Page 76 of I Wish You All the Best

I try to stifle a laugh. “The goal of every queer person is the extermination of the cis, straight, allosexual people.”

“So that’s the gay agenda?” Hannah laughs. “But no, seriously, with all this stuff sort of evolving—sexualities and identities, the binary stuff being challenged more and more—don’t you feel like the labels are kind of pointless?”

“Not really. Labels can help people find common ground, can help them connect, with themselves and other people.”

“You know a lot about this stuff.”

“The internet.” And Mariam.

“Don’t believe everything you read. But for real, you’re a smart kid, Benji.” She gives me a quiet smile. “Okay, done. Now since you believe yourself to be a true master of the art”—she slides the glass bottle across the wooden table—“you can try first. All by yourself.”

“You trust me?” I twist the cap off and remove the excess polish before I get to work.

“Put your money where your mouth is.” Hannah’s grinning.

“So can I ask you something? Sort of personal.”

“Shoot. I’ve done enough prying for one day.”

“What happened after you left home?” I ask. The left hand is easy, and surprisingly relaxing. I don’t know exactly how much I should be putting on each finger, but Hannah hasn’t stopped me yet, so I guess it’s enough.

“I applied for a few scholarships that I never told Mom and Dad about. One of them was for State, not a full ride, but enough for me to get on my feet. I moved into the dorms, worked my ass off to save enough for the rest of my tuition. I did the basic thing and got a business degree, but it comes in handy.”

“Is that where you met Thomas?” I move from finger to finger slowly.

“We didn’t start dating until about two years after we graduated, but we actually met sophomore year, which is sort of awkward because we were both dating different people.”

“Really?”

“Did I hear my name?” Thomas peers from around the corner, still in his pajamas. Can’t blame the poor guy.

“Just telling Benji how we met.”

“Oh, did you tell them about the lobster—”

Hannah reaches onto the couch, grabs one of the pillows, and chucks it at Thomas as hard as she can. “Thomas David Waller!” Hannah shouts. Thomas ducks behind the wall just in time, his giggles echoing through the halls.

I’m laughing so hard, I have to put the brush down. “What on earth was that about?”

She huffs, straightening her shirt. “We don’t talk about lobster in this house.”

“Okay,” I say, still laughing. “So, you started dating after college?” I almost can’t get my question out.

“Yup. He ended up moving back home. We kept in touch, and then one day he tells me that he’s moving back down here to teach, so we hung out more and more and, well.” She shrugs her shoulders. “It just sort of happened.”

“Uh-huh.” I eye my hand.

“Okay, now I have to see you try the right one.” She leans forward eagerly, on her elbows, and I realize my mistake the second I pick up the brush. This is so awkward, and is this how I held it the last time? It feels so unnatural. I try for my thumbnail first, since that’s the biggest, but I somehow manage to fuck it up almost instantly.

“Fine, here.” I wipe the coat away before it dries and hand the brush to Hannah.

“Told you,” she half sings. I should’ve just given it to her in the first place. She’s so methodical in how she does it, her hands so much steadier than I could’ve ever dreamed. It only takes her seconds to coat the nails. “Okay. Paint time. Your other hand should be dry enough.” She uncaps the actual nail polish and gets to work.

“Do you think college was worth it?” I ask.

“Eh.” She shrugs. “Lot of debt, but I like my job.”

I dawns on me that I don’t even know what my own sister does for work. Four months of living here and I have absolutely no clue what she spends her day doing. “What do you even do?”