“If it were entirely up to you, would you and Inez be a thing?”
“Maybe. She’s cute, and she’s a physics concentrator. I like me some physics concentrators.”
I shake my head with a smile, but I don’t get how you’d ever say “maybe” about whether or not you want to go out with someone.
With Gretchen, I knew from the first night that there was something between us. Something real.
It was never only that Gretchen was pretty, either. It always felt—well, serious. Deep. There was never any “maybe” about it.
I try to explain that to Derek. It doesn’t come out very well thanks to the lingering effects of all that beer, but Derek smiles at me.
“Hey, that’s great for you guys. I’ve never been in love at first sight like that. I’ve always liked people the old-fashioned, boring way, where you like someone a little, and then you like them a lot, and then you like them a lot.” Derek laughs. Derek, I’ve noticed, laughs more often than not. Gretchen does that, too. “You and your girlfriend must have something really special. I can’t wait to meet her. When’s she coming up?”
“Halloween.”
“Not before that? I thought you said you guys were going to visit each other every weekend?”
“We were.” I motion to the waitress for a refill. For our first couple of weeks of school, Gretchen kept trying to make plans to come up. Finally I said we were both too busy and we should just wait until Halloween and the dance.
The thing is, I am busy. But I’m also aching to see Gretchen. To touch. I never thought I’d feel so starved for physical contact.
I’m also kind of terrified of the idea, though. I’m scared that when we’re face-to-face, that ache won’t be what comes through. I’m afraid it’ll be the anxiety. And the anger I still can’t rationalize away.
“You should ask Inez to the dance,” I tell Derek. “I mean, if people ask people to dances in college.”
Derek laughs even harder. “Sometimes I forget you’re a freshman.”
“Good. No one else does.”
“Anyway, yeah, people ask people to dances sometimes. I’ll probably ask her if I can get over myself in time.”
I nod. “So is Inez bi or what?”
“Last I heard, she identifies as heteroflexible.” Derek laughs again. “So she’s a step up for me. My last relationship ended because it turned out his idea of bi meant ‘screwing every other guy within a hundred-foot radius and then lying about it.’”
I pause with my drink halfway to my mouth. “Wait, what did you say?”
“Oh, it’s nothing bad. Heteroflexible means she mostly likes guys, but not always. She thinks it’s more accurate for her than bi.”
“I know what heteroflexible means.” I shake my head. “It was the stupid pronoun. Sorry, I’m dumb. I didn’t know you’d dated guys. Up until now I thought you were straight.”
Derek’s mouth falls open.
“How have we never talked about this?” Derek says. “That’s hysterical! I guess I need to come out to you, then. Toni.”
Derek takes my hand and puts on a fake-serious expression.
“I have to tell you something very important about myself. I like guys sometimes, too.”
We laugh some more. Derek lets go of my hand.
“Do you identify as bi?” I ask.
“Yeah, usually. What about you?”
“I don’t have a label that I use for sexual orientation. I just think of myself as queer.” I could go through the whole explanation for why I especially hate the word lesbian—it makes me think of old ladies playing pool and wearing flannel—but I don’t want to get into that. I don’t know who might be eavesdropping. The last thing I need is for Barb, or one of Barb’s equally well-built friends, to take offense. “It doesn’t seem to matter anyway since I only want to be with Gretchen.”
“But what if someday you—” Derek pauses. “Never mind. When did you first identify as GQ?”
The truth is, I don’t even like the word genderqueer that much. I especially hate abbreviating it as GQ. It makes me think of the dumb magazine with the half-naked girls on the cover.