“I don’t know what to say, and you told me to stop saying sorry!” I snap, pulling my hand away. “Thoughts and prayers! Is that better?”
With a grin, Eris grabs my hand and laces zis fingers through mine again. “I’m just giving you shit, dude. Awkward sympathy accepted and appreciated.”
After a moment’s silence, I say, “You don’t talk about yourself often.”
“You never ask me anything.”
“I figure you’ll share whatever you want to tell me.”
Eris hums, and I’m not sure if that tone means ze agrees or not. “Hang out with us besides brunch, then. Hard to talk about real shit when we get interrupted by drag queens every few minutes.”
I hum back, equally unsure ifI’magreeing or not. “So, what should I know about you? Since we’ve been dating for a few months and all.”
“Right,” Eris chuckles sardonically. “What do you want to know?”
Besides dragging up the apparently touchy subject of why Eris chose zis pronouns, I’m mostly curious about why Eris stopped tattooing. But ze didn’t answer the last time I asked about it directly. “Work history? Education?”
“Is this a job interview?” Eris laughs again, and I can’t help but smile along. “My dad comes from this old rancher family, and my mom basically transformed his inheritance into this farming empire. I went to school for agriculture because she expected me to expand the family business, but college was…freeing. Being queer wasn’t in Mom’s plans for me. Hard to break ground with conservative farmers in Texas when your successor is trans, you know? So after I finished my master’s, I moved here and got a tattoo apprenticeship, instead of working for my parents because I wouldn’t go back in the closet. Haven’t really talked to my family since.” Zis hand tightens around mine. “I dunno. Same sob story lots of queer people have, but I’m lucky. I grew up well-off, no college debt, got a degree in something useful.”
I frown, heart lurching at how much pain Eris must have been through to speak about it so nonchalantly. “But family is important. They should still be there for you.” I want to say something more sympathetic, but Eris will probably just tease me again, so I give up. “That’s fucked up that they’re not.”
Eris snickers. “You had a really good childhood, didn’t you, Bambi?”
I huff. “Why do you say that like it’s an insult?”
“Just jealous. Can’t relate to all that secure attachment.”
Instead of downplaying it like a more polite person probably would (because my childhood was pretty great, sorry not sorry), I nod to the rolling hills and the forest on our left. “You see that?”
“Are those glacial trees?” Eris snarks.
“No, the opposite, actually!” I snort. “This is my favorite ecological region, the Driftless Area. This region was never covered during the last ice age, so it escaped the glaciation process. Basically, it’s really pretty and hilly and very fun to drive through.” I turn my blinker on and take the branch of the freeway leading toward the hills that will bring me back home. “Maybe on the way back, we can take the backroads so you can really appreciate it.”
“If you want to spend more time with me by then, Bambi, I’m along for the ride.”
We drive in silence a while longer, until I remember I’m supposed to be asking questions. But I only have one question— Well, two. But I am still minding my own damn business with the pronouns. “So why did you quit tattooing?”
Eris flexes the hand that isn’t holding mine. “Arthritis. Easier to manage the pain when I’m not hunched over and clenching a vibrating needle machine for six hours a day.”
That was not the reason I was expecting. “Uh… Wait, how old are you?”
Ze laughs. “That is definitely something you should know after a few months of dating! I’m only thirty-two, just overworked myself. How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” I admit, wondering if Eris will think I’m immature instead of an asshole.
“Damn, and you’re already done with law school?” Eris once again sounds impressed with me, and I don’t know how to handle it.
I shrug. “I moved here a week after I finished undergrad.”
“That’s dedicated. Working is gonna be a culture shock for you.” Eris adds, “Do you have any tattoos? Or piercings?”
I stiffen. “No piercings.”
Oh, I can practicallyhearzim smile. “Oh? But you have tattoos?” When I don’t speak, or even look at zim (because I’m trying not to squirm, burning with preemptive embarrassment), Eris adds in a smug tone, “I’m assuming your Matt would know about this, and he might be confused why I don’t.”
With a sigh, I admit, “I have a tramp stamp.”
Eris squeals, a new sound for me. “I’m so proud! What of?”
