Page 60 of Make Room for Love

“I’m not saying this to discourage you. You know the only way this is going to happen is if we put in the work ourselves.”

Mira couldn’t argue with that.We are the union, Isabel had once said, and Mira had learned over the last few months what this really meant. There was no one but them to do the work of organizing thousands of grad students and winning the election. If Mira didn’t do her rounds every week, talking to people at every opportunity, the work wouldn’t get done. Last semester, week by week, she’d helped add to the ever-increasing count of union cards. And now she had to do whatever it took to win.

Maybe she couldn’t wait around for someone else to do it. But her life would be so much easier if she could. Talking to her coworkers was one thing, but being in charge was another. “What if someone else runs?”

“They’re not going to if you decide you want to do it. We’ll vote next week, and it’ll be you.”

Shreya’s pragmatism was oddly reassuring. Mira wasn’t being inflated beyond her actual abilities. If Shreya truly thoughtshe couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t have asked. “Can you give me some time to think about it?”

“Let me know by Monday,” Shreya said. “Look, you’re not bad at listening and talking to people, and I know you care about this. Don’t sell yourself short, okay?”

“I don’t know,”Mira said, for what was probably the hundredth time tonight. “I know Shreya’s right, that one of us is going to have to do it. I just don’t want to let anyone down. It’s frightening to have that kind of responsibility.”

Isabel’s thumbs dug into a particularly tense muscle between Mira’s shoulder blades. She exhaled and relaxed into the touch. It had been a good night: an early movie, a leisurely dinner at their neighborhood Greek restaurant, a quiet walk home through gentle flurries of snow. The warm, shimmery pleasure of being taken on a good date. A break from thinking about the hard things for a few hours.

“What are you afraid of?” Isabel asked.

Nestled between Isabel’s thighs on the couch as Isabel massaged her back, Mira was warm and safe. The harshness of the world outside, and all that she was up against, seemed far away. She could get some distance from her anxieties, at least for the time being. “I guess I’m afraid of being in situations where I won’t know what to do and people are relying on me. Like if someone asks me questions during a training or runs into a difficult situation and needs help. I don’t trust myself to know what I’m doing. I don’t see why other people should trust me.”

“How many grad students do you think you’ve talked to since the beginning of the year?”

“Um, several dozen? About a hundred, probably.” It was hard to believe the number was that high. But Mira had met all the first-years in the Classics department that she’d been too jadedto talk to before, and she’d made connections with other grad students in biology and music and architecture that she never would have otherwise, and she’d even rebuilt a few friendships she’d let lapse since she started dating Dylan. It wasn’t only the individual relationships, either. Mira was part of something bigger than herself.

But that didn’t mean she was qualified to lead anyone. “There’s a lot more to being the area captain than just talking to people, though. I have to make decisions about what to focus on and how to deal with problems, and I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Well, that’s my point.” Isabel’s thumbs worked out another knot in Mira’s back. It was painful and good. She really needed to fix her posture instead of hunching over her laptop all day. “You know all these people, and you know what they want. It means you can represent them and do what’s in their best interests. That’s what leadership means. It’s mostly about listening, and you’re good at that.”

“Maybe you’re right. Good enough, anyway. Well, I don’t know if it’s enough.” Mira sighed. “Do you think I should do it?”

Isabel made a noncommittal sound. Her hands moved lower. Mira groaned, from Isabel’s fingers digging into her tense muscles as much as from frustration. “Don’t go all strong and silent on me now.”

“I think youcando it. Whether you decide to do it is up to you.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“You still asked.” Isabel kissed her on the crown of her head, then pushed her thumbs in hard. Mira whimpered. Taking some more stretch breaks wouldn’t kill her. Isabel stroked her back, soothing her. “Too much?”

“No. Keep going.”

It wasn’t as easy as simply deciding to do it. But a sense of pride was swelling within her. Before this year, she’d rarely thought of herself as someone who could use her power to push back against the world, to act for herself and for others instead of merely surviving. It made a difference that hundreds of other people were working alongside her now, including people she didn’t know.

Of course she was scared. But four months ago, she’d been afraid to have a conversation with a stranger. She had come a long way, and there was so much more to do, and she owed something not only to herself but to her coworkers, too. And if just one other trans girl at this institution could escape having to rely on a partner’s whims for her housing and healthcare, it would have been worth it to Mira.

“You know, I’m going to tell Shreya yes before I lose my nerve,” she said. “I was planning to think about it all day tomorrow. But there’s no reason to overthink it.”

“That’s good.” Isabel put her hands on Mira’s shoulders and kissed the back of her neck. “Relax with me this weekend. And when you go to work on Monday, you can fight like hell.”

“That’s the other thing. It’s going to take up a lot of time. And I’ll have to figure out how to manage my time better.” Shreya was probably underestimating how much time Mira’s new responsibilities would take. Shreya was the most organized person Mira had ever known, and Mira’s organizational skills were middling at best—if she were an old, tweedy male professor, people would call her absentminded. “But I’ll get a break after the election is over. And I’ll keep part of my weekends free so I can spend them with you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Isabel said, as Mira got off the couch and grabbed her phone to text Shreya. “I’m proud of you.”

Mira sent the text. “I did it.” She took a deep breath. “Thanks, Isabel. That means a lot to me.”

Isabel smiled. She seemed uncharacteristically shy. “That reminds me. I have a present for you.”

She got up and returned with a bundle the size of a manila envelope, wrapped neatly in plain brown paper—clearly the work of her own hands. Mira unwrapped it carefully, and something pink and silky tumbled out.

Mira held it up. It was a lacy slip, in absolutely sumptuous pink silk the same color as her pajamas, cool and soft in her hands and nearly iridescent. She laughed in delight. Isabel knew what Mira liked, and she knew what she herself liked, too, when it came to what Mira wore. The slip was going to be luxurious to sleep in and to wear under her dresses. And, of course, Isabel had…first-hand knowledge of her proportions.

---