Page 52 of Bi-Partisan

“Oh, and I want a group picture before we forget. I spent too long on face paint,” she says, gesturing at the rainbow butterfly taking up half the side of her face then at the demi-pan heart she painted on Casey’s cheek, “and I want pictures before it melts off.”

“Agreed. And I need a picture of this jumpsuit,” Mina says, posing to show off her jumpsuit printed with flowers in the lesbian flag colors. “Let's take the photos inside the gate. I think I saw a balloon arch that would make a good backdrop.”

The group nods, and we head through the entrance, making a donation on our way. There is, in fact, a balloon arch relatively close to the entrance, so we walk towards it. Thankfully, there aren’t too many people who had the same idea, so Jamie and I are able to situate ourselves in front of it without anyone else getting in our way. Once we do, though, I have no idea what to do. Getting the photos out of the way first is smart, but I still hate getting my picture taken. I never know how to pose, especially with someone who’s supposed to be my boyfriend.

Like the first time we did this, he seems to be able to sense my discomfort and hesitation. He squeezes my hand once, offering me a small, private smile, then steps in front of me. His hands guide my arms to wrap around his waist from behind, then he leans back, his back pressing into my chest. Taking his lead, I press my unpainted cheek against his.

“That’s perfect,” Mina says, holding up her phone. “Now smile a little—great.”

I hold my smile as she snaps the photo, and after a few seconds, I feel Jamie shift away a little. I assume that means we’re done, but then his lips press against my cheek. I feel my skin heat, especially when I see Mina snap a few more photos. Oh, God, she’s not going to post that one, is she? I would think that such obvious PDA would be a no go, even on his personal account.

“Well, I won’t be posting that one, but y’all are cute,” she says, and I relax a little.

Okay, good.

She takes a few seconds to review the photos, then gives us a thumbs up. “We’re good. Alright, group picture time. Everyone in.”

I half expect Jamie to move, but he stays put as Casey, Sophie, Mina, and Chloe gather around us—which makes sense, seeing as Mina’s arms are only so long. She angles the phone toward us, and we all maneuver so we can see ourselves on the screen. And normally, I hate these big group selfies more than individual photos of myself. But seeing all of us in the frame together, covered in various pride flags, makes me feel a little warm inside. It makes me feel like I belong, which is something I’d given up on feeling after my eighth move.

My brain gets a little stuck on that thought, so it takes me a second to realize the photo has been taken and everyone has separated again. I mentally shake myself, then let go of Jamie’s waist and step back, trying to ignore the way I already miss the warmth of him pressed against me.

He doesn’t seem too keen on the separation, either, though, because his hand immediately finds mine again. “Okay, darlin’?”

I nod and lace our fingers together, squeezing his hand and earning a smile. “I’m good.”

He appraises me for a moment, then nods, seemingly satisfied.

“Alright, so food?” Sophie says.

We all nod in agreement. “Food.”

Chapter 17

Jamie

Song: Late Night Talking – Harry Styles

My phone buzzes with a text in my jogger pocket as I’m pulling the last of my mom’s frozen lasagnas out of the freezer. My mom has never said it outright, but I think she knows that most of the meals I consume are takeout or from the hot bar section of Whole Foods. So at least once a month when I’m home in Cary, she’ll load me up with frozen casseroles and single-serve meals to take back to DC. It’s rare that I actually have an opportunity to cook and enjoy them on a weekday, but for the first time in two months, I’m home before 8:30 p.m. In fact, I’m home at six, which I don’t think has ever happened except for right before a holiday break or long weekend.

I set the lasagna on top of the stove and press the button to preheat the oven, then lean against the counter and pull out my phone.

Adrian Wilks <3

July 7, 6:17 PM

Hey, are you busy?

My face splits into a smile as I read the text. In my excitement over not being at work, I decide to call him instead of texting him back.

“For the first time in weeks, I am not busy,” I say the moment his warm voice hits my ear. Between being in the office and traveling home for Raleigh pride two weekends ago, and Fourth of July this past weekend, I haven’t seen or truly talked to Adrian since DC’s pride festival, and I’ve kind of missed him. “I’m not in my office. I’m not on the floor listening to a pointless debate for a bill that’s just gonna pass anyway, no matter how hard the Republicans huff and puff about it. I have some reading I want to do, but I get to do so in my apartment, watching television and waiting for my oven to preheat so I can heat up one of my mom’s frozen lasagnas. I’m even wearing sweats.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and I grimace. “Shoot, sorry, darlin’. I got a little ahead of myself there. You probably wanted to talk about something. What’s up?”

“Oh, uh, it was just something that happened at work today, but you know what? It’s nothing,” he says, although by the distressed tone in his voice, I can tell it is absolutely not nothing.

“It doesn’t sound like it was nothing,” I say, suddenly serious. “What happened?”

“Really, it’s not a big deal. You’ve been really busy lately and deserve a night off, and I don’t want to bring your mood down. I’ll be fine.”

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