Casey McQuiston Recommends the Queer Romances Her Younger Self Needed

I’ve been thinking about the spaces where I used to feel safe back then, and the one I remember most fondly is my hometown Barnes & Noble.
 
We didn’t really have an indie bookstore. Instead, there was a shopping center containing a Barnes & Noble that shared one massive parking lot with a movie theater, and the thrill of a lifetime was convincing your parents to drop you off there for a whole afternoon of skulking around the aisles followed by a movie. I have a very vivid memory of doing just that with a screening of Revenge of the Sith, and I even still remember my outfit: rolled-up denim capri pants over argyle leggings, black Mary Janes, and a Vote for Pedro ringer tee (I know). I was pretty sure those Barnes & Noble afternoons were the most important thing I’d ever do, so I committed it all to memory.
 
Sometimes I’ve struggled to empathize with my past trying-to-be-straight self. She was very much a product of her times and her environment, and sometimes I want to reach back through time to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. “You silly little baby, I am begging you to consider why you feel so out of place and desperate for validation all the time,” I would say, except I would have to yell to be heard, because she was also so loud all the time for no good reason except overcompensation.
 
But she was doing her best. She was finding her places, picking out things that would lead her to herself. She was sitting on the scratchy carpet of a Barnes & Noble, creating inside jokes with her friends and reading single chapters of books. She was buying pots of ink and then camping out at a Starbucks table pretending she was in Austen-era London writing letters by candlelight. She was walking through the shelves and imagining herself there one day, one spine tucked alongside all the others, fitting in perfectly.