“Now that is my son.” Maman cups my face in her handand strokes my cheek like she always does, ever since I can remember.
It's in moments like these that I physically itch to tell her my big secret. To say the words,"Maman, I'm bisexual. I like boys too."But I always chicken out. Today's excuse is that I don't want to take away from what I just said about D— Ravel. Because it's all true, I just can't actually write that.
“But you don't want her to know it's you feeling all these powerful things for her?”
“No way. She hates me.”
“Well, that's not terrible.”
I blink at my mother, dumbfounded. “It's not?”
“No, that means she has strong feelings for you. We don't hate people we do not care about.”
“Hmm, I'm not convinced.”
“Give me your pen.” Maman lifts her hand, palm up.
I do so before realising why that's a big mistake.
Maman starts to write in the card.
“She is in your French class, no? So she will understand if I write in French.”
“Maman, no! What are you doing?” My brain lurches to English, proving it’s ultimately my default language in moments of panic.
“Helping you!” She shifts away when I try to grab hold of the pen.
“But I only bought one card!” I groan again.
“And one card is all you need.Voilà!”
She slides the card over to me with a proud look on her face.
I read her writing once, twice, three times.
Ma Valentine, je veux toujours être près de toi, ton amour secret.
“Shit, Maman, that's a bit intense. You make me sound like a stalker.”
“If she doesn't like it, she's not the woman for you,” Maman says with that ‘et alors?’ look again.
“But I don't want to scare her.”
“Love is scary,” Maman says as she stands, “terrifying!”
She says this with far too much excitement, her brown bob shaking as she waves her hands around.
I switch to English again. “Again, I don't love her. I just...notice her.”
“And now maybe she will start to notice you. She will certainly be looking around at all the boys she sees differently.”
It's like a door opening for me. I decide to walk through.
“Or girls,” I say quietly but firmly, keeping my eyes on Maman as she resumes chopping vegetables. “She's bisexual.”
Maman looks up for a few seconds. “Oh?Bon.” And then she goes back to slicing with her knife, sharp rhythmic movements that I focus on as I speak again.
“In fact, I think I am too.” I raise my voice so she can definitely hear me. I’ve come this far. “I'm bisexual, also.”
