Cubby
“Isn’tthis just absolutely the most gorgeous home you’ve ever laid your pretty eyes on?” I beam at the lake house. It’s morning, the sun is still low in the sky, and I’ve been marveling at our new digs since we got here yesterday.
“Uh, no,” Meg answers. “The white paint is chipped, the lawn is overgrown, and those puke-brown shutters are hideous. Now help me with these groceries.”
I roll my eyes and grab a bag. “Spoilsport. It’s on the freaking lake, Meg.” I look out to the water, visible through the thin trees that dot the sloping yard. Gentle white fog rolls across the lake, clouds that do indeed look like steam. “Maybe we should rent a boat today.”
We drove to the next town over for supplies, since there’s a proper grocery store there, but I’m mildly obsessed with finding an excuse to see Chase.
“Workday, remember? I can’t let you get off-track already.”
“Workday, right.” I sigh and follow her into the house.
It’s not like I’m avoiding work. Meg and I are nine months into a project that’s consumed both of our worlds, an attempt to launch our dream careers. We’ve been happy workaholics, crammed into one tiny Boston apartment, saving every penny for our dreams.
But now that we’re finally at the lake, there are distractions everywhere.
The interior of Meg’s family’s lake house is like the exterior: shabby chic and instantly charming. Wood-paneled walls, tall windows stretching to the ceiling, and old red-and-green couches straight from the nineties. The windows need a good cleaning, and we’ll have to take the framed family photos and mountain paintings off the walls for my video shoots, but the light is beautiful and the lake peaceful in the background.
I don’t care what Meg says. It’s perfect.
As we unload groceries, my friend and I sip coffee and compile our daily to-do list. We met while we were both getting master’s degrees, her for video production and me in gender and sexuality studies. I took a video-production class because I was interested in making my own content, and the two of us became instant best friends.
Meg’s kind of my opposite, deadpan and pessimistic while I’m a bubbly, look-on-the-bright-side type. But we complement each other instead of clashing, and she’s as ambitious as I am, which is how I convinced her to take a chance on this plan.
We focused on Meg first and her nature documentary. For months, I worked my butt off to fund it all. I spent days waiting tables at an overpriced Italian restaurant, then turned around for a night shift at a gay bar, flirting for tips and slinging cheap shots. Meanwhile, Meg devoted herself to her documentary, driving out for long days of filming salamanders in state parks when the weather was right and editing footage the rest of the time.
Finally, early spring came. Meg filmed the great amphibian migration of frogs and salamanders and wrapped up the first big stretch of her project, and all attention turned to me.
That’s usually how I like it: all eyes on Cubby. But the pressure is real too.
“So what do you think?” I ask as I hop back to sit on the linoleum counter, swinging my legs. “Should we rent that boat first, or…?”
“Is this about that guy?” Meg asks immediately. My friend crosses her lanky arms over her chest as she gives me the eye. The sleeves of her T-shirt are rolled up to her shoulders, displaying her tattoos—a yellow-spotted salamander on one bicep and the wordsno thankson the other. “Or are you nervous to start recording now that we’re here?”
“You know I swore off boyfriends,” I complain, then jump back to the floor. “Can’t I just want the lake time? You’ve been outside filming all spring while I’ve been cooped up in the apartment and at work. I’m here for the sunshine, Meg. The nature!”
“You swore off boyfriends, not hookups.”
It’s true. I can’t handle the distraction of falling for someone new right now, on top of a million other complicating factors, but I still have needs. I’m a horny twenty-six-year-old, for god’s sake.
I grin. “You really think he’d hook up with me?”
Meg sticks her tongue out, ignoring my antics. “Should I get the lighting set up?”
“I suppose,” I relent and grab a protein bar from the counter. “I’ll be in makeup if you need me.”
* * *
It takes me until noon to get ready, my heart jumping with excitement and nerves the whole time. For years, I’ve looked up to new media celebrities like my favorite mega-influencer, Jules the Himbo, and the sex-toy entrepreneur, Lady Della—queer people who use their platforms to celebrate healthy sexuality and to educate and enlighten the public.
Now, with a master’s degree in gender and sexuality under my belt and a hell of a lot of harebrained ideas, it’s my turn to join the conversation.
When I emerge downstairs with my silky teal robe loosely tied at the waist, Meg has the whole place set up for the shoot. There’s a wall of windows and glass doors at the back, opening directly onto the deck, and she’s set up a couple of lights, a mic stand, and her tripod across from the view. She’s pulled a plaid love seat into the space between the lights and propped a kayak paddle and fishing pole up against the wall, all tastefully arranged.
“Wow,” I say, frozen at the bottom of the stairs. “This looksamazing. Seriously professional, Meg.”
“I am a professional.”
