“Will you help me?” Blake asks quietly when they pull away.
“With what?” I ask, wishing I could feel as peaceful as this all the time. “You wantmeto tell them you start your new job on Monday?”
“No, just…” Blake sighs, banging their forehead against mine again. “Mom won’t try to, but she just…I don’t want them to mow down my flowers.”
This bitch and their nature metaphors. I smile, pressing a kiss to their cheek. “Let them see how beautifully you’re blooming, then.”
Blake wrinkles their nose. “That’s corny, Bud.”
“You started it.” My hands slide under their shirt, along the warm, smooth skin of their back. “I’ll be right there, okay? I will probably be saying the wrong thing and making a horrible first impression, but I can find a spot in the conversation for you to bring it up, and I’ll be right there to back you up the whole time. Is that what you need?” Blake nods. “Okay. And if you’re good…” I trail off suggestively, pulling Blake a little closer to me.
“Define good,” Blake smirks.
“Well, first, you wanted to clean this place, and you still have trash everywhere.” I tighten my grip around their waist beforethey can start panic-cleaning again. “And you have four things you want to tell them. That’s five orgasms to earn, Bambi.” I glance down at their ratty T-shirt and stained joggers. “Six if you get dressed into something a little more presentable? I mean, you do you, but we did make reservations for this place weeks ago.”
“I was gonna change after I finished cleaning!” Blake laughs, pushing me away. “You’re such a dick!”
I beam. “You like it.”
“Whatever.” Blake throws an empty soda can at me.
“Hey, watch the dress! This is Dream’s!” I toss the can into the cardboard box acting as a recycling bin, then smooth down the skirt of the pretty blue cotton dress I’ve been indefinitely borrowing from Dream for years. Everything looks good on her, and this is one of the few casual dresses I’ve found that hangs nicely on me. “Fucking brat.”
“You like it.” Blake kisses my cheek before they put a fresh bag in the trash can. Tempting as it is to keep flirting, to keep distracting them, we actually do have to leave soon. It’s embarrassing how nervous I am for this. I’ve spent my whole life trying to become this nonchalant jackass who doesn’t give a fuck. But I do give a fuck. A lot of fucks. After an adulthood filled with cynicism and hardship, the past year has been good. Great, even. And the past month, unbelievably, indescribably…wonderful. With Blake, with our friends, with my life, I’m really happy.
I don’t trust it to last, but I want it to. Blake loves their parents, and I refuse to let meeting the Ryans become an opportunity to sabotage my happiness. I can be a polite, charming jackass for one weekend. Showing up to dinner disheveled and reeking of sex, tempting as it is, would not make a great first impression.
Iwasreallyhopingthat Matt and Allie would show up at the same time as the Ryans, to help buffer the awkwardness. Because from what Blake’s told me, their parents are just as awkward as they are.
However, when Blake and I walk in (Blake now dressed in a boxy tank top and their “nice” joggers), Linda and Michael are sitting alone at the restaurant. My partner’s cinnamon roll ex and hilarious bestie are nowhere to be seen in the corner booth. The pizza parlor is loud and dark and crowded, and I have to drop Blake’s hand to follow them through the walkways between the tables. I press my hands against my thighs through my dress, trying not to clench the fabric; I’d been more confident before, but without Blake’s hand in mine, nerves get the better of me. I’m not used to trying to be polite or charming; being a genderfuck weirdo is a comfortable armor against the inevitable rejection.
As she gets up to hug Blake, Linda surprises me with how tall she is, with frizzy red hair piled high on her head in a haphazard bun. For some reason, I’d assumed Blake got their height from their dad, but no. Linda is a couple inches taller than me, even with my platforms. “Blakey-poo! Finally! My baby child!”
“Hi Mom,” Blake mutters into their mom’s shoulder when she pulls them into a tight hug.
“And you must be Eris!” Linda turns to me next, and my nerves seize in my chest. She presses her lips together in a smile, looking at me up and down with a nod. “Your hair is really shiny,though you’re shorter than I thought you’d be. The tattoos are rad, and your dress is cute!” She looks at her own chambray dress. “We almost match!”
Dream’s floral blue sundress looks nothing like Linda’s, but I just say, “Yeah, blue!” because I don’t know what else to say to that. I doubt Linda would appreciate my teasing as much as Blake does, and I’m trying to make a good impression here.
With no other warning than a “Hug!” as it happens, my face is squeezed into Linda’s shoulder. I tentatively pat her on the back, unsure of how I missed the signs she was going for it. Like Blake at their most unfiltered, Linda seems to talk fast, state her observations out loud, and doesn’t consider how her words might land. It won’t give me much to work with to keep a conversation going, but I suspect that won’t be an issue with Linda like it can be with Blake.
It took months of drag brunches to figure out Blake’s tells, to adapt my own abrasive personality to draw them out of their shell. But Blake was a fascinating puzzle to solve, a subtle language I had to learn before I could get closer to the interesting person behind the mask. Linda is Blake at their most carefree. No mask at all.
“This is my husband, Michael.” Linda gestures to the quiet man half hidden behind her. He’s tall, too, wearing a sun hat and utility vest over a green polo. Looking like a park ranger, even though it’s six in the evening in downtown Chicago.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” I nod, keeping an eye out for any sign of a handshake. Or another hug. Blake said he doesn’t have the best mobility in his right hand, so on the rare occasions he initiates a handshake, I should use my left. But Michael simply nods at me, gestures to his ears, and mouths something I can’t hear, but what looks to roughly mean, “It’s nice to meet you too, but it’s very loud in here.”
“He’s got earplugs in,” Linda explains. “He gets tired when there are too many things to listen to, and it was such a long drive today.” She waves us into the circular booth. “Eris, come sit by me, so I can ask you everything!”
Face blank, Blake gives me a shrug, so I scoot to the back of the round booth, while Linda slides in before her husband on the other side. If this is how their parents communicate, I can see why Blake has a hard time asserting themself.
Blake winces as they push themself around the table to be next to me. “Matt and Allie not here yet?” they ask their mom as they fight to get their knee around the table leg. I offer them a hand to pull them the rest of the way around the booth. Blake, independent as always, swats it away. They let me help relieve their pain, and I’m allowed to harass them about their PT, but they’re stubborn about doing everything for themself.
“They took a nap after the drive, and they were just getting up when it was time to leave. They should be along any moment.” Linda waves a hand. “So, Eris, what do you do?”
“Mom, I already told you—”
“I know, I know, but I want to hear it from Eris.”
