“Then we should do something low-key, right? They’re not having a bachelorette party?”
“We’re doing a sleepover tomorrow night. Ronnie said she’s too old for a bachelorette party.”
“Aww. That sounds nice.”
“Yeah.” Sidney’s hair was light brown, nearly blond at the ends. I finger-combed it out over their pillow. “So um...sex again? Unless you’re unwilling to have sex with someone who’s seriously spent the last nine years using the phrase ‘V-Day’ like a dope.”
“You are not a dope.” They shifted, sliding down until our faces were on the same level. “I totally planned on more sex, but we don’t have to. Cuddling is also nice.”
“I think we have enough time for both.”
They smiled. “Me too.”
Chapter Seventeen
Ronnie and Mia lived in a legit house. It was a small house, and the neighborhood wasn’t high-end or anything, but it was cute, and it was an actual house, and they even had a guest room.
Not that any of us were using the guest room.
Oscar brought his own air mattress (it made him feel better to have control over his sleeping arrangements, and it had gotten to the point where I felt better just seeing his familiar nest whenever we stayed somewhere). Mase and I were on couches—or would be, later.
We’d descended on the house shortly after work, dropping our stuff in a pile by the door, taking off our shoes, and taking over the kitchen. Mia hadn’t gotten home from a meeting at the store and since Ronnie hated to cook, I was in charge.
I started taking stuff out of bags and waited for them to figure out what we were doing.
“Salad!” Ronnie called. “No, there’s cheese.”
“You can put cheese on salad,” Oscar said, sounding unimpressed with what he saw so far.
“Not mozzarella,” she shot back. “Oooh, sun dried tomatoes, yum.”
Mason poked at one of the remaining bags before I could stop him. “Cauliflower rice. Huh.”
“Cauliflower rice,” Oscar repeated. “Are we fucking hipsters now?”
Ronnie gasped. “How dare you! I’ll never forgive hipsters for adopting TERF bangs and screwing up my ability to effectively pre-judge people.”
“Amen, sister.” Mason shook his head. “I’m not getting this. Omelets with cauliflower? What are the eggs for? Some kind of scramble?”
I filed that away because cauliflower rice would probably make for a delicious scramble. “We...are making...”
Longggggggg pause. Until Mason hit me.
“...pizza.”
They gaped.
Ronnie sorted through the ingredients again. “What, like, deconstructed pizza? Since when did we put cauliflower in any form on pizza?”
“No.” Oscar set his expression on disgruntled. “Not doing it. You can shove your vegan-ass, gluten-free-range bullshit right up your—”
“Oh yum!” Mase said. “Cauliflower crust. Someone was just talking about that.”
“It’s obviously not vegan,” Ronnie told Oscar. “There’s mozzarella. And eggs.”
He shook his head. “Don’t care. Not eating pizza made out of vegetables.”
“Honey, you love veggie pizza.”
He continued to shake his head.
“Don’t worry,” I said to Ronnie. “I’ll win him over. I made this the other night and it was delicious.”
“Ooooh, for Sidney?” She kind of sang their name.
“Shut up, no, for myself.” Sure, okay, I’d thought of it as “testing” the recipe for when I could make it for Sidney, but whatever.
“Awww.” Mase pinched my cheek. “Blushy McBlusherson over here has an enbyfriend.”
“Oh my god, shut up, don’t call them that. Unless they like it, which I don’t know, because it hasn’t come up.”
He whipped out his phone. “Maybe we should—”
I dove for it, he pulled it away, we tussled, I tried to corner him and get his phone but he dodged and ran right into Mia just coming in the door. Mason slipped behind her, shouting, “Block him!”
Mia’s withering glare landed on me. “Explain.”
“Um...”
“Don’t mind them, love.” Ronnie saved me by taking Mia’s purse and jacket. “Mason’s just torturing Dec about Sidney.”
The glare disappeared. “Oh. Well, that’s okay, then.” She kissed her fiancée hello. “I thought it was something bad.”
“It is something bad!” I ducked between them and managed to get to Mase, but only after he held his phone up in triumph.
“Ha ha! Message sent!”
I groaned and converted my tackle into banging my head on his shoulder. “You’re a monster.”
“I just have a question. Sidney doesn’t mind questions. Also, look at you not even challenging the premise.”
“What premise?” I whined, still banging. Banging my head on Mase’s shoulder was much more satisfying than banging it on my steering wheel.
“The premise that you two are doing a thing that could actually use a word.”
“It’s great,” Mia said from behind me.
“I agree,” Ronnie added.
Oscar made a strangled sound. “I find the whole thing offensive and I’m viciously jealous.”
“Aww.” Mase hugged me. “He says the sweetest things.” His phone dinged. “Hey, I wonder if that’s—”
My phone dinged. I groaned. “What have you done.”
“Sidney said they don’t identify as enby, so probably not,” Mason reported.
I looked at my phone. Squinted at it. With one eye completely closed.
We haven’t discussed titles, but we could if you want. Maybe “datemate”? It’s not great, but it’s...something.
“They think maybe ‘datemate’,” I said slowly, typing, Or we could just use each other’s names. We don’t NEED titles.
My friends started discussing titles and pet names in the background as we all shifted back into the kitchen proper.
I will give it more thought. It feels...slightly appealing to me to use titles. But we don’t have to if you don’t want to.