[Deleted]

With May underway, June was just around the corner, and the Los Eurosia LGBT Center had started celebration events early. Someone on the planning committee - Samuel wasn’t sure who, as he couldn’t be enticed to attend those meetings with the promise of $1,000 and an overcoat that could render him invisible - decided to host a potluck. Not just any potluck, but a cultural heritage potluck as though this was an elementary school and a series of skits about the importance of tolerance would follow the dinner.

Of course, Thomas had signed them up to attend.

Cooking the dishes was the easy part. His dislike of grocery shopping notwithstanding, Samuel enjoyed meal preparation; he was comfortable in the kitchen, and he found the familiarity and the repetition of steps soothing. Pierogi were easy, albeit somewhat time-consuming, to make fresh, and his practiced hands filled the dumplings with potato or sauerkraut. The apple strudel had browned and then glazed nicely, and the salad was American but Samuel had expressed concern about a lack of vegetarian dishes.

Upon arrival, he had found more alcohol than usual, somewhat distressing given the number of community members who were in recovery, but as with the event itself, Samuel played no role in organizing or purchasing. Instead, he helped himself to a bottle of iced green tea, while Thomas took a green bottle of Seagrams, the flavor of which Samuel didn’t bother to ask about.

It was fine, at first, when only a handful of people were milling about. Samuel had dressed down to the extent that he ever did, losing the suit jacket entirely and swapping the dress shirt for a slightly more casual button down. They had unfurled their red and white plaid-patterned picnic blanket to claim a spot on the periphery of the congregation, leaving Samuel with enough breathing room should he require a break from people. A smattering of picnic tables and blankets littered the claimed grassy knoll, plastic tablecloths purchased from the local party store covered the tables, while the potluck dishes were placed atop, divided roughly into types of food - appetizers and snacks, main dishes and sides, and finally desserts. A pinata shaped like a rainbow dangled from a nearby tree, and someone had brought a set of balls for bocce.

They had filled their plates and made the rounds, greeting those they recognized from other events. As the party stretched on and people attendees arrived, Samuel had excused himself, retreating to the blanket , safe from the crowd of men and women exchanging jokes that he didn’t find funny.

Misti Manning

[Misti Manning]

One of her old church friends had suggested she should go. Misti hadn’t been to church for years and years but this friend was persistent, constantly inviting her to different events around Los Eurosia despite her tendency to answer ‘no’. Sometimes she caved, more because of guilt than any real desire to go out.

Misti was by no means a bad cook, but she wasn’t a five-star chef either, so hearing this particular event was a potluck was a bit deterring. Still, she’d been to one or two LGBT events before and they hadn’t been unbearable. She was sure no one would comment on whatever she brought, so after some consideration she decided to play it safe and made a batch of blondies, assuming most people would be flexing their cooking skills with savoury dishes.

She understood the importance of LGBT gatherings – both for her own sanity as an individual and for the community as a whole – but that didn’t mean she was instantly comfortable and happy to be there. Her friend whisked her around, introducing her to so many different people that she almost immediately forgot their names. They asked her questions that felt invasive but were probably standard practice at these sorts of things; when did she know, when did she come out, what did her parents think… At some point someone asked her why she hadn’t made Thai food since this was a cultural heritage potluck, then someone else suggested they all play charades, and Misti decided she needed a break.

Slipping away unnoticed was easier than she thought it would be. She passed the main group and the picnic benches, heading for the blue gingham blanket she’d set down with her friend earlier. Reaching it, she let out a sigh of relief and dropped down into a cross-legged sitting position. Finally. Though she could hear distant chatter and laughs from the event attendees, there was not a person in sight except for –

She blinked, wide-eyed, at the man sitting on another blanket only a few metres away. Had he been there the whole time? She was so caught off-guard by his presence that she spoke the first thought that popped into her head: “I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

She winced at herself. That was not how to greet someone. “Sorry, um…” She scrambled for something to say. It would be awkward to ignore him or get up and walk away now, especially since she’d just gotten there. A glint caught her eye: a wedding ring on a necklace around his neck. She offered a tentative smile. “It’s nice to see an actual married person at one of these things. Sometimes it just feels like a big speed-dating event, you know? I’m never approached by girls in any other place.”



@mystic

[Deleted]

Samuel’s therapist had advised him, when feeling overwhelmed, to name three - only three - mitigating factors. Not positives, as that was a step too far in such moments when he wanted nothing more than to retreat back to the safety of home or his office, but aspects that made the experience less bad than he’d assumed that it would be. Seated now, on the blanket under the tree, as Thomas, encircled by a half dozen men and women, telling jokes and swapping stories, he picked at the melamine plate of offerings. One: There had eben more vegetarian options than he’d feared and experience informed him would be the case. Moreover, the dishes had been labeled accordingly, as had any with common allergens, to make assessment easier.

Two: The people he had spoken to were all familiar enough with his boundaries that nobody had grabbed his hand for an aggressive handshake, or worse, swept him into a hug before he could sidestep them or protest.

He plucked up a baby carrot and dipped it into the small pile of hummus that he had gathered for his plate, careful not to stain his gloves in the process. With effort, he could reach for a third factor; there was no time limit on the exercise.

A woman’s voice, young and unfamiliar, declaring that she thought she was alone caught his attention, prompting him to lift his head. Inquisitive brown eyes and a sober expression assessing his new neighbor. Young, surely younger than he was - always a 50/50 proposition at these events because either the twenty-something young adults arrived in full force to transform any gathering into a singles mixer and someone, somewhere, would voice the opinion that life ended at 30. Or else he and Thomas were the youngest people by a decade or two to attend an event, leaving Samuel to contemplate that socially he was close to 50 or 60, his father’s age, than his own. Judging by the wince, she had an impulsive streak about her, and possibly some social anxiety as well; in his experience the two often didn’t go hand-in-hand outside of a particularly narrow focus which also tended to lead a person to his therapist’s office.

Before he could say anything, she had continued, first offered a quick apology and then drew attention to his wedding ring. Almost reflexively, he touched the ring as it dangled from the chain around his neck, one of, if not the most, prized possession(s). His nod was slow and sympathetic.

Of course, he’d never attended an LGBT event like this as a single man, always with Thomas on his arm or at the other man’s insistence, but he’d noticed the lopsided relationship statuses among the people who popped in and out.

“My husband is making the rounds,” Samuel offered, his voice deep but his accent nasally, the telltale sign that he was not a Los Eurosia native. Accents around the nation were fading for the most part, less intense than in his father’s or grandparents’ generations, but his stubbornly remained after fifteen years, with no indication of smoothing over or adopting the California vowel shift. “At an event a few months ago, someone propositioned him, because he assumed the rings were ornamental.”

That was not the type of socializing that either his therapist or Thomas would count as real despite true effort on his part. Setting his plate down on the blanket beside his feet, he reached for his iced tea and pushed himself farther. “Are you new to the group? I don't recall seeing you before.”

Misti Manning

[Misti Manning]

Thankfully the gentleman didn’t look overtly upset that she’d interrupted his peace and quiet, nor did he begin gushing about how amazing the event was and start pestering her about her relationship status. Instead, his reaction to her appeared largely neutral. Not overly expressive, but the sympathetic nod and the anecdote he told her about his husband implied she wasn’t about to be dismissed and told to mind her own business. While Misti didn’t normally enjoy talking to new people, it felt like a breath of fresh air to be spoken to so calmly after experiencing the overexuberance of the other attendees. She felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders. Even his inquiry about her attendance to the group didn’t bother her.

“Sort of. I’ve been to a few as favours to a friend, but never consistently. Too many games.” Games of both the literal and social kind. She neither wanted to play musical chairs nor verbally battle it out to find her place in the group hierarchy. Coincidentally, at that moment a cheer rang out from the gathering in the distance; evidently charades was a hit. She shot an amused glance at her impromptu speaking partner, as if to say, you see what I mean? Judging by appearance alone, he didn’t look like someone who’d relish in party games either. He seemed too dignified, to a point that Misti felt somewhat childish sitting near him in her ripped mom-jeans and bomber jacket. She almost wished she had her work clothes on to prove she wasn’t a kid trying to act mature to impress an adult.

She considered what he’d said before: that his husband was ‘making the rounds’. That implied that it was routine for them, didn’t it? Her head tilted ever-so-slightly, her gaze politely curious. “I’m guessing you come to these things more often, though it sounds like you’re not originally from Los Eurosia. Did you move here recently?” Although she hadn't been able to identify where it was from, she’d noted his accent. She thought it best not to set herself up for failure by guessing. Southern accents were the easiest for her to distinguish between, but if she was asked to pick out accents from anywhere else in America she would be stupefied.



@mystic