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“I remember,” Selena began, her voice trembling, “when Ruth told me she’d named her clitoris Belinda.” There were eulogy mistakes. This was one of them. “To Belinda!” someone said.
She’d have to tell them they weren’t at the start of something beautiful; it was just that she owed a thousand dollars in parking tickets and that made her want cunnilingus.
At least Selena followed through with her bad choices. Go big or go home. If she was going to fuck up, she was going to fuck all the way up.
“Alpacas are only about a hundred and twenty pounds,” Selena offered. “I could almost pick one up.” Selena cocked her head. “You could pick one up. I like a girl who can pick up an alpaca.”
She worked out every day. She was proud of her body. She could pick up an alpaca.
is the past tense attached to the love or to the person? The person is past but the love isn’t.”
The blue of the bisexuality flag complemented the blue of her hair, and as her hair dye faded, she’d match the lighter blue of the trans pride flag and eventually fade to the pale green of the agender flag. It was very egalitarian.
Take care of my Selena. She needs an accountant in her life.” “Everyone does,” Cade said wearily.
The bartender delivered Cade’s salad. At least, he delivered a pile of iceberg lettuce and a pale, thin chicken breast. Basically, the plate said, Fuck you for ordering healthy at a sports bar.
The smile that lit Selena’s face was almost worth the thought of spending a month working in a bankrupt sex toy store while her parents filled the gallery they co-owned with live alpacas.
Cade was wearing a gray cashmere sweater and gray trousers and gray oxfords. They were different shades of gray. She’d gone crazy.
Why was she so boring? She could have eaten one chocolate penis to be polite.
“Do I look like a crazy-ass-hookups person?” Cade gestured to her gray sweater.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Cade said quickly. Selena started telling her.
“You don’t take it black, do you?” Selena asked. “Why would you have black coffee when you can have joy?”
your weird Craigslist ads—I’m not judging—and
What self-respecting twenty-nine-year-old lesbian hadn’t ridden a motorcycle?
People needed to be touched. Cade had just had many long nights and no girlfriends. She was like one of those dogs no one played with at the pound. They got clingy or they bit people.
“What they say about carbs being bad for you, it’s a lie,” Selena said through a mouthful of noodles. “Conspiracy. Probably from the beef industry. Carbs make people happy.”
“You’re never a fail because you don’t want to do something you don’t like,” Selena said. “You don’t have to be anything you’re not.”
“You get two minutes with the breasts. If you don’t share the breasts, there will not be enough breasts for everyone,” the manager called out.
Never in the history of accounting had those words ever filled someone’s heart with the wild, reeling joy Cade felt.
“Who knew,” she said. Selena kissed her. “Women,” she said.
“It’s called,” the intern read off the back, “‘My Heart Breaks When You Turn Away.’”
