Not Ren

Ren and I speak past two when the restaurant closes—though it is curious that a restaurant doesn't care about dinner. The staff trickles out, some waving goodbye as though we are regulars, and this is just what we do every weekend. We ask if we ought to make ourselves scarce, but the staff assure us they will sweep around us.

Ren began our first meeting by asking my favorite cryptid, Gef the Talking Mongoose, about whom I had written a book. They followed up by telling me about a few cryptids with whom I am not acquainted, one of which is a ghostly Megatherium that once tromped about the woods of Sherman, New York. If Upstate New York is good for something other than a startlingly lovely autumn, it is the prevalence of strange creatures and myth. Perhaps cultists and goblins find equal value in pretty leaves.

Ren is familiar in a satisfying way, as though we have known one another already, and this is yet another session of hanging out. They are tall and have a faintly sarcastic mien, accessorized with an undercut and tattoos. They were married once, and it ended poorly. They work for a land conservancy and volunteer at a cat sanctuary. I recite the facts they mention so I can rely upon them for conversation later if there are later conversations.

I bought Amber a chocolate chip cookie as penance for having fun without them. It is not a necessity; Amber didn't ask for or require some indulgence for my meeting a potential friend. I consider it courteous, as they bring me treats when they return from work dinners. While I am encouraged to encounter new people out for potential friendship without an escort--it saves Amber from remembering the name of someone of no further consequence or spending otherwise productive hours socializing with an inadequate stranger--it still feels awkward in practice.

It would not have been fair or proper to bring Amber to this meeting. It would have bordered on ganging up. Ren and I need relative privacy to sniff each other out before deciding this is a friendship worth pursuing.

Ren had been out late the night before at a club with someone they had met on Lex, the same social app for queer people where we first spoke. They were not on a date; they are burned out on those. I cannot blame them, and I do not envy the single life. If I did not have Amber, I would not seek out other romantic or sexual company for a while--though I never expect to be without Amber. As I tell Ren, even explicitly looking for friends on other sites, I am beset by people who want me to give them children, raise their children, or practice the art of impregnation--even when they lack the equipment for childbearing. "No, really, I'm only interested in new friends" falls on willfully deaf ears.

This is not Ren's issue as much as the insufficiency and unpredictability of those available queer people--as Ren is nonbinary, the Straights are not a romantic option. At least the cishets can make reliable assumptions about one another. Queer people need to have discussions and negotiations by the second date to be clear they understand where the other person is coming from and what they want--or even who the other person is.

I came to this meeting exhausted, unable to negotiate a reasonable sleeping schedule with my body. I had to channel what charm I have to seem like who I should be rather than how I felt in the moment. I don't think Ren notices anything amiss, but they do not know my baseline.

We part after an hour more. I have no solid sense that we are friends, though we liked one another enough to sustain a conversation without retreating to our phones or faking other appointments. It is only when they send me memes the following day that I understand this is a person who might want to see me again.

last watched: Kaos
reading: Absolution