to work it all out in my head only to never really come to a conclusion.
“Because, okay, so.” I take a deep breath. “For a while I thought I was gay.” I would see other guys, and I was really attracted to most of them. But it still felt like I was missing something. Something about myself.
Like who you’re attracted to and who you are as a person are two totally different things. It’s hard to explain not being confident in your own body. It just feels wrong, but only you seem to really know how and why it feels that way.
“But that still didn’t feel like the answer,” I continue. Because it wasn’t. And it wasn’t until I’d found Mariam’s videos that I really felt like I’d found someone who understood what was happening.
“So what about the sexuality thing?” Hannah asks.
“In all honesty, I’m still working through that.” Because I’m still attracted to the more masculine-presenting people, but nonbinary-ness isn’t something you can tell outright, so the boy at the coffee shop who I think is cute could actually be nonbinary.
But I’m still attracted to him. And besides, I don’t exactly have a gender, and being gay implies being interested in the same gender.
Like I said. It’s complicated.
“So, you’re not gay anymore?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” I think of myself as bisexual. I’m interested in guys and more masculine-presenting people. But then there are people who argue that bisexuality is only two genders, and that those two genders have to be men and women. I’ve heard that argument too many times now, so I’ve learned to just keep it to myself. “For simplicity, I just say that I’m queer, that I have a type.” And definitely a lot easier than explaining that I identify as bisexual. And less gatekeeping involved too.
“And what type would that be?”
“Hot people?” I offer, knowing what she’s trying to get at.
“Can’t believe you’re so shallow,” she teases.
“Shut up.”
“You ever think that ‘straight’ and ‘gay’ are gonna be obsolete one day?”
I try to stifle a laugh. “The goal of every queer person is the extermination of the cis, straight, allosexual people.”
“So that’s the gay agenda?” Hannah laughs. “But no, seriously, with all this stuff sort of evolving—sexualities and identities, the binary stuff being challenged more and more—don’t you feel like the labels are kind of pointless?”
“Not really. Labels can help people find common ground, can help them connect, with themselves and other people.”
“You know a lot about this stuff.”
“The internet.” And Mariam.
“Don’t believe everything you read. But for real, you’re a smart kid, Benji.” She gives me a quiet smile. “Okay, done. Now since you believe yourself to be a true master of the art”—she slides the glass bottle across the wooden table—“you can try first. All by yourself.”
“You trust me?” I twist the cap off and remove the excess polish before I get to work.
“Put your money where your mouth is.” Hannah’s grinning.
“So can I ask you something? Sort of personal.”
“Shoot. I’ve done enough prying for one day.”
“What happened after you left home?” I ask. The left hand is easy, and surprisingly relaxing. I don’t know exactly how much I should be putting on each finger, but Hannah hasn’t stopped me yet, so I guess it’s enough.
“I applied for a few scholarships that I never told Mom and Dad about. One of them was for State, not a full ride, but enough for me to get on my feet. I moved into the dorms, worked my ass off to save enough for the rest of my tuition. I did the basic thing and got a business degree, but it comes in handy.”
“Is that where you met Thomas?” I move from finger to finger slowly.
“We didn’t start dating until about two years after we graduated, but we actually met sophomore year, which is sort of awkward because we were both dating different people.”
“Really?”
“Did I hear my name?” Thomas peers from around the corner, still in his pajamas. Can’t blame the poor guy.
“Just telling Benji how we met.”
“Oh, did you tell them about the lobster—”
Hannah reaches onto the couch, grabs one of the pillows, and chucks it at Thomas as hard as she can. “Thomas David Waller!” Hannah shouts. Thomas ducks behind the wall just in time, his giggles echoing through the halls.
I’m laughing so hard, I have to put the brush down. “What on earth was that about?”
She huffs, straightening her shirt. “We don’t talk about lobster in this house.”
“Okay,” I say, still laughing. “So, you