that told me they were a Good Person who also, incidentally, thought of me as something entertaining and cute, not unlike a puppy.
Unless, of course, the person talking to me about my queerness was queer too. Then we could both be normal.
“Sorry,” said Ruby, rolling her eyes at herself. “That was not a woke thing to say.”
I shook my head. “No. I am lucky. Every time I meet a boy, I feel lucky.”
She laughed, and the tension broke, which was the goal. I was okay with being the joke so long as I was the one who made it.
I could have asked her then if she had ever liked a girl, or thought she ever could, but I wasn’t ready to know. At that moment, it felt possible, and I wanted to preserve that hope in amber. So I grabbed a poster and a marker and asked Ruby what she wanted the posters to say.
“We’re calling it the Rock Your Fucking Face Off tour.”
I paused. “I don’t think you can write the f-word on posters for school.”
Ruby laughed. “?‘The f-word’? That’s adorable.”
I cleared my throat in an attempt to distract her from my reddening face. “I don’t know why I said it like that. I have said ‘fuck’ before.”
“Congratulations,” she smirked. “For the posters, we can censor it with asterisks and dollar signs.”
“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” I held my marker close to the paper and paused. “You’re doing promo on Instagram and stuff too, right…?”
“Of course. But posters are so classic.”
Ruby watched me start to write a giant S on my poster and then stop again. “You’re making me nervous,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “For listening, I mean.”
“Oh. You’re welcome.”
“You’re sweet.”
Again with the fucking blushing.
“Where’s your bathroom?”
“Around that corner there.” I pointed over my shoulder, and then Ruby put her hand on my leg to hoist herself off the floor, and I almost passed out. It was there and then it was gone, not a squeeze or anything, but—given the alternative options she’d have available: the couch and coffee table—not nothing, either. She didn’t look at me, didn’t act like it meant anything in particular, but why do something like that unless it did? When I heard the bathroom door close I put my hand on the spot where hers had been, just above my right knee, and I held it. I actually held my own knee because a girl’s hand had briefly been there. That’s how far gone I was.
I heard the garage door creak open, and I leapt up like I’d been caught masturbating. My mom was home, at exactly the worst time. Not that the sex trajectory leaps directly from knee grazing to making out, but now it definitely wasn’t going to happen.
Ruby emerged from the bathroom at the same time my mom came through the side door, creating a brief yet torturous standoff.
“Hi, Mom. This is Ruby. Ruby, this is my mom…Ms. Antoniak…?” Most of my friends called my mom by her first name, but it had been a while since anyone new had come over and I wanted to be polite. Instead, I feared I sounded like I didn’t know my own mother’s name.
“Um, no. Call me Nadine,” said my mom. “Nice to meet you, Ruby.”
“Nice to meet you too, Nadine,” said Ruby. “I love your name.”
“Really? It’s so old-fashioned.”
“That’s why it’s cool.”
“Ha. Enjoy that association while it lasts.”
“Just say thank you, Mom.” Sometimes she could be so cynical and so self-righteous I wanted to scream. When I was younger I loved the way she treated the two of us as a team the world was out to get, but the older I got, the more exhausting I found it. Not every compliment was backhanded. Not everyone who seemed nice turned out to only want something from you. Not everything that was good had to go sour.