Page 14 of Every Step She Takes

SEVEN MATOSINHOS, PORTUGAL

Mal

This obviously doesn’t count.

I said I’m going to avoid Sadie Wells on this trip, and I will. But I couldn’t just sit here while she collapsed in on herself like a dying star.

She didn’t know this is a queer tour. The universe has a fucked-up sense of humor, and it’s clearly decided to make poor Sadie the butt of its jokes.

So, yeah, I impulsively slammed my knife handle against my glass to save her from scrutiny. But this doesn’t count as flirting or anything.

“Excuse me. But I haven’t introduced myself yet,” I announce louder than necessary, ensuring that the entire table is looking at me, even the Italian in the tiny shorts who is doing wall sits against the stone facade of the outdoor fireplace like that’s a perfectly normal thing to do in a public establishment.

“Hey, everyone!” I turn on the charm, making eye contact with everybody in turn.

As a kid, I would sit in the back of the room at board meetings, memorizing the way Valentim could make each member feel special and uniquely seen.

“My name is Mal Goncalves, she/her, lesbian-ish. And I came to the Camino because I got dumped.”

“Aww, biscuit,” Rebecca coos in condolence.

“Thanks, friend, but it’s okay. My ex and I weren’t right for each other for a lot of reasons.”

So many reasons . What was it Ruth said in that final fight?

You’re directionless.

You’re floating.

I need to be with a real adult.

Ruth loved my spontaneity and my restlessness when it meant trips to Thailand and Marrakesh and Paris; when it meant surprise gifts and tango lessons and extravagant nights out.

But when it meant introducing me to her friends and colleagues as her unambitious girlfriend who lived off a trust fund and aimlessly drifted between nonprofit jobs, she liked it a lot less.

I loved Ruth in the beginning, when everything was new and exciting, but those feelings never last.

“Fleeing the country after a breakup is sort of my MO,” I tell Rebecca with perfect indifference.

“Are you Portuguese?” Vera clocks instantly.

“On my dad’s side.” I take a sip of my beer. “My mom is British and Spanish, but she’s lived in New York since I was six. I lived with her until I went to boarding school in Scotland, and now I live in Seattle.”

Or I did live in Seattle. Now I don’t really live anywhere.

Vera studies me with a crinkled brow. “You look really familiar,” she says slowly.

“I lived in Madrid for a few years when I attended an American university there. Maybe we crossed paths then,” I quickly explain, and I hope it will be enough to stop her from considering it further.

The server returns to the table with our main dishes and deposits a plate of buttered clams in front of me. I haven’t missed much about this country, but it does have some of the best damn seafood in the world, and I tuck in without another word of introduction.

“I have something to confess!” Tiny Shorts shouts from where he’s doing Tree pose. “I also did not know this tour was for the lesbians. I thought it was for all the gays.”

“And who are you?” Ro asks in their intimidating monotone.

“Oh. Yes,” he says in a thick Italian accent.

“Ciao! I am Stefano Demurtas. My pronouns are he/him. I am from a town called Alghero on the beautiful island of Sardinia, but I now live in Napoli. I am international triathlete and do Ironmans all over the world, but last December in Taupo, I got injured. I had knee surgery and now cannot do anything strenuous for six months. So, I am here!”

Ari raises an eyebrow. “Walking two hundred miles…?”

“Yes!” Stefano lunges forward on one leg, an act that is made obscene by his very tight bike shorts. “I do not like to be still. I like always to be moving.”

“We can see that.”

“Stefano…” Inez drags his name out hesitantly. “And you are…?”

“An Aries,” he answers with another lunge.

“Um, great, but I meant…” Inez comfortably shifts in her chair and defaults to professionalism. “Beatrix Tours has a firm policy about not requiring travelers to disclose their gender or sexuality, and I strive to create an inclusive environment, but… I assumed you… are you not a trans man?”

“Ah, no. I am cis gay man.”

“Oh.” Inez’s permanent smile falters. “Well, this has never happened before…”

“But per favore! Please!” Stefano begs with his hands in Prayer pose beneath his chin. “Do not kick me off the tour! I want to do Camino with all you beautiful people.”

“It’s not against our policy, exactly, but the website very clearly states that Beatrix caters to lesbians and LGBTQ+ women…”

Stefano waves his hand. “I did not read website.”

“Clearly.” Ari snorts into her wine.

Inez attempts a more diplomatic response. “Perhaps you’d be happier doing the Camino on your own…?”

“Alone is no good,” Stefano wails. “I do not like alone or still. I do not like silence.”

This sounds like something I would say, and I’m slightly concerned that the person I relate to most at this table is the one who added protein powder to his wine, but I’m even more concerned about Inez. She’s never been one for confrontation, and if everyone protests having a cis man on the tour…

“Gender is a construct,” I blurt, drawing the attention back to me again. “If Stefano wants to hang out with a bunch of cool sapphics, I say let him!”

He blows me a series of grateful kisses.

“I agree,” Vera adds with a shrug. “Everyone should feel welcome.”

Ari adds, “Yeah, if it’s not against the policy, who cares?”

Stefano responds with more dramatic air-kisses. “Bella! Veronica and Arielle! Grazie!” He doesn’t know their names, but he falls to his knees and professes his undying love for them anyway. “You are most beautiful flowers, le mie bellissime amiche.”

“Don’t push it, buddy,” Ari snaps at him. Stefano rises and pantomimes zipping his mouth closed.

Inez nervously fiddles with her yellow chakra beads, and I lean around the back of Ari’s chair. “It’s your company,” I tell her. “You get to decide what to do here, and you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.”

Her hands settle. “Of course Stefano can stay. Everyone is welcome on the road to self-understanding.”

Everyone cheers, and Stefano waves to our server. “More wines! Grazie!”

Several more bottles are uncorked, and when Sadie passes me a bottle of cabernet from across the table, I don’t notice her freckles or the Quinta Costa label on the wine. The noise of the group saves me from noticing anything at all.

Our lodging for the night is a hostel directly across the street from the restaurant, and when the wine is finally emptied, the half-drunk group swans over with our giant packs.

The entryway and communal area of the hostel are Scandinavian minimalism by way of a one-star accommodation, and even though it’s not an actual albergue, everyone milling around seems to be pilgrims like us.

The beautiful, twentysomething staff of expats all wear black, while the walls are white, and the furnishings are a pale wood.

The only color comes from the flyers advertising pub crawls and hostel-inspired nights on the town.

There’s a sleek, modern bar along the far wall, and a slew of tables where guests drink their evening cerveza.

It’s exactly what I expected from the accommodation on our Camino tour: bare-bones and no-frills.

Inez checks us all in, then begins passing out room keys as she gives us the rundown of tomorrow’s plan.

“In the morning, we will meet here in the lobby at eight o’clock sharp for breakfast. You will need to have all your things packed and be ready to start our trek at that time.

We depart promptly at eight thirty.” She fiddles with the keys in one hand and her phone in the other.

“Now, Stefano, Ari, and Vera signed up for a triple room.”

“Migliori amiche!” Stefano shouts, throwing one arm over each of their shoulders. Vera accepts the key, and she, Stefano, and Ari do an inebriated swagger down a hallway on the ground floor. Another key goes to Ro, who seems less than thrilled when Rebecca follows them up the stairs.

When it’s just me and Sadie left in the lobby, Inez dangles a silver key in my direction. “Your room is on the fourth floor.”

Sadie tries to stand upright, but some combination of her pack and the extreme case of jet lag makes that difficult. “Where’s my room?” she slurs sleepily.

“Fourth floor,” Inez repeats. “You’re rooming together.”

Sadie is suddenly very awake. “Excuse me? Together? ”

“Yes. Your sister signed up for a double room. Didn’t she tell you?” Inez asks, but it’s clear at this point that Sadie’s sister didn’t tell her fuck all about this trip.

“No. No, she didn’t.” Sadie shakes her head and refuses to look at me. “I’m sorry, but I can’t… I can’t room with her. Or anyone.”

“I’m not thrilled about it either.” The words come out harsher than I intend, but Sadie isn’t the only one who’s disappointed with our room assignment.

How am I supposed to avoid this woman if she’s sleeping in the twin bed next to mine for the next fourteen nights?

I’ll have to listen to her snoring and smell her shampoo after she showers and see her freckles every damn morning.

“Sorry,” Sadie sniffles. “It’s not personal.”

“It sounded a little personal,” I grumble.

“I’m sorry, Mal.” Sadie stares at me with a sadness that rivals the statues that welcomed us into Matosinhos, those women who were so unafraid of their own grief. She turns back toward Inez. “It’s… it’s fine. I can share a room.”

Inez flicks her gaze over to me. “Is this arrangement going to be okay for both of you?”

Absolutely not .

“Absolutely!” I reassure Inez. Sadie nods too, and Inez slumps in visible relief. “Thank goddess. I can’t handle any more unexpected surprises today.”