Set the Record Straight

by Hannah Bonam-Young

Did I adopt a cat the very day after my fiancée left me? Why thank you so much for asking. Yes, I did. Do I regret it? A fair amount, actually, yes.

The closest thing to love I think I’ll ever get again is reality TV, which is actually a not-so-guilty pleasure of mine. A therapist may use the term special interest.

Clara could be on a show like that, actually. She has a petite, toned frame and perfectly styled blond hair. Nice teeth too. The prettiest eyes I think I’ve ever seen. The twinkling kind, like she’s constantly wowed by everything around her.

Evan nods, finishing her glass of red wine that matches her lipstick colour near perfectly. I should ask her where she got it. The shade makes her lips look like a crisp apple. Focus, Clara.

“And what about the… what was it again? Jingle all the gay?”

“I, for one, love when my sexual partners describe our love-making as fine.”

This stunning creature waiting for you is your girlfriend! You kiss her all the time and like to rub your bits together.

This was all supposed to be pretend. But has any first kiss ever felt like that? Any kiss? Not for me.

You’d have thought that I’d hit her grandmother with my car and set the bed on fire with the way Clara acted when my alarm went off this morning.

And after last night, I can’t say I wouldn’t rather be home right now, hibernating under blankets with Clara. Or using her legs as a scarf.

She’s my favourite person in the world.

Will Bagel have to start calling me mother right away, or do we start with Ms. Spencer? Less formal? Ms. Clara?

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

We kiss forever. Not literally, obviously—we’d die—but for a very long time.

And this woman thought she was straight less than a week ago.

My never-to-be crush. My dream girl. Eating me out like she’s never tasted something quite as good. I get a little prideful at that, pulling on her hair as if to say mine.

And while I’d love to pretend I’m some sort of method-actress, committed to this part she accidentally auditioned for, pretending to be Evan’s girlfriend isn’t pretending at all anymore. It’s actually the easiest role I’ve ever taken on.

Hot teacher vibes for sure. And way out of my dressed-like-a-toddler league.

“Heather is very talented,” Evan whispers, admiring the photograph entitled, inferno overpass. You guessed it—it’s a bridge on fire. “I’m not entirely convinced she just stumbled across that fire,” I whisper back.

“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.”

“Fuck me in this closet, Ev. Make me come. I’ll be so quiet, I promise. I’ll be so good for you.”

I’m getting used to waking up with Evan’s alarms. I even got up with her one morning. Was it so she could make me coffee before I got back into bed? Yes. Did I also get kisses with it? Yes, I did.

That’s wonderful, Teens. Nice work. Work? Daryl, she didn’t get a promotion. Our daughter found love. Why don’t you just write down what you want me to say, and I’ll say it, Maggie.

She is most definitely my happily ever after.

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

“I remember this day…” I say softly. “The church summer fair—you and I were helping at the ice cream stand… It’s how we met.”

“You’re gonna love her, Mama. I already do.” The recording ends with a fuzzy sound and squiggly lines. I look between Clara and the television, speechless. She’s smiling at the video, almost in disbelief. “How did it take me twenty years to notice?” “I coulda told you long ago,” Maggie says stubbornly.

My beautiful girlfriend. My longest friend. The world’s messiest roommate, as I’ve learned since last Christmas. My partner in all things. My (hopefully) soon-to-be fiancée.

“Clara, I’d like to spend the rest of my life finding stupid little ways to make you happy. I think that for you, I’d do anything. Nothing is too big or too small if it can make you smile. You’re the brightest light in my life, my best friend, my confidant, my comfort—and the best stepmother Bagel could ask for.”

“Evan…” She opens the box, and I get stuck looking at the most beautiful snowflake-shaped ring made up of purple amethysts. “You’re my favourite person of all time, in all ways. I didn’t know love could feel like this before you. Comfortable yet passionate, ecstatic but calm… you balance me out like no one else can. And I love you more every single day.”

I was wrong before. This is the best Christmas ever.