Truly, Madly, Deeply

by Alexandria Bellefleur

She studied the Sharpie scribble along the side of the plastic cup. Iced quad grande oat milk latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup. She took the coffee from him. “What is this?” “Other than an egregious amount of caffeine?” Colin dropped the gym bag he was carrying and sat beside her. “It’s your order, isn’t it?” “You knew that how?” “He fished it out of the garbage after you left,” Caitlin said, tapping away at her phone. “Like the total freak he is.”

“Objectively, your father’s a silver fox.” “Objectively, my father has no hair on his head.” Lulu looked at her and they burst out laughing. “He looks like Stanley Tucci!” Lulu argued. “He fixes a mean Aperol Spritz! It’s hot.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not suggesting you marry the guy. I’m suggesting you go get your back blown out by the dude who’s currently sitting at home reading books you wrote and texting you after asking his sister for your phone number.”

She took a screenshot and sent it to Lulu, needing to get this off her chest. Truly (11:04 p.m.): He’s so pretty it pisses me off. She hit send and slumped against the wall. Save for the pushpin digging into her shoulder blade, she felt so much better. Lighter. Her phone buzzed and she took her time reaching for it. Colin (11:10 p.m.): I don’t think you meant to send this to me?

YOURE SO GORGEOUS

Colin (9:36 a.m.): I was up until two finishing your book. Colin (9:37 a.m.): Never really understood what all the fuss was when people talked about having a book hangover. Colin (9:37 a.m.): Now I get it. Thanks to you. Colin (9:38 a.m.): You’re so good at what you do, Truly.

She’d been in a serious, monogamous relationship with a guy for the last six years, during which time she’d worked out that her appreciation of women transcended mere admiration and fell firmly into the camp of attraction. That straight girls didn’t look at each other and feel the things Truly felt. They didn’t zone out thinking about how soft another girl’s skin was or get a jumpy thrill in their stomach when they shared lip gloss or sipped from the same can of soda because holy shit it was like their lips had touched. They didn’t eagerly agree to play spin the bottle on the off chance they might land on their best friend the way she had in eighth grade. They didn’t drink too much vodka as an excuse to make out with each other the way she had in high school. They definitely didn’t feel sick to their stomach the next day when everyone laughed it off because no harm, no foul, guys got off on watching girls do that sort of thing.

By the time she’d discovered this part of herself, put a name to it, she was two years into dating Justin and being bi was just an ancillary part of who she was. She wasn’t about to break up with him just so she could—what? Explore that part of herself? She didn’t feel the need to explore something she already felt sure in. But it made coming out kind of weird. Unnecessary? She was in a serious relationship with a man; did anyone really need to know? She didn’t have a problem saying it; the words themselves came easy. If she was doing a book event and someone asked—as people often did, curious about what had drawn her to queer fiction—she’d answer. But in her day-to-day life? She could probably count on one hand the number of people she’d come out to.

you know when someone asks if you’ve been somewhere, and you’ve only ever been to the airport? So, geographically the answer is yes, technically, but you feel like a fraud for saying so because you haven’t really been there?” That’s what it felt like whenever anyone asked her about being bisexual. Like she was Bi Lite.

You could go the rest of your life never dating a woman and it wouldn’t change a thing. If anything, I think you’re the perfect person to talk about bi-erasure in media because you spent the last six years in a straight-presenting relationship that was queer because you’re queer. And the gender of your partner? Doesn’t change that.”

“You mean . . . like, a date?” Saying the word out loud made her palms sweat. Another laugh escaped his lips. “Yeah, Truly. Exactly like a date.” “Why?” she blurted. Colin smiled patiently. “Because I like you. Because I like spending time with you. Because I’d like to spend more time with you.”

Truly (11:17 p.m.): Having a crush as an adult is so embarrassing.

Up against your front door?” Lulu shrieked. “Truly! You little hussy, you. When’s the wedding?”

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve met in my entire life. You’re stubborn and you’re proud—” “Those aren’t compliments. Those are—” “—and you’re bossy,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’re also passionate and when you believe in something, you believe in it with your whole heart. And maybe”—the softest of shuddering sighs escaped him—“I’ve been looking for someone who believes in me like that.”

“God, I hate you.” She didn’t. Not even a little bit. Not at all.

“That should be for me to decide, shouldn’t it? Not you. Me. Whether or not I want to be with you is my choice,” he said. “You said it yourself; we’ve all got flaws. But the day I don’t want you is the day the earth starts rotating backward, okay?” “That’s a hell of a bold statement from a guy who’s known me two months.” “Remember this moment in twenty years. Can’t wait to tell you I told you so.”

“Did you—did you bet on my love life?”

“Colin, sate my curiosity, would you? Were you aware of your girlfriend’s—Truly is your girlfriend, no?” Truly groaned. “Dad, I love you, but really?” “Hey, I’m on TikTok. I’m hip with the lingo. Simping and smashing, sneaky links and situationships. Are you two still in the talking phase or have you DT’d the R?”

“Well, shit, son,” Dad said, smile watery. “You’re a walking green flag. Truly, honey, this one’s got some real rizz.”

“Jokes aside,” he said, “I’m pretty keen on being kept by you.”

“Because marriage is work, but it’s also play.”