. “Um. I think I’m going to...need more than that?”
“Sorry.” They grimaced. “I keep apologizing. It’s a nervous tic I’ve tried to stop doing, but not that successfully. I’m trying to say—”
The oven timer went off.
“Aw man,” I mumbled, getting up.
“Declan, wait.” They stood too, so close to me I was worried they’d smell my tuna breath. “I think we should go out. Together. On a date. If you want to.”
“Yes. Definitely. I definitely, for sure want to, yes. Please.”
They exhaled. “Okay. Good. Sweet.”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t help grinning. “Sweet.”
The timer went off again.
And then we ate broccoli.
“You must be a wizard.” Sidney shook their head, setting their empty plate on the edge of the desk. (We’d eaten on our laps because: no table.) “I would not have believed anyone could prepare an edible vegetable in my kitchen.”
“It’s not my best work, but I’m happy with it.” Feeling daring, I added, “And anyway, it seemed like the point wasn’t so much dinner as hanging out together.”
“Very true.” With a satisfied breath, they sat back.
I put my plate on top of theirs and did the same. “So um, scale of one to five, how messed up was it that I asked you for advice live on YouTube? I was a little worried that would be messed up.”
“Actually, I find that I...am less likely to get into mental tangles when the pressure is on. Some of my best spinstering is done live because I don’t have time to think too hard about the answer. So on a scale of one being not messed up and five being very messed up, I’d put it at a one.” They shook their head slightly. “That was actually easier than this. I don’t know what it says about me that I’m sometimes more comfortable in a livestream than I am in, you know, my life.”
“It’s probably a good place to be comfortable if you do it a lot. And I don’t think that I would be as comfortable on video if you weren’t. I for sure feel calmer because you’re so at ease.”
“Oh.” Faint color in their cheeks again. “Thank you.”
“This could be a pretty bitchin’ episode of The Love Study,” I offered. “Whatever happens.”
“You think? You realize if we confirm their suspicions, they will be relentless.”
I shrugged. “That doesn’t bother me. But you have to, you know, work in th
at space.”
“It’s more... I’ve never given them evidence to support any of their theories about me. They know I’m genderqueer, they know I’m somewhere between twenty-five and thirty-five, they know I recently moved from Southern California to Northern California. People who dig into the archives know a little more because I wasn’t as guarded when I first started. But that’s basically...it.”
“That doesn’t have to change if you don’t want it to. We can keep it completely off-limits.” That might be the smartest thing to do. Though then my friends would have to come to me for the details of my dating life instead of getting them on YouTube.
“But doesn’t that make me a massive hypocrite? I was willing to throw you to the wolves, but the second I get involved I’m like, Hey, no way, that’s out of bounds.” Their forehead creased. “And it’s not a bad thing to be out and queer and trans and accessible when it comes to dating. Maybe that would help us not fall into the same sorts of patterns that don’t really seem to be working for everyone else.”
I wanted to support them. But I couldn’t decide what support would look like, so I defaulted to humor. “I think I volunteered for wolf duty? For sure you don’t have to feel guilty on my account.” When that didn’t make a dent in their distress, I added, “All I know is that I really like you. A lot. And I’m glad you like me. And we should spend more time together. So there.”
They looked at me for a long moment. “But do we have physical chemistry?”
Which would have been a seriously bad question to be asked by someone, except by now I could tell when they were teasing. “Five. Straight-up. Do we have intellectual chemistry?”
“Five,” they said.
I held up both hands. “Maybe we start with that. We have another week before we have to decide what to tell YouTube.”
“They’ll be all over me when I post the taped show on Friday, but I can ignore them. One’s success on YouTube to a certain extent relies on one’s ability to tune out certain frequencies.” They held out a hand. “It will be a pleasure to go out on a date with you, sir.”
I took it. “See, I kind of wanted to kiss your hand all gentleman-like, but I didn’t want that to feel misgendering or something. I would kiss anyone’s hand if I were trying to be suave.”