“Grow one, then,” Eris replies, kissing my thumb. “You’d look like redneck trash with the mulletanda pornstache, but I’d still think you’re hot.”
I laugh. “Maybe I will. I’ve always wanted to start T.”
“Why haven’t you?” Eris flicks the lighter on so I can relight the joint, arm wrapping around my hips to hold me in place, quiet and still and full of zim as I smoke. Ze seems just as content as I do to stretch this out. Maybe I have been too impatient, because this is delightful.
“You won’t like the answer.” I sigh, burying my face into zis collarbone while I tap the ashes into a water cup on the nightstand.
“Is the answer because you’re worried about what your parents will think?” I don’t respond, and that’s enough for Eris. Ze huffs. “Yeah, you’re right, I don’t like the answer.”
“I’m not as bold as you,” I murmur. “I don’t want to lose them.”
“What makes you think they’re going anywhere?” Eris asks, warm hand stroking my back. “There’s always a risk, but from what you’ve told me, your parents will come around. You’re out to them now, and they’re still in your life. Having a raggedy-ass mustache and a voice like a twelve-year-old boy for a while isn’t going to change that. Knowing your doormat ass, you haven’t brought up your gender again since you came out.”
I huff, because I haven’t. “But yours—”
“I knew I’d lose them, Blake,” Eris murmurs, kissing my cheek and holding me tight. “I knew it before I even admitted to myself that I was queer. I invited them to know the real me, and they didn’t want to. I knew that would happen and I told them anyway. You make your choices, but your parents make theirs,and you have to trust them to make the right decisions. We have to live for ourselves, Bambi.” Eris leans back with a teasing grin. “Now can we stop talking about our parents before I lose this erection? You’re being a good little cockwarmer, I’d hate for your hard work to go to waste.”
My delighted laugh transforms into a moan when Eris thrusts into me, zis mouth trailing down to my collarbone.
“Bud?”
“Yeah, Bambi?”
“Can you help me get this off?” I ask, tugging my binder. Sticking the joint in zis mouth, Eris helps me peel it off. Ze exhales smoke around my nipple as ze bites it.
I take the joint from zim, breathing through the dull pain in my knee as I ride zim. Maybe the CBD did help, because it doesn’t hurt as much as I expect. Or perhaps Eris’s ministrations—sucking my chest, nails digging into my thighs, fingertips rough on my clit—is enough to distract me.
I don’t know where tomorrow will leave us, but tonight, I’m right where I’m meant to be. For now—however long now lasts—I’m Eris’s. I tell zim that when I come again, whisper how wonderful ze is until those star-freckled cheeks are flushed. Shout Eris’s name when ze pulls another orgasm from me. I hope beyond hope that tomorrow, when we’re back home and back to reality, I’m still Eris’s. Because Eris is mine, even if ze can’t trust that yet.
Fifteen
After
Theridehomeisquiet but comfortable.
We check out of the hotel (leaving an obscene tip for housekeeping on the nightstand), and stop by my parents’ house on our way out of Solberg. Eris is impressed with their homegrown strain, so I text them to ask what it actually is.
Dad hasn’t changed it much since the eighties, so they don’t remember. But once I open the communication floodgates, Mom fills me in with a string of replies that Eris can have some seeds, and also my dad saw a roadrunner, and also I need to send her pictures from the wedding.
We take a dozen seeds for Eris to experiment with, and I restock my stash, in exchange for a picture of us dressed up for the wedding from yesterday, and another of us with Matt and Allie. After refilling the bird feeders, I check on the chickens, giving Eris ample time to fawn over the grow setup in the basement. Part of me doesn’t want to leave, and yet I’m the one rushing us back into the car to get back on the road.
Our conversations are quiet, but sparse. I get the feeling that Eris, like me, doesn’t really want the drive to end, or the conversations that come after it. Taking the backroads, I take us through the Driftless Area, showing Eris the winding roads along the bluffs where the forest creates a tunnel of sun-dappled shade.
We stop for a long lunch at a cafe, instead of fast food in the car like we did on the drive out. Eris drives the second half of the trip, and I spend most of my time as the passenger with zis hand on my thigh, pointing out the birds I see.
“Can I ask a question?” I ask as we cross over the glacial moraine back to the Lake Michigan lobe, almost back to home and what comes “after”.
“No.”
I ask anyway. “Why did you pick ze zim as your pronouns?”
Eris groans. “Goddammit, Bambi, I was so close!”
“What?”
“Stella and I were betting if you’d get up the courage to ask again.”
“Bitch, you bet on me?” I smack zis arm with a laugh.
