Page 14 of Leaving the Station

“Edward, I’m baaaack,” I call, as if we’re an old married couple and I’m returning home after a long day at work. “And this

is Oakley.”

I dragged her down here after returning Alberto/Bert to Elaine.

The café is located in a different spot on this train than the last: on the lower level of the observation car, down a steep

staircase.

Edward gasps and points to Oakley. “Did you just board?”

She seems taken aback. “No? I’ve been traveling since New York.”

“And you haven’t come to see me?” He shakes his head “I’m glad Zoe helped you come to your senses.”

I don’t remember telling him my name, but I don’t question it. Chalk it up to train magic.

“I’m glad too,” Oakley says, grinning at me.

And I can’t help but smile back.

“You two are so cute.” Edward claps. “You know, I’ve officiated a number of train weddings.”

“We’re not dating,” I say as Oakley says, “Train weddings?”

Edward gestures between us. “Okay, loving this vibe.” He sighs as he pours me a cup of coffee without taking my order. “I

was in love once, but he didn’t understand that my one true love was the train. He couldn’t handle playing second fiddle to

this magnificent beast.” He tenderly pats the wall of the snack car. “But this is where I belong.”

“That’s beautiful,” Oakley says. I don’t know why she’s so on board with Edward’s chaotic energy, but the two of them seem

to be hitting it off.

“And we’re not dating,” I say again for good measure.

It’s the second time someone has mistaken us for a couple, which is bizarre. Often, even if lesbians are making out, people

will coo about how they’re such “good friends.”

Not that Oakley and I are a couple. And not that I have any experience being with a girl.

Edward hands me the coffee in exchange for my debit card, and I mumble out a thanks.

“Coffee for you, hon?” he asks Oakley.

“I’m all good, thanks.”

He winks. “My pleasure.”

“You’re not tired?” I ask as I open a wobbly packet of cream and three sugars at once.

“I am,” she says, “ but I don’t drink coffee.”

“How come?”

“Fear of becoming a heathen, mostly.”

I turn around. “What’s that now?”

“Mormons don’t drink coffee.”

A beat. “You’re not a Mormon.”

“Old habits die hard I guess.”

We walk up the narrow staircase back to the observation car, and when we get there, Aya’s in one of the seats nearby, reading

a thick book.

“Whatcha reading?” I ask her as Oakley and I take the seats nearby.

“Percy Jackson,” she tells me.

“What, you’re not reading about trains?”

“I like other things too, you know,” she says with a sigh, closing the book to show me the cover. “I’m on the third one.”

“The fourth is the best,” Oakley says.

Both Aya and I stare at her.

“What? It is.”

Everything that comes out of Oakley’s mouth surprises me. She has theories on religion, gender expression, and, of course,

a favorite Percy Jackson book.

“I brought that one on the train too!” Aya says excitedly. “I’ll let you know when I get up to it.”

“Please do,” Oakley says earnestly.

Aya goes back to reading, and a few minutes later her mom comes to grab her, looking as frazzled as ever.

“Why didn’t you tell Edward we weren’t dating?” I ask Oakley once they’re gone.

I shouldn’t care so much, but she didn’t shut down Aya either back in the train station. She just let it happen.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I guess I’m just happy to be read as queer. Obviously we’re not dating, but the idea that someone

thinks we could be, that I could be queer enough to date someone like you. That’s kind of nice.”

“Oh,” I say, but my mind is focused on the “queer enough to date someone like you” part. I know what she means in the abstract—on

the outside, it’s hard not to read me as queer. Not that being read as queer makes you queerer than someone else.

Except she doesn’t know that just weeks ago I was read almost exclusively as straight. That I was trying to be read that way in public.

Oakley nudges me gently, and when I turn to her, she has a sly smile on her face. “Though of course if he knew that I have

my entire birth chart memorized, he’d probably have figured it out already.”

I snort-laugh at that. Oakley’s good at knocking the bad thoughts out of my head. “What’s the part of your chart that makes

you such a know-it-all?”

“My Virgo moon,” she says without a hint of sarcasm.

“I’m a Pisces,” I tell her. “I don’t know my moon sign, though.”

“So that ’s why the baby loves you so much,” she says. “My sun sign is Cancer.”

“What does that mean?” I know enough about astrology to tell people my sign but not enough to be able to understand anyone

else’s.

“It means I’m protective of myself.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask. “What are you protecting?” I try to sound flirty, but it comes out serious.

Oakley glances down at her seat.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say quietly.

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s okay.” I wait for her to continue, and eventually, she does. “I only left the Church last

year. I knew I would, one day, but I thought maybe—” She takes a deep breath, then looks me right in the eye. “I wanted to

travel the world. I wanted to fall in love.”

I’m taken aback by her directness. “Why couldn’t you do that while still being part of the Church?”

“Why do you think?” She gestures to herself, then sighs. “I would’ve done it. I would’ve gotten married to a man and had an

eternal family. I might’ve become a Mormon family vlogger—”

“You would’ve been good at that,” I say. “You have the right aesthetic.”

“I know.” The corner of her mouth turns up. “But the problem is, it would’ve been a lie. There are plenty of lesbians married

to men in the Church, some are even married to gay men, but I didn’t want that. I care about love. About loving someone.”

I let her words hang in the air between us, unsure what to do with them.

“So, you’re a hopeless romantic?” I ask eventually. “And that’s why you moved to New York?”

“Partially, yes.” She shrugs. “I thought it would be easier to find other queer people there. To befriend them and date them

and actually have a community , you know?”

I do know. More than I can say. Because, at the beginning, that’s what I wanted too. Until I found Alden, and I tried to make two different parts of my life fit together when they had no business doing anything of the sort.

One Month and a Few Days into College

I knew I needed to be better about hanging out with the Tees if I wanted to maintain that friendship, but they always made

plans at night, and that time was reserved exclusively for Alden.

So I came up with a solution: we’d all hang out together. I organized the whole thing, but when the time came, we were running

late because I had no idea what to wear. I couldn’t decide between something obviously queer—whatever that meant—or something

I usually wore around Alden. Maybe it was a false dichotomy. Maybe I could’ve worn the more masculine clothes I’d brought

to college in front of him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I felt like I did when I had to dress up for my cousins’ b’nai mitzvahs. I would wear an old cardigan and a skirt and I would

want to tear my skin off when we took family photos.

But this was different. This was a dinner in the dining hall with my friends and my boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

It was weird even to think that word. I’d been certain I’d never have a boyfriend in my life, yet here I was, just over a

month into college, with one of my very own.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Alden asked as we walked over to the table in the dining hall the Tees had grabbed. He was wearing khaki pants and a black button-up shirt, and every part of me wanted to run.

“Of course,” I told him, even though I wasn’t entirely convinced that the Tees liked me , let alone if they would like him.

I didn’t know how this dinner would go, but I needed it to work, to ensure that all the parts of myself that felt so disparate

could somehow mix.

I had told the Tees over text the day before that this guy was “someone I was kind of seeing.” They had all given the message

a thumbs-up but hadn’t responded beyond that. I knew, therefore, that they were all sprinting to the group chat they had without

me to gossip about this shocking turn of events.

“Heyyyyyy,” Shelly said as we walked over to the table, stretching out the word in a way that made him sound guilty, like

he hadn’t stopped talking about me and my heterosexual boyfriend since last night.

“Did someone die?” Rex asked, making room for me and Alden at the table.

I turned to them as I dropped my backpack on the food-scrap-covered floor. “What?”

“You two look like you’re dressed for a funeral.”

I was wearing a black dress that I’d had since ninth grade and used to wear to Science Olympiad competitions.

And of course, Rex called me out on this right away. They always wore bright colors and jumpsuits and generally looked like

a queer clown in the best way, so they were never not going to notice my clothing choices.

“Just coming from the greenhouse,” I lied, as if I’d wear an outfit this formal to muck about in the soil and humidity.

“It’s nice to meet you, Alden,” Autumn said, changing the subject. She was resting a hand against her cheek, and she looked

so cute sitting like that that it made me wonder, not for the first time, what these past few weeks would’ve been like if

I’d dated her instead of Alden.

“Thanks,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Rex said, and I tried to silently thank them for so boldly lying.

Alden smiled awkwardly, and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing: Alden had not heard much about the Tees. Or

anything at all.

“So, what’s your major?” Shelly asked.

“Ah,” Alden said, crossing his ankle over his knee, “the classic question.”

I was suddenly hyperaware of him being a cis man . Of him taking up space, wearing khakis, being slightly obnoxious in the way he spoke and answered simple questions.