“I, um …”
Then she giggles. “Go ahead, they’re only like five bucks.”
Was I that obvious? “No, I …” I lose my train of thought looking at all of them again.
“Listen, if you don’t pick one, I will, and I’ll tie you down while I paint your nails.” The woman in front of us glances over her shoulder. I give her what is probably my most awkward smile until she turns back around. “Go on, pick a color.”
I grab the light pink and twist the bottle around in my hand. It looks cheap, definitely not the higher-end brand that most people would go for, but I like this one the most.
“Really? Pink? The blue would match your eyes better.”
I’m grinning despite myself. “I like pink.”
“You do you, little sib. I’ll have to teach you a thing or two about picking colors.”
Hannah doesn’t skip a beat when we get home. She hands me the bags, fishing out the nail polish, and goes straight for the small hallway bathroom to grab a towel, leaving Thomas to get everything else out of the car.
“What are we doing?” He walks around sort of lost and half-asleep.
“I’m painting Ben’s nails,” she says, then she points at me. “Living room, five minutes.”
“Um, okay.” I climb up the stairs and drop my bags on my bed. In the living room, Hannah’s already waiting for me, of course, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table. She’s grabbed a few extra things, like a long emery board, a tall bottle of something clear, and two smaller bottles that I’m guessing are the base and top coats.
“Sit.” She points to the other side of the coffee table. “And give me your hands.”
I kneel on the carpet and stick my hands out. “What are you going to do?”
“Dearest sibling, I’m going to file down these claws of yours.” She motions to my fingers, which seems like an exaggeration, but I don’t argue. They aren’t that long though. “And then I’ll help you paint them.”
“It can’t be that hard.”
Hannah scoffs. “Okay, I’ll just sit back and watch. I’m sure that’ll go well.” She takes my right hand first. “Spread your fingers.”
“Okay.”
Hannah just rolls her eyes and goes to work. “So, what do you want to talk about? Cute boys? Are you into guys?”
Well. That was fun while it lasted. “I swear to God, Hannah.”
“I’m just kidding.” Then she waits a beat, maybe deciding whether or not the nail on my index finger is now even. “But also sort of serious. What are you into anyway? Are you into anyone?”
“Yeah, I like people.”
“People? Like what kind of people?”
“People people.”
“Like boys, girls, other nonbinary people?”
“That gets a little complicated.”
“Really?” She blows away a bit of the dust, which doesn’t seem very sanitary? I mean, that’s my fingernail essentially being filed into dust. Gross.
“I mean, I’m not like the head of the nonbinary committee or anything.”
Hannah huffs. “Well, I know that.”
“We’re not a committee anyway. More of a cult.” I laugh at my own joke.
“Is that where you go every night?”
“You got me.”
We both laugh, and I feel myself smiling, but then Hannah opens her mouth again. “But, like, for real, it can’t be that complicated. Can it?” She blows again, eyeing her handiwork before she decides to start on my other hand.
“It … Yeah, it kind of is.”
“Why?”
I can’t tell her how many times I’ve had this conversation with myself, trying to work it all out in my head only to never really come to a conclusion.
“Because, okay, so.” I take a deep breath. “For a while I thought I was gay.” I would see other guys, and I was really attracted to most of them. But it still felt like I was missing something. Something about myself.
Like who you’re attracted to and who you are as a person are two totally different things. It’s hard to explain not being confident in your own body. It just feels wrong, but only you seem to really know how and why it feels that way.
“But that still didn’t feel like the answer,” I continue. Because it wasn’t. And it wasn’t until I’d found Mariam’s videos that I really felt like I’d found someone who understood what was happening.
“So what about the sexuality thing?” Hannah asks.
“In all honesty, I’m still working through that.” Because I’m still attracted to the more masculine-presenting people, but nonbinary-ness isn’t something you can tell outright, so the boy at the coffee shop who I think is cute could actually be nonbinary.
But I’m still attracted to him. And besides, I don’t exactly have a gender, and being gay implies being interested in the same gender.
Like I said. It’s complicated.
“So, you’re not gay anymore?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.” I think of myself as bisexual. I’m interested in guys and more masculine-presenting people. But then there are people who argue that bisexuality is only two genders, and that those two genders have to be men and women. I’ve heard that argument too many times now, so I’ve learned to just keep it to myself. “For simplicity, I just say that I’m queer, that I have a type.” And definitely a lot easier than explaining that I identify as bisexual. And less gatekeeping involved too.
“And what type would that be?”
“Hot people?” I offer, knowing what she’s trying to get at.
“Can’t believe you’re so shallow,” she teases.
“Shut up.”
“You ever think that ‘straight’ and ‘gay’ are gonna be obsolete one day?”
I try to stifle a laugh. “The goal of every queer person is the extermination of the cis, straight, allosexual people.”
“So that’s the gay agenda?” Hannah laughs. “But no, seriously, with all this stuff sort of evolving—sexualities and identities, the binary stuff being challenged more and more—don’t you feel like the labels are kind of pointless?”
“Not really. Labels can help people find common ground, can help them connect, with themselves and other people.”
“You know a lot about this stuff.”
“The internet.” And Mariam.
“Don’t believe everything you read. But for real, you’re a smart kid, Benji.” She gives me a quiet smile. “Okay, done. Now since you believe yourself to be a true master of the art”—she slides the glass bottle across the wooden table—“you can try first. All by yourself.”
“You trust me?” I twist the cap off and remove the excess polish before I get to work.
“Put your money where your mouth is.” Hannah’s grinning.
“So can I ask you something? Sort of personal.”
“Shoot. I’ve done enough prying for one day.”
“What happened after you left home?” I ask. The left hand is easy, and surprisingly relaxing. I don’t know exactly how much I should be putting on each finger, but Hannah hasn’t stopped me yet, so I guess it’s enough.