Page 16 of Leaving the Station

“Let me show you a picture of the greenhouse,” I tell her instead of letting my brain follow that train of thought.

I turn on my phone for the first time in hours, then navigate through my photos, purposefully scrolling past ones I know will

hurt me.

I wasn’t expecting to have service, but I do.

And a notification pops up at the top of my screen, with a name that stops me cold: Alden.

Six Weeks into College

The Amorphophallus wasn’t growing much at all. It was stuck in the same tight ball of roots and soil that it had been for weeks.

Still, I tended to it like a helicopter parent, constantly checking to make sure it had enough water and light, that its growing

conditions were perfect.

“You’re doing everything right,” Randall assured me. “We just have to wait and see whether this will be the year she decides

to flower.”

As much as I loved hearing the words you’re doing everything right from an adult authority figure, it didn’t make me any less anxious.

In the meantime, I busied myself with the other plants in the greenhouse. I would brush my hand against the Mimosa pudica, the sensitive plant that closed in on itself whenever anyone touched it. I’d futz with the pitcher plants and check in on

what kind of bugs they’d trapped that day.

There were a few other student workers who came and went, but we didn’t talk much. They would drop their bags off in Randall’s

office, sweep leaves, water plants without care, and leave.

I couldn’t imagine doing that. The fact that I had some impact on these living things was enough to motivate me to arrive early to my shift and stay late. I couldn’t do those tasks for myself—I couldn’t even make it to class—but I could show up for the plants.

Randall made sure I was paid for the extra hours, but I would’ve worked them for free. When I stayed overtime, he would choose

a plant at random and tell me more about it, and I soaked up the information like a sponge.

“Would you ever think about majoring in botany?” he asked me one evening in the greenhouse.

I was taken aback by the question. I couldn’t major in botany—I was going to be a doctor, and doctors didn’t need to know

about plants.

So I gave a noncommittal answer and left the greenhouse quickly after that. When I checked my phone in the chilly evening

air, there was a text from the Tees inviting me to a party.

To everyone’s surprise, including my own, I said yes. It was at someone’s place off-campus, a junior who was in the architecture

program with Autumn.

“What should I wear?” I asked Alden an hour or so later as I opened and closed my drawers over and over, throwing outfit options

onto my bed.

The calendar had only just flipped to October, yet the themed parties had already started. This one was “beach chic,” whatever

that meant.

Alden was lying with his back to the wall, one leg bent and the other hanging over the bed, writing an essay.

“You look good in anything,” he said, running his hands through his hair as he stared at his laptop. He said it so mindlessly,

so sweetly.

As I went through my underwear drawer, I accidentally pulled out an item I hadn’t thought of in weeks: my binder.

I’d bought it over the summer, when I’d thought I might experiment more with how I presented in college. When it arrived at

my home in Seattle in discreet packaging, I’d run up to my bedroom and tried it on with the door bolted shut. I couldn’t stop

staring at my flat chest, how it made a loose T-shirt look entirely different on my body. I took pictures of myself from the

neck down, and moved them to a private album on my phone.

I hadn’t looked at those pictures in a while, but they were there, hiding in wait.

I pulled the binder out when Alden wasn’t looking and shoved it under the shirt I’d laid on my bed. It was a loose floral

button-up with cuffed sleeves that looked passably beachy.

There was a part of my brain that couldn’t stop replaying the moment when we were kissing and I’d thought about having stubble.

It was ridiculous, but it had taken root in my head and wouldn’t let go.

“I’m going over to the Tees to pregame,” I told him, shoving my whole outfit into a tote bag. “You can stay here if you want.”

The Tees had extended their invitation to Alden, though I knew it wasn’t sincere, and he was too stressed about meeting his

deadline to go out anyway.

I hated that I didn’t mind.

Because really, I did want to spend as much time with him as possible, but not in combination with the Tees. And not right now, when I was having confusing thoughts about him—or maybe about me, but he made me feel those things.

The pregame was happening in Rex’s dorm, and by the time I got there, Shelly was using a half-empty bottle of wine as a microphone

with which to belt ABBA songs.

“Come be a dancing queen!” Shelly shouted as I walked in, without any trace of awkwardness.

“In a minute,” I told him, laughing.

Rex handed me a red plastic cup. “Put anything you want in there. We’ve got apple juice, wine, and vodka.”

I nodded and filled it with apple juice, and even though it was entirely nonalcoholic, I felt floaty after a few songs.

“I brought something kind of beachy,” I told the three of them. “I’m gonna change.”

“YESSSS!” Shelly shouted. “BEACH FIT! BEACH FIT!”

He was drunk, and I was giggly.

The only bathroom on Rex’s floor was a gender-neutral one, so I slipped inside with my tote bag. I changed slowly, then carefully

folded the clothes I’d worn to the greenhouse and tucked them away.

The lighting was terrible and the mirror was dirty, but even so, when I stepped out of the stall, I knew I looked good.

I turned to the side and pressed my palm over my chest: there was nothing there, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

The only problem was my hair, which was long and unruly. I fixed it as much as I could by putting it up in a loose bun.

“You look HOT!” Shelly said, stumbling forward and grabbing my arm as I reentered Rex’s room.

Autumn nodded in agreement, and even Rex seemed to approve of the fit.

As the four of us headed over to the party, I walked with my shoulders back. Even though Alden wasn’t there, I could still

feel his presence.

I always felt his presence.

Without him there, though, I could do something I hadn’t before: I could act like him. I tried to channel his mannerisms,

his ease.

It made me feel powerful and exposed at the same time.

When we arrived at the house, it was so full that people were spilling outside. I wasn’t quite ready to go in, so I grabbed

a beer from the cooler on the porch for something to do with my hands.

“Need a bottle opener?” a girl standing nearby offered.

“I was just going to hold it,” I told her honestly.

She must’ve thought I was joking, and laughed loudly.

“I’m Mischa,” she said.

“Zoe.”

She was flirting with me, and the closer I looked at her, the more honored I was.

Mischa was short and curvy, and she was deeply on-theme, wearing a triangle bikini top and a floral wrap skirt in spite of

the temperature.

“I like your outfit,” I told her. “Kind of weird that the host went with a beach theme in October, though.”

“It makes sense to me.” Mischa lifted her chin. “It’s a reminder of summer.”

As she said this, a kid stumbled out of the house and reached out to give Mischa a high five. “Nice party, Meesh!”

I blanched as Mischa thanked the boy.

“This is your party?” I asked.

“Alas, it is,” she said, stepping closer. “I’m the one who came up with the ‘kind of weird’ theme.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You did.” She put a hand on my arm. “But all will be forgiven if you dance with me.”

I told myself her flirting was harmless, because of how nice it felt. It was different than with Alden; it tickled the part

of my brain that was more lizard than human.

Girl hot. Say yes to dance , my lizard brain told me.

So I did.

Whoever was controlling the playlist was also on theme, because as Carly Rae Jepsen’s bright, summery voice blasted across

the crowded first floor of Mischa’s house, everyone ran to the center of the room.

I hoped that to the casual observer Mischa and I looked almost cinematic as we danced a little too close, because that’s how

I felt. I caught Autumn’s eye from across the room, and she shot me a questioning-but-not-necessarily-disapproving glance.

A few minutes later, Carly abruptly cut out, and a mellower song came on. Dancing to a fast song with room to spare for Jesus

or Moses or whoever was fine but dancing to a slow song with this girl would be crossing a line and I knew it.

I took a step back, and Mischa followed. There were mostly couples in the center of the room now, swaying slowly and hanging on to each other.

Some danced hesitantly, like it was their first go at it, but one couple was illuminated by a light from upstairs, as if some

higher power—other than the recessed lighting—had chosen them.

The two girls held on to each other tightly, swaying to the soft music. The shorter one put her chin on the taller one’s shoulder,

and they fit together perfectly.

“That’s my housemate, May,” Mischa said, pointing to the shorter girl when she caught me staring. “And her girlfriend, Shani.”

As she pointed to them, the taller one, Shani, waved goofily at Mischa, and May shook her head, but she was laughing.

“It’s kind of gross, right?” Mischa whispered.

I nodded, but it wasn’t gross at all. It was beautiful.

When the song ended, May dragged Shani over to where Mischa and I were standing, and I took a step back without meaning to.

“I don’t bite,” May said as she looked me up and down.

“She does,” Shani stage whispered, and they both laughed.

May wrapped her arm around Shani’s waist, and Shani fixed May’s hair. Their movements were seamless.

They spoke to Mischa for a few minutes, but I wasn’t paying attention. One thought overwhelmed my mind: This is what my life could be.

Maybe it could’ve been like that with Mischa or Autumn or someone else, anyone else.

Yet for some reason, I had chosen a boy.

And I liked that boy.

But maybe I hadn’t chosen him just because—maybe there was something more.

I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff: one wrong move and my life would’ve been irrevocably changed.

Rather than investigating this thought, I pulled Mischa back onto the dance floor.

At the end of the night, we reconvened in Rex’s room. I wasn’t drunk—I hadn’t even had a sip of alcohol—but I was dazed.

“It looked like you were having fun with the host,” Rex said, raising their eyebrows.

“She was cool,” I admitted.

Mischa and I had exchanged numbers, but that was that. I didn’t do anything that could’ve been considered cheating—I’d barely

even danced with her—but I still felt like I needed a shower.

We were lying on Rex’s blue shag carpet and listening to a vibey playlist that Autumn had chosen. For the second time that

night, I was struck with a what-if.

What if I had chosen the Tees over Alden?

It hadn’t been that long; I could choose them now. I could choose parties with hot queer people, dancing together and ending

our nights by grabbing ice cream or fries or whatever we wanted.

I could choose this, being tangled together listening to boygenius and giggling for no reason.

“You should hang with us more often,” Autumn said to me after a while.

I nodded. I should’ve.

Rex sat up and leaned forward so that they were looking right at me. “Yeah, you were actually being fun tonight.”

I sat up then too. “What does that mean?”

The three Tees exchanged a look, and I hugged my legs to my chest.

Autumn was the most diplomatic of them, so she spoke first. “Just that you seem a little... different around your boyfriend.”

They were right, but it still stung. And if they’d left it at that, it would’ve been fine.

But then Shelly said, “He makes you boring.” I froze, and Shelly must’ve taken that as an indication to continue sticking

his foot in his mouth. “You should hang out more with Mischa; she’s great.”

“Alden doesn’t make me boring,” I muttered.

I debated telling them about the thoughts I’d had earlier. That maybe it wasn’t that I liked him so much but more that I liked how he made me feel. Or that maybe I was like him in some way that I didn’t know how to articulate.

But because I didn’t know how to articulate it, I didn’t say anything at all.

“I think what Shelly meant,” Autumn began, “was that he takes up a lot of your time.”

“He’s my boyfriend, ” I said. “Of course, he takes up a lot of my time.”

“But you never hang out with us anymore,” Rex added.

That comment shouldn’t have set me off, but it did.

“You were my orientation friends,” I said, standing up to leave and hating myself. “The kind you make before you find someone

better.”

They all stared at me with so much hurt in their eyes. I knew there was no coming back from this, but I couldn’t stop. I was

furious; I had to defend Alden’s honor. Or maybe I was just done.

“It’s not like you’ve made any effort to hang out with me either.” I grabbed my tote bag from where it was sitting by the

door. “You all clearly like each other more than you like me, so go have fun with your ‘real queer’ friends and leave me the

fuck alone.”

I flung Rex’s door open and slammed it shut. It felt good to say all that, but when I was done, I immediately wanted to apologize.

When I returned to my dorm, Alden was still on my bed, typing out his essay. I crawled next to him and put my head in his

lap, and he closed his computer and held me, his arms around my stomach.

In the comfort of my room, with the pressure of Alden’s body against mine, it felt safe to dive back into the thoughts I’d

been having.

So I replayed the moments early in our relationship: running up the clock tower, sliding in socked feet down a bowling lane

with him waiting at the end of it.

Before our relationship became anything physical, there was a want .

And I know now what that want was: I wanted to be like him. I wanted to move through the world in the way he did, the way he was allowed to.

That thought was too much, though, so instead of continuing to think it, I burrowed farther into him.

That night was the last time I hung out with the Tees.