Because Fat Girl

Chapter Thirteen

An hour of laughter and delicious snacks later, I was back in the guest bed, eyes wide open, wondering what my life had become. I pinched myself, just to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Sleep was impossible, I didn’t even try, so I lay there wondering what I would have done if Janelle hadn’t walked in.

Leaned in?

Or pulled away?

My head said pull away. But my body shivered with the idea of leaning into his, bringing up feelings in me I’d long thought dormant.

Drew seemed so accessible there in his kitchen, like a guy I’d have approached in high school or college, when I was still figuring out who and what I wanted in my life. I tried to remember if there was an exact moment when I ruled out men or if it was a gradual thing, brought on by a collection of appalling encounters that all too often ended in a form of assault, coercion, or at the very least emotional negligence. If boys hadn’t been so horrible to me, would I have ruled out dating men completely?

Growing up in a conservative town, I often argued that sexuality wasn’t a choice. If I was born this way, then the Bible-thumping Jesus-lovers would have to accept me for being gay, just the way God made me. However, I was starting to wonder if maybe I had chosen to limit myself somewhere along the line. Not that I didn’t like dating women, I very much loved dating women. But I’d dated all along the gender spectrum, and I wasn’t quite sure when I’d decided that array wouldn’t include cis men anymore.

Yes, actually, I could remember the exact moment. Sophomore year in college, visiting a girl I liked in San Francisco, watching The L Word at the Lexington—my favorite lesbian dive bar until gentrification pushed it out. The character Dana had been giving her best friend Alice shit for liking men and women, insisting she needed to choose one. My date turned to me and said I needed to do the same.

“Don’t be one of those women who breaks everyone’s heart by going back to men,” she’d said over drinks when the episode finished. “Just admit you’re a dyke now and save everyone the trouble.”

I’d sat there at the bar holding my vodka tonic, thinking about Chasing Amy , one of the most influential movies for me as a young queer. In high school, I’d watched Joey Lauren Adams jump off the stage and into the arms of a hot blonde over and over again, their kissing and groping the closest thing to lesbian porn I got as a teen.

I’d craved moments like that, sitting in places full of women kissing, and finally getting it at the Lex filled my soul with joy. That night at the bar with my friend, I thought back to a later scene in Chasing Amy , where Joey Lauren Adams’s circle of lesbian friends find out she’s been dating a guy.

“Another one bites the dust,” one woman mourned, all of them shaking their heads, the whole group disappointed in her choice to sleep with a man.

In the end, Ben Affleck turned out to be a total dick, breaking Joey Lauren Adams’s heart and solidifying in me this idea that falling for a guy would only end in both emotional pain and a loss of lesbian identity and community, something I’d desperately needed to survive as a young baby dyke.

Lying there in Drew’s bed a decade later, I could recognize intellectually that these thoughts—and the vile words and antiquated beliefs that put them in my head—were moments of blatant biphobia, horrible biases about a large group of people with a totally valid and real sexual orientation. I felt forced to choose between straight and gay, man and woman, like those were the only identities allowed. Straight had never been an option for me, so I chose gay. It was years before I realized that gender and sexuality were more fluid than that, and I started dating all along the beautiful spectrum. Had I closed off a part of my sexuality by not including cis men? Maybe. But even if I did decide to open that door again, I sure as hell wasn’t doing it with someone like Drew, where the whole thing would play out in the public eye and my moviemaking dreams could be at stake.

Eventually, I gave up on the idea of sleep, threw on the sweats Drew had given me, and meandered around the house, searching for something to distract me from my own spiraling thoughts. I went outside and was pleasantly surprised to find Jaqueline on the still-damp back patio with a spread of food around her, engrossed in the L.A. Times . We said our good mornings and she invited me to sit down next to her and help myself to a pile of sections she’d already read.

“I didn’t know people still got the physical paper.” I grabbed the comics section, the only part I could read without my glasses, and began perusing.

A short, curvy, Latina woman came out and greeted me, asking if I’d like some fresh-pressed juice or coffee. “Serena, this is Diana—Diana, Serena,” Jaqueline introduced us.

“I’m a big fan of your work!” I exclaimed.

She laughed. “I did notice the munchies container was empty this morning. Would you like a smoothie or an egg-white omelet?”

“I’d love some tea and maybe an avocado if you have one,” I said.

“Would you like the avocado on toast?” she asked, a bit of a Spanish accent coming through.

“No, thanks, I can’t eat gluten.”

“Oh, honey, this house hasn’t had gluten in it for years,” Jaqueline said from behind her paper.

“I swear I’m not one of those L.A. types who watched an episode of Dr. Oz and jumped on the anti-gluten bandwagon but like, secretly eats a loaf of bread each night alone in their room,” I explained, making Jaqueline chuckle. “It actually makes me really sick.”

“You never have to explain yourself to me, darling,” Jaqueline soothed, patting my hand.

“I just made a fresh chestnut baguette,” Serena offered.

“That sounds great, thank you.” I smiled as Serena floated off toward the kitchen, leaving Jaqueline and me alone with our paper. “She’s perky for early on a Sunday morning.”

“It is almost noon,” Jaqueline said.

“Noon!” I exclaimed, standing up. I must have gotten more sleep than I realized. “I gotta go.”

“What’s the rush?” Drew stepped outside in nothing but tiny gym shorts and bright blue Nikes. He’d obviously been working out, and I tried to remind myself I wasn’t the kind of woman who stared at sweaty pecs glistening in the sun.

“I promised my sister and her kids that I would be home for pancakes and painting,” I explained. “I missed pancakes already, but I don’t want to miss painting.”

“You should grab some breakfast, then,” Drew suggested. “Since you missed pancakes.”

“Mmm, breakfast.” Janelle yawned as she walked outside into the light.

“Serena is here.” I turned toward Janelle. “She’s making breakfast.”

“That’s it, I’m never leaving.” Janelle sat down next to Jaqueline.

“Stay?” I tried to ignore the hint of longing I thought I heard in Drew’s voice. There was a lot about him I was trying to ignore at that moment. He had that distinct smell masculine people had after working out, like testosterone and dirty gym socks. It was a smell I associated with my athletic ex, gay men dancing at clubs, and one sixteen-year-old boy who, years ago, had pumped away on top of me with no clue what he was doing. It was a primal smell, full of pheromones, and as I breathed in Drew’s scent, I wondered if that’s why I found myself so drawn to him. Even though I didn’t want kids or cis men, there was still some instinctual desire to procreate with the most physically fit person in the tribe.

Pull back! a voice in my head warned. Pull back now!

“I really must go,” I insisted. Janelle sighed and reluctantly joined me inside.

“Why are we hurrying out of here?” she asked as she dressed.

“I promised Cecily and the kids I’d be home by now.” I grunted as I wrestled my body back into my outfit from the night before, yanking up my tights and adjusting my bra. Fancy outfits were never as fun or glamorous the next day. They always had a snagged bit here or a torn piece there, adding to the walk-of-shame feel they gave, like I was announcing to everyone what I did last night, the assumption being I’d scandalously had sex out of wedlock the night before. Men have it easier. Their outfits aren’t as delicate—and neither is their virtue. Both can survive a romp in a way a woman’s can’t.

“You sure you’re not running away from a certain movie star I saw with his arms around you in the kitchen last night?” Janelle smirked as she handed me a container of baby wipes she’d found in the bathroom drawers.

“He was just sharing his munchies with me.” I wiped my pits, trying to get the smell of nervous sweating off me.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Janelle lifted her eyebrow at me. I ignored her and brushed my teeth with Drew’s fancy paste, wiped some Megababe I’d brought onto my inner thighs to avoid chafing, grabbed my stuff, and headed out.

Drew was waiting for us by the front door. “I called my driver; he should be here soon to take you home.”

“We can take a cab,” I declined, regretting the coldness in my voice. I didn’t know how to take the distance I needed without pushing away.

“Let him be nice to you,” Jaqueline voiced, making her way in from outside, looking at me poignantly.

“Okay,” I reluctantly agreed, my chill warming. “That would be lovely. Thank you for the ride.”

“Don’t be strangers.” Jaqueline gave Janelle and me each a big hug and handed us her card. “My house isn’t as fancy as this one, but you’re welcome over any time.”

Jaqueline Williams, author , it read with her email and phone number on it. It was somehow both old-school and chic, just like Jaqueline. “I’m excited to read your books,” I said, giving her another hug.

“And I’m excited to see your movies,” she replied, squeezing me back.

Serena emerged from the kitchen, handing Janelle and me each two containers, one marked breakfast , the other marked munchies . “A little something for the road,” she explained.

“I’m in love.” Janelle swooned as she watched Serena head back to the kitchen.

“You’ll have to come back for dinner sometime,” Drew said as he opened the door. A man in a suit stood in the driveway with a black Lincoln Navigator parked behind him. “She makes a delicious eggplant parmesan. Vegan and gluten-free, of course.”

“Of course it is.” Janelle laughed as she headed out to the car, turning around before climbing in. “Thanks again for a great night!”

“We’ll do it again soon,” Jaqueline promised.

Drew turned to me. “See you soon?”

“Yes, we have to talk about the movie.” I awkwardly reached my hand out to shake his. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”

“Anytime.” Drew took my hand and shook it before escorting me to the car.

“I can’t believe we just spent the night getting high with Drew Williams and his mom,” Janelle said as the driver pulled away. “And I really can’t believe that you were flirting with him!”

“Was not!” I pushed her away.

“We’ve got twenty minutes.” Janelle leaned back in her seat and opened both of the containers marked “munchies.” “Tell me everything that happened in that kitchen before I got there. Leave no detail out.”