Page 2 of Bi-Partisan

She’s right. I know she’s right. But eating a proper meal is nearly impossible when I can’t get my acid reflux to settle down enough to stomach anything more than toast or buttered noodles. So is sleeping when my brain feels like that scene in Elf where Buddy keeps running around in the revolving door. Once he’s stuck in the door, it’s hard to get out. And when he does, he immediately gets dizzy and throws up. Except in my case, the revolving door is my ever-growing to-do list playing on an endless loop, and the dizziness is a sexuality crisis that apparently couldn’t wait until after elections. Obviously my brain didn’t get the memo that there isn’t exactly a lot of time to have a bi-awakening while working seventy plus hours a week.

“So, right now, you’re going to text Daniel and get him to work his executive assistant wizardry to rearrange some things on your plate so you can make it home at a reasonable hour the rest of the week—including this draft of the environmental bill. Then, you’re going to go home, eat something, and get some fucking sleep. And this weekend, we’re going out because you need to blow off some steam. Axe throwing, wine and paint, anything that will get you out of your head. Got it?”

I nod, eternally grateful for Mina’s take charge attitude. Usually, I don’t really need someone to do that for me. I’ve always been proactive, not reactive. But lately, all I’ve been able to be is the latter. Between North Carolina’s redistricting and the threat of that wrinkly, homophobic asshole Geoffrey Mitchell becoming the Republican nominee for my district, I feel like I have no control. All I can do is sit and wait.

So maybe she is right. I need to make time for myself, otherwise I’m going to burn out.

“What if we go to that place in Dupont that Chloe was talking about at your birthday? Lavender something,” I suggest, hoping I sound casual about the suggestion rather than like I’m freaking the fuck out—because now that the words have left my mouth, that’s what I’m doing.

“The Lavender Gimlet?” she asks.

“Yeah, that was it. The speakeasy-inspired place.”

Mina gives me a long look, like she’s trying to read my mind. “You realize that’s a gay bar, right? Do you really think going to a queer bar is a good idea when we’re less than two months out from the primaries? What if you’re photographed?”

“Didn’t Chloe say they have a no photography policy? Even so, I’ve been seen going into gay clubs. And drag brunches and pride,” I point out.

“They do, and, yes, you have. But every time, you get questions about it—which you’ve always handled well, but that was before…” she trails off.

Before the answer to those questions about whether my dedication to LGBTQ+ rights is a personal issue was a possible yes.

“Okay, look, I know it will bring up questions if I get seen—which I don’t think I will because it’s not like I’m back home. But if it happens, we can just handle it like we always do. Drive it back to the issues. But—” I blow out a frustrated breath and lean back in my chair, tipping my head back to stare at the ceiling as I try to figure out how to put words to this.

In hindsight, my congressional office probably wasn’t the best place to have this discussion, but it’s past nine now, and we’re the only ones here. I also realize that field testing my theoretical bisexuality wasn’t included in the “anything” Mina suggested to get me out of my head. But now that I’ve had the idea, I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about it.

It’s just that all I’ve been doing about my sexuality crisis is think. I’ve done research, taken anonymous quizzes, and read online forums. Mina and I have talked it out at length, occasionally with the support of her girlfriend. I’ve even dissected my past to find clues to support my theory. But I haven’t put that theory into action.

I’ve barely had the time between work and the campaign to go out with any women, much less find a safe place for me to try dating a guy. It’s not like I can go on a dating app because God-forbid anyone recognizes me. Plus, I wouldn’t want to force someone to date me in secret until I’m ready to come out—which I don’t really want to do until after the election because I just know that my sexuality and hypothetical relationship would become the focus of the campaign instead of the issues that affect my constituents.

I’ve been keeping this new part of myself in a little box, which feels a little hypocritical. Creating a country where queer people don’t have to hide their identities for any number of reasons has been one of the cornerstones of my platform, even before I started analyzing my personal connection to the community.

And clearly, throwing myself into work and the election to distract myself from the effect of keeping this information locked up tight is having on me isn’t helping. It’s only making me more tense.

I take a deep breath before returning my gaze to Mina, who’s been surprisingly patient as I sift through my conflicting feelings.

“I get your concern, I really do. I know I have a spotlight on my life, especially because of the election. But it’s not like I plan on doing anything scandalous. You know I’ve never really been the one night stand or public hookup type,” I say.

“No, it goes against your whole Southern gentleman vibe,” she says, teasing a little to lighten the mood.

I can’t help cracking a small smile, probably for the first time today.

“So, then what exactly is your goal here?”

“I just want to—I don’t know. Test the waters?” I shrug. “Flirt a little. Let myself look. Not shut it down if a guy flirts with me. See how I feel when it’s a real person in a real situation, not looking at a thirst trap on Instagram or a photo of Jonathan Bailey climbing out of a lake wearing period clothing.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair. That scene even had my lesbian ass questioning things,” she says with a laugh.

The tension in my neck starts to dissipate as I laugh too.

After a long moment, she sighs. “Alright, fine, we can go. But I’m bringing Chloe. That way, if it comes to it, you can play the ‘my best friend is a lesbian, and we wanted to go to a place her and her girlfriend knew they’d be welcome’ card.”

“A card we wouldn’t even have to play if straight weren’t the default,” I argue.

“Yeah, yeah, save it for the sound bite,” she teases.

I grin, feeling my shoulders relax ever so slightly as she stands. She gives me an expectant look, and I cock my head.

She makes a motion for me to stand. “Come on, we’re leaving. You’re texting Daniel, and we’re going home. And you’re leaving everything here,” she adds when I stand and reach for my bag to pack some documents.

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