Set the Record Straight

by Hannah Bonam-Young

“Are you seriously claiming reverse discrimination? In this year of our Lord two thousand and twenty-two?”

I’m either a narcissist—and can only get off using my own imagination by myself—or I’m not as straight as I thought I was this morning. Hell, an hour ago. I might have a crush on my fake girlfriend.

“I’m not sure what’s going on with me,” she whispers. “But I think I like it.” ​“Kissing girls?” ​“Kissing you,”

“That’s awfully gay of you, Clara.”

If I had to pinpoint it—if I was asked at this exact moment—I’d say my sexuality is the corner of Evan’s lips. It’s the gasps she makes that acts as a wind storm in my chest. It’s the space between her fingers where I fit better than anywhere else. It’s all instinct here. Intuition. And I’ve been waiting my whole life for this rush. So, I’m not questioning it any more.

That was amazing, you’re amazing, nothing has ever felt that good. How did you do that so quickly? Very efficient. You should do that as your job. Not that you aren't good at teaching just—

I actually have a really good feeling that this could have been the first day waking up next to the love of my life.

She’s my favourite person in the world.

Are we renting a U-Haul? I feel like as the newer queer in this relationship, I’m not allowed to make a joke first.

I’m so stupidly gone for her it’s embarrassing.

“I think it’s time I set the record straight…”

It’s the way her face lights up. The little stims she does with the tapping of her fingers against mine or the wiggling of her toes under our blanket. She’s so happy. I’d do anything to keep it that way.

“That I’d spent my life as a half, and now I’m whole. Like I’ve been sleeping so long under a haze—an illusion of comfort—then you came in. Sunshine and golden rays of light. And you made everything brighter.”

“I actually thought there were only two kinds of love before. That it was just love like your family or romantic love. But I think there may be hundreds of kinds. Love like a new lease on life. Love like a place to exist freely. Love like being understood. Love like the contented quiet. Love like freshly baked cookies. Love like a thin veil between wishing it’d started earlier and loving the way it began.”

“Enough of that guilty expression,” she points to my face, “you’ve earned a happily ever after and I hope that’s me.”

“It’s an LG-BLT flag, I’m told.” Daryl nods, beaming with pride. “Oh my god,” Clara mutters under her breath.

“My very hot girlfriend and I are about to do very un-Disney channel-like things.”