London glanced at her. Her face looked different, but they couldn’t read it.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No, it really does. I want to make sure I don’t accidentally befriend someone who’s actually an asshole.”
London sighed. They were so tired that they wouldn’t truly contemplate Dahlia’s reaction until later, how steely her voice had turned. “It was mainly Lizzie.”
“Remind me, which one is Lizzie again?”
“Frizzy blond hair. White woman, fifty-ish, maybe.”
Dahlia’s brow furrowed in concentration. She looked soseriousall of a sudden. “Glasses?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded. “What did she do?”
“Oh, you know . . . ” London waved a hand, not wanting to rehash it. Coming out to so many strangers like that, all at once—it had been terrifying, but they figured it was the most efficient way. It had been one of the tensest moments of London’s entire life, attempting to announce it to the table quickly and casually.
But they thought they’d gotten away with it. A white woman with dark hair hidden underneath a backward baseball cap named Cath had leaned forward, her voice deep and comforting when she said, “That’s cool with me. Thanks for telling us, London.” And then she’d given this little nod, which London had immediately accepted as a Fellow Queer Nod of Approval, and they had let out some of the breath that had been pent up in their lungs. Others at the table nodded too, smiled at them.
Until Lizzie had cleared her throat, dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin, and said, “I’m sorry, but what do you mean?”
And London’s stomach had clenched all over again. It was exhausting, on an ordinary day, having to constantly explain and defend your existence. And it had been a long plane ride here from Nashville, their nerves already frayed from embarking on this strange journey.
They decided to be direct, basic, repeating more slowly what they’d already fucking said. Nonbinary. They/them pronouns. The end.
Lizzie had squinted her eyes at them, like they were speaking in Klingon.
“But that doesn’t make any sense.”
Janet’s chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“You really want us to refer to you, a singular person, usingthey?”
“Yup.” London shoved their fists in their pockets, gritted the single syllable between clenched teeth. The rest of the table seemed frozen, staring determinedly at their plates, their sweating glasses of water.
Janet placed a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. Lizzie looked around the table. “Oh, come on,” she said, her voice turning derisive, “I can’t be the only one who thinks this is a bunch of malarkey. There’s no such—”
“Lizzie.”Janet’s voice was firm. Not even Lizzie could fight that voice.
Janet had led her swiftly away from the table, Lizzie muttering under her breath, and then they were out of the room, and the table descended into painfully awkward silence. It was likely only a few seconds until Cath said something that broke the tension, but London couldn’t hear what it was through the ringing in their ears. They had taken two bites of their food and departed shortly thereafter.
Making others uncomfortable by being honest about their identity was a skill London already had familiarity with. They just hadn’t experienced it on quite as grand a scale before.
“Yeah,” Dahlia said now, softly, and London’s mind returned to this dark hotel bar. “I know.”
Even though London had not actually described any of last night’s events out loud.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Dahlia added. “If Lizzie’s being a bitch to you, or anyone else.”
London frowned. “It’s fine. I just needed a day to process it. I don’t need to be . . .
” They waved their hand again. “Your queer charity case.”
“No, I’m not . . . ” Dahlia’s mouth opened and closed, color hitting her cheeks. She leaned back in her chair. “My older brother Hank is trans. He started transitioning a few years ago. So I know the things people can say. That’s all.”
She took a sip of bourbon.
