Triple Sec

by T.J. Alexander

First dates were the worst. It was like having a job interview where you were also expected to be hot.

“What? Are you serious?” Bebe nodded firmly. “Sex is where we get to act out all the little dramas we’re not allowed to indulge in public. When people take their clothes off, they want to be the opposite of how they’re always expected to be.” “Is this your roundabout way of telling me you’re a bottom?” Mel asked. “Oh, Sweetheart, there’s nothing roundabout about it.” Bebe’s eyes danced.

This was the kind of magical night she’d only had once in a blue moon in New York, where the grinding pulse of the city suddenly felt like it was beating in tune right alongside hers.

I don’t hide the way I live my life. If I did, that would give people like him all the ammunition they need to threaten me. You can’t blackmail someone if everything’s out in the open.”

“I’m scared of lots of things. Needles. Spiders. Not knowing if the dog is going to die at the end.” “That’s… a very specific fear.” “Some of us never got over Where the Red Fern Grows, all right?”

Amen, sis

Dating casually was easy. All Mel had to do was pretend to be a completely different person forever.

“What we’re looking at is the product of all that work, not the work itself. They are intentionally showing us the print without its matching plate.” Her face softened as she regarded the etching, her head cocked to the side. Mel was transfixed by her and it in equal measure. “It’s the culmination. The child, not the parent. The parent is somewhere else, invisible to us.” “Hers,” Mel said, finally understanding. She looked at the etching again, now that she had some background clues. The roundness of it could have been a belly or a breast. “Is Kade’s mother—?” “They’re estranged,” Bebe said, quiet and a little angry. “Literally not in the picture.” Mel felt that with her whole self,

agriculture so she could showcase local products in the drink. She hadn’t realized before that New York had the largest population of tappable sugar maples in the country (suck it, Vermont),

Ahahahaha

“There’s nothing more romantic than allowing your partner what they need, I think.”

“Why does Bebe call you her wife? You’re gender neutral about most things, but not that.” They pursed their lips in thought before answering. “I like the word ‘wife.’ It appeals to me in a way the other words for ‘spouse’ never could,” Kade said. “Bebe and I have imbued it with a kind of magic, I think. Words are just symbols, and a symbol can mean whatever you ascribe to it. I don’t think you need to be a woman to be a wife. Even men could be wives, if they tried hard enough.” They cast a dry look in Mel’s direction. “Most of them don’t. But there’s always hope.”

‘Just’ friends makes it sound like something lesser. Easier. I don’t think it is. It’s still a garden that needs tending, even if it’s growing something else. In some other season.”

Damn, TJ

“I didn’t even know what kind of martini I preferred at that age. What made me think I knew who I’d want to be with forever?” “Is that what marriage is to you?” Kade’s voice, for once, held no tinge of judgement. “Being with someone forever?” “I mean—that’s the idea, right? Why? Is it different for you and Bebe? More loosey-goosey?” Kade considered this for a moment. “I think it’s strange to define a good marriage as one in which two people stay together until they—what? Both die simultaneously? It’s a lot of pressure, not to mention statistically unlikely.”

‘Forever’ is a lofty goal. My only goal is happiness, and I don’t pretend to know what that will look like in the future.”

The point was, she was loved twice over. Her life was a long, continuous corridor of love that she was going to walk through. Maybe it wouldn’t look the way she thought it would, and maybe it would change as she went, but it was hers. She fell asleep to the sounds of her lovers being alive in the dark, and she was happy.

“The Mona Lisa is only paint on a piece of wood,” Kade said. “Music is just random sounds in a particular order. Dancing is simply moving around. All art is just something. It’s the meaning behind it that makes it great.”

DAMNN, TJ

Mel hesitated, wondering how to make introductions. What was the etiquette for your ex-wife meeting your polycule? Miss Manners never covered shit like this.

She didn’t need to crack jokes onstage, but an element of showmanship was expected. All bars were a stage, in the end. All service was a production.

And finally, a soft, tender, well-deserved forehead kiss to everyone who loves in their own way, with their whole heart, in defiance of anyone who tries to tell you otherwise. Cheers, my loves.