Meet Cute Diary

by Emery Lee

  Someone who understands that you eat like a monster, and supports you with good food.

  Someone who’s honest and vulnerable with you, and lets you be a headstrong asshole, but in a good way.

  Someone who makes you smile.

  And I can already feel tears brimming in my eyes because of course Becca could look past all my must acknowledge Miley Cyrus can’t actually sing bullshit and get to the heart of what I really need. And of course she’d lay it down and make me swear to only read it when I really needed it so I wouldn’t be able to bog the message down with a bunch of fairy-tale garbage.

  And, of course, it doesn’t apply to Drew.

  Of course it applies to Devin instead.

  Tears race down my cheeks as I pick up my phone even though I don’t know what I’m hoping to get out of it. I’ve lost the Diary. I’ve lost Drew. And frankly, after my messy departure, I doubt Devin wants anything to do with me either.

  But as I stare at my screen, I know exactly who I want to talk to even before my finger touches the contacts app and pulls up the number.

  I call Becca even though I know I’m not supposed to, and when she actually answers the phone, I just start crying, tears drowning out every word I wanted to say.

  “Noah? Noah, are you okay?” she asks.

  And I can’t speak because I’m sobbing too hard.

  Finally, she cuts me off and says, “Are you at home? Do I need to get a flight out to—”

  “No,” I say, though my voice is still thick with tears.

  And I can practically feel her confusion through the phone, but I need to be reasonable. She’s gonna make a whole trip out to see me just so I can cry into her shoulder about all this stuff, but that’s so selfish of me. And worse, it’s not gonna help our relationship. I have to accept that she’s right, and when the summer ends, Becca and I will be living across the country from each other. If I can’t handle this alone, I’ll never survive being in California.

  Finally, she sighs and says, “Okay, fine, tell me what happened. But if you’re in trouble, you bet your ass I’m coming.”

  I take a deep breath and catch her up on everything, including the Drew fiasco and the realization that I came to in Devin’s room.

  “So?” she says as I finally finish the story.

  I choke on a sob. “So, I think I’m in love with Devin,” I say, and God, saying it out loud makes it feel so much more real, like it’s some sentient being here to drag me to hell or something.

  Then Becca starts laughing, and I feel like I’m on display even though I’m alone in the freaking closet. Finally, she seems to get herself under control and says, “Thank God.”

  “Thank God?”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d never realize it. You were so caught up in the oh, Drew’s so sexy and knows how to brew a latte! Oh Drew, he’s going to college! He plans big complicated dates that don’t even suit my personality because he just wants to show off!”

  “That’s—I don’t talk like that!” But it doesn’t matter because we both know she’s right. I got so caught up in our meet cute—in all the surface parts of our relationship—that I never realized that, at a cellular level, we just aren’t compatible. It was one of those perfect Instagram relationships, except beyond the pictures and the corny captions, we’re just two people who have nothing in common and nothing holding us together. We’re water and oil, but I kept trying to mix us because I’d gotten so caught up in an arbitrary measure of happiness.

  “So, what are you going to do now?” Becca asks.

  And really, I don’t know. There’s only a month left before I leave, and I don’t even know if Devin’s vaguely interested in me and I still don’t know how to save the Diary.

  “I’m sorry, Becca,” I say, my voice a whisper against the phone static. “I—I’ve been such a shitty friend.”

  She sighs, but she doesn’t speak. We sit in silence for a moment before, finally, she says, “You got caught up in your five seconds of fame. I get it.”

  And I laugh because of course she’d just brush the whole thing off like it never mattered, but I can hear a shift in her tone, like maybe we’re starting over, and I’m more grateful than I can put into words. “How are things?” I say. “I mean, how are you? I hope everything’s okay?”

  “Honestly? Not great, but I don’t really want to talk about it,” she says. Then she pauses a moment before adding, “And it’s not you. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to talk to you. I just—I need time to cope with everything before I open up about it. I hope that’s cool.”

  “Of course,” I say, and I mean it. It’s like what Devin said. She’s always been my pillar, and I want her to know that she can talk to me, and that if she needs me, I’ll do whatever I can to return the favor.

  Thursday, July 5

  Francinethescenequeen posted:

  As per that post that’s been going around, I’ve blocked the Meet Cute Diary and will be blocking anyone else who doesn’t follow suit. We can’t allow master manipulators to run rampant through the LGBT community. Let’s stop this abuse now.

  Lipstickbitch replied: Totally agree. Just let me know who to block.

  Jjbaberams replied: I unfollowed but I’m not gonna block anyone who doesn’t. Sounds like overkill.

  Ppaddamson replied: Don’t you think this is kind of extreme? We haven’t even heard Noah’s side?

  Despite the world doing somersaults around me, I show up at work the next morning and try to pretend nothing’s changed. Of course, that immediately flies out the window when I see Devin sitting in the corner of the room. When e looks up at me, my heart races, and it’s not because I suddenly realize how much I’m into em. E’s got full-face makeup on, from blush to eyeshadow, and holy shit, it looks amazing.

  I pause, my hand on the doorway.

  “Morning,” e says.

  “Morning.”

  Devin pushes a Starbucks cup toward me and says, “I’m sorry about lying to you, but I wanted to bring you coffee anyway, if that’s okay.”

  I smile, making my way into the room and sitting down next to em before grabbing the cup. “Thank you.”

  Up close, it’s almost impossible for me to resist the urge to touch em. I mean, e looks like fucking artwork, from the perfect line of eir jaw up to eir perfectly contoured cheekbones.

  “I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Devin asks.

  “What? No!” I say, heat rising in my face. “I was just thinking that you look really nice.”

  E smiles. “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s great. I mean, you look great. Did you do a tutorial or something?”

  Devin laughs. “I asked my mom to do it. I know that sounds super dorky, but she’s always said she wanted a daughter she could do makeup for, so . . .”

  “You look really amazing,” I say, and e does. Like fucking beautiful, and I hate that I’m seeing em differently than I did a few days ago. Hell, I don’t even usually like femmes, but looking at Devin like this, I can’t seem to remember why.

  “I hope everything’s okay between us,” Devin says. “I mean, after last night. I was worried I chased you away.”

  I place a hand over eirs and e stops talking. “You didn’t chase me away,” I say. “I just had some stuff to think about. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I freaked out on you. None of this is your fault.”

  E smiles. “It’s fine. I’m just glad everything’s back to normal with us.”

  Yeah, normal, whatever that means.

  I force my way through the rest of the day, and I think I pull it off rather well because Devin doesn’t seem too freaked out by me. But really, it’s hard to pretend that things haven’t changed between us, and it’s even harder to pretend that I’m not completely smitten by em between the way e talks to the kids to the way e laughs to the way e looks with that goddamn makeup on.

  And I try to tell my body to just shut up for a second because Devin is my friend, and the last thing I want to do is jeopardize that, but
it’s not listening.

  “Did you talk to Drew?” Devin asks as e wipes down the craft table.

  I freeze. Honestly, I’d pushed Drew as far out of my head as possible since our fight. Not only had I been preoccupied with realizing my feelings for Devin, but the whole thing made me feel kind of dirty and I wanted as little to do with it as possible.

  I sigh. “No, I haven’t spoken to him.” And I kind of don’t want to. But then, is he going to reach out to me? Apologize? Stage some massive comeback of the year? After all, we should be at the Gesture step by now, and that means he could show up at any minute with a flash mob and a dozen dozen roses. If he tries to sweep me off my feet again, I might just fall, even though I know I shouldn’t. There’s a part of me that loves love, and I think that’s the part that thought I loved Drew.

  “I’m really sorry about everything,” Devin says. “I hope it gets better.”

  “I don’t,” I say, and Devin pauses, hand mid-swipe. “I mean, I want the stress and the anger and all that to go away, but I don’t want Drew back. I think dating him was a mistake.”

  Well, maybe not entirely a mistake since it saved the Diary and reminded me of what the Diary is supposed to be—a haven for trans people, not some performance to boost my ego. And it brought me closer to Devin. I guess it’s really just a boo-boo—one of those accidental scrapes that change the direction of your life in the subtlest of ways. Like a meet cute, only one that’s way less straightforward than all those love stories led me to believe.

  Sometimes, the real meet cutes are the friends we make along the way, or something corny like that.

  “Well, at least you can find someone else now,” Devin says, and I can’t help but smile because I’m already moving on pretty fast. Then e says, “A long-distance relationship would’ve been hard anyway. At least this way you can find someone in California.”

  If this were a romance novel, this would be the part where I shout I don’t want anyone in California! I want you! But all I can bring myself to do is keep sweeping the floor with a mumbled, “Yeah.”

  I try to let myself forget about Drew. Or, well, I let myself stop worrying that he’s going to show up on my front porch to confess his love for me. I feel pretty confident that it’s over.

  It’s liberating to move on from the dying embers of our relationship, but it also leaves me a little on edge because it means the only thing stopping me from confessing my feelings to Devin is me.

  And the fact that e even said a long-distance relationship probably won’t work, and we have less than a month together before I move. And it’s pretty unlikely that e has feelings for me like that. But still, it mostly comes back to me.

  When I get to work on Friday, Devin passes me a flyer with the headline Christmas in July!

  “Every year, the staff does a little Christmas celebration and Secret Santa and stuff to celebrate the end of camp.”

  And here I thought putting Christmas decorations up before Halloween was ludicrous.

  Devin hands me a little green envelope and says, “Don’t tell me who you get. It’s Secret Santa for a reason.”

  I roll my eyes and open the envelope, slipping a little sheet of paper out of it. Of course. It’s Devin. There’s a little scrawled list of gift options: a Starbucks gift card, which is pretty predictable, any colorful washi tape, which is less predictable, and the last one just says cookies, which I can understand. Then, at the bottom of the list, there’s a little asterisk that reads: If we know each other, I’d love if you surprise me with something personal. Ugh, great. More work.

  “You should write up a little list for yourself—keep everything under fifteen dollars—and I’ll give it to the person who pulled your name,” Devin says.

  “Shouldn’t I get to actually pull a name?” I ask, tucking the little envelope into my pocket. The truth is, I’m kind of glad I got Devin. Hell, if this were a real romance novel, e’d have gotten me too, and when we exchange gifts, we’d also exchange feelings.

  I’m so over my feelings.

  “You were the last person, so you got the last envelope. Sorry.”

  Honestly, the worst part about this whole situation is knowing that this thing is planned for next Friday, also known as the last day of camp, and potentially the last time I’ll see Devin. That’s the part that gets me the most.

  I scribble down a couple of acceptable gift card options before the kids come streaming in. It’s weird to think that I’ll probably miss them, even if I don’t actually remember any of their names. I pass Devin my envelope, and e starts talking to the kids, telling them about today’s craft project, and all I can think about is what would make an acceptable surprise gift for em.

  I mean, the message specifically says, “if we know each other,” and not to get philosophical, but I guess we don’t really know each other all that well. I only learned eir last name was Salazar after reading it off the Christmas list, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m just fooling myself. Maybe I’m not really in love with em. Maybe I’m doing the same dance I did with Drew, leaping off a literal cliff edge because I just want to be in love with somebody so much I don’t even care which way I’m running.

  But then, does it matter? Does it have to be love for me to get em a super awesome not-Christmas gift? Do I really have to decide by next Friday?

  Devin sits next to me and places a hand over mine. “You okay? You look stressed.”

  I look up at em and all I can think about is whether or not e knows how I feel about em. I mean, Becca didn’t seem at all surprised by my confession. Did that mean Devin picked up on it too? E always seems to know what I need, so does that mean e knows how I feel?

  But it’s not like I can just ask em if my feelings are obvious without exposing said feelings, and really, it’s not eir problem. I should just focus on finding a gift and moving on with my life.

  “I’m fine,” I say, but I’m not sure e believes me. It’s okay, though. I don’t really believe me either.

  When I get into Brian’s car that afternoon, I buckle my seat belt and say, “Is there a mall we can go to?”

  He turns to me, an eyebrow raised. “Is this for the Secret Santa thing?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, there’s a mall, but don’t stress too much. The gift exchange isn’t that big of a deal,” he says.

  “It is for me.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “I got Devin.”

  Brian gives me this oh, hell no look before pulling out into the street. “You better start from the beginning.”

  So I do. Or, you know, the important stuff—the breakup with Drew, realizing I have feelings for Devin. I don’t bother getting into the details of the Diary. I love him and all, but I’d rather keep that part separate. Actually, maybe it’s because I love him that I want to keep that part separate. Maybe I’m finally realizing how important it is for me to have a life outside of the Diary. After all, Brian and I finally have our groove back, and he’s one of the only people I can be just offline-Noah with. I don’t really want to lose that.

  By the time I finish, we’re pulling up into the mall parking lot, and Brian’s shaking his head. “I never realized you’d be such a player.”

  I roll my eyes. “I just want to get em a nice gift,” I say. “You know, especially because I may never see em again after this.”

  “You’re not gonna ask em out?” Brian asks.

  I shrug. “Why would I?”

  “Because you’re into em?”

  “Doesn’t mean e’s into me,” I say.

  “Okay, maybe not, but you’ll never know if you never try. If you ask me, I think the Christmas party would be a great opportunity. You know, you’ll already be giving em a gift, and e’ll be in this happy holiday mood.”

  I groan. “Shut up, okay? I just want to get through this summer.”

  “Okay,” he says, “but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna hate yourself when you move to California without ever asking em how e feels
.”

  And I hate that Brian knows me so well and that he’s almost always right.

  We walk around the mall for a few hours, but I can’t find anything that feels right. I mean, I want to surprise Devin with something that’ll really knock eir socks off, but God, it’s only as I stumble out of a comic book store that I realize I know nothing about em. Does e like anime? Stuffed animals? Memes? I literally don’t know.

  All I know is that e plays the uke and has a beautiful singing voice and looks amazing with eyeliner on. And e’s good at drawing. Maybe I should get em a sketchbook or something.

  But that’s super not personal.

  Brian smirks as he says, “You could always get em a bouquet of roses and read out a poem—”

  I smack his arm about as hard as I can, and he actually winces as he rubs the sore area. Nailed it.

  “Okay, fine,” he says. “What about something related to the camp?”

  “The camp?” I say.

  “Yeah, a kayak sculpture or something. You know, something e’ll look at for years to come and not be able to forget you.”

  Which actually doesn’t sound like the worst idea, but I can’t think of anything related to the camp that isn’t super generic. Besides, this isn’t eir first summer at the camp. E might think of anything else before e thinks of me, and that just leaves me feeling sad.

  Inbox (2,108)

  Undeadandunsurprised asked: Hey, Noah! How are you and Drew doing? Will you be posting more to the Diary soon? I really miss seeing it on my dashboard. Thanks!

  I end up ordering Devin’s gift online last minute and paying almost twenty bucks in express shipping. I do a sloppy job of wrapping it with some tacky Santa Claus wrapping paper Brian’s got tucked away, and eventually decide to go to Target and just buy a bag and stuff it with tissue paper.

  Friday morning, I show up to work early with everything shaking. It’s not just because I’m pretty sure my gift is mediocre and Devin’s gonna hate it, but also because I can’t stop thinking about what Brian said. How much am I going to regret it if I let the day go by without telling em how I feel? Even if I only have three weeks left in Denver, will I spend the rest of my life wondering what those three weeks could’ve been?