“I don’t date people.”
That simplified matters. I hid my disappointment relief by forcing a laugh. “Oh, me neither. Mostly. Well. Not for a long time. I mean, it didn’t seem like I was mature enough after thinking I was going to get married and then freaking out? So I figured I’d stick to getting laid, since that was safer. Like...” I focused on the gentle sweep of their hair back from their face as if it would introduce a new topic of conversation. It didn’t.
“See, that sentence seemed like it was going to be followed by another thought.” Their eyebrows very slightly inclined. Which I noticed because I was already staring at their face.
“Um, sorry, I realized I was basically spilling my guts to a stranger. You are totally not obligated to listen to me ramble. Only my oldest friends are contractually bound to deal with me being a hot mess.” Cue self-deprecating smile.
Sidney’s hands twitched outward, as if expressing a shrug without actually shrugging. “You don’t seem like a hot mess to me and I don’t feel obligated. What were you going to say?”
What the hell. If Mia and Ronnie were folding them into The Friend Group (or at least having them audition), they’d probably end up seeing me pathetic eventually. “Just, for a long time my not-dating policy worked? But lately it’s kind of getting...old. I’m about to turn twenty-nine. And I’m not wigging about thirty or anything. But I am thinking maybe I should...at least try again. With the dating thing.” I wrinkled my nose. “Then I think that’s a horrible idea because oh my god where do you even start? Apps? Bars? I have no idea where people meet to date instead of hook up.”
Their eyes were light brown behind their red-framed glasses and I felt a bit exposed under their gaze, like maybe the glasses had a filter that could read my thoughts. Right when I was starting to shift uncomfortably, they cleared their throat. “I have an idea. It might be a bit obscene, though.”
I batted my eyelashes at them. “I enjoy the obscene.”
“Would you be interested in coming on my YouTube channel? It’s an advice show. I do one livestream and one pre-taped show each week.”
“Er...”
“An interview would be cool, but what if we did a series? You could come on once a week and talk about your recent dating adventures. I could find you the dates if you wanted, since you’d be supplying me with content.” Now their hands sort of danced in explanation. “I get a huge volume of emails asking for advice, but the format gets old. This way we could combine direct dating experience with advice. And if you’re trying to get back into the dating thing anyway, maybe it’s two birds with one stone.”
My brain flooded with words and images—everything from danger, Will Robinson to a vision of Sidney and I shaking hands for the camera at an awards show where we’d just won for “Spectacular Advances in Dating Advice”—but I couldn’t seem to speak.
“Yeah, you’re right, it’s a terrible idea.” Their eyebrows were now a straight line behind their red frames. “Excuse my shameless desire to exploit your emotional turmoil for views. I was approached by this company that’s doing a thing I actually think...might be good? So I’ve been considering doing a sponsorship deal with them and this, um, slightly obscene idea might be perfect. If you...were interested. In retrospect, I think maybe ambition makes me a crummy human being.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t... I didn’t think that at all. I mean, I guess yes on the exploiting thing, but that doesn’t bother me. I was more...processing.”
“If it makes it any less gross, if I dated, I would absolutely mine my dating experiences for views.” They frowned. “Okay, no, that doesn’t make it less gross. Sorry. This is a nonideal first impression.”
“I like your glasses,” I blurted. “Just, that was my first impression. Well, actually I thought, Those better not be fucking fashion glasses, and then when I saw they weren’t I was impressed. They look really good on you. Not everyone can pull off red frames.”
“Oh. Um.” They straightened their shoulders. “Thank you. And I know, fashion glasses feel...slightly ableist somehow? I tend to overthink things, so maybe they’re harmless, but it feels a little weird that something I need in order to see is someone else’s sartorial accent.”
“Exactly! Yes. That’s exactly it. But also I’m never saying that to anyone, because I don’t want to be an asshole cis white guy who makes shit about them.”
“Agreed,” they said solemnly. “Let us never mention this to anyone else.”
I held out my hand.
They held out theirs.
We shook in one sharp downward motion as if sealing the deal. I couldn’t help but note that their hand was no longer cold.
“Please forget I even brought up my show? I feel like an ass for mentioning it.”
I didn’t quite bat my eyelashes again, but I allowed a hint of flirtation into my voice. “That’s a little awkward since I was just going to ask you to tell me more about it.”
They offered a rueful smile. I couldn’t tell if they’d picked up on my timid flirtation or not. “It’s called Your Spinster Uncle. I do a livestream each Monday and post a taped show on Fridays. People write or call in and I answer their questions.”
“Like Dan Savage?”
“More like Iron Man meets Professor McGonagall, teasing and stern. I do answer a lot of dating questions, but also a lot of family and school and work questions. More and more I answer a lot of...” They paused long enough for me to start brainstorming ways to salvage the conversation. Then they kind of sighed. “I think we have a distinct failure to address legitimate mental health issues in this country. I’m seeing more and more stuff that makes me wish people had free access to real therapy instead of schmucks on the internet.”
I swallowed hard, taken by surprise. In the months following my derailed attempt at a wedding I’d gone to therapy. And it had helped. (Apparently the bit in the limo when we were driving away and I couldn’t breathe or speak and my heart was pounding so hard I thought it was going to break my rib cage was a panic attack. And I thought I’d just been wigging out like a baby.)
Right, focusing. “Me too. I mean the thing about therapy. I’m not endorsing your assessment of yourself as a schmuck. I don’t know you that well yet.” I would have gone for a cheeky smile, but I didn’t quite have the levity to pull it off.
“In the interests of, um, absolving my current schmucky-ness, that’s why I’m interested in this sponsorship. The company does therapy online so people in rural areas who need specialties not offered where they live have access to those services. Or even maybe you’re the only trans person your therapist has ever seen, so they probably won’t be able to meet your needs as effectively as someone who works with queer and trans people as a regular part of their practice. Ditto kinksters or people in polyamorous relationships.” They paused. “Um, I’m not trying to pressure you into it. Sorry. I just wanted to explain why you mentioned a very basic thing and I jumped on it and tried to seduce you into coming on my YouTube channel.”