Page 25 of Every Step She Takes
Inez eyes me from the head of the table. “Did you not know…? Did your sister not tell you this is a queer tour?”
I bite down on my lip and try not to cry. I’m so tired, so hungover, so overwhelmed, and I just learned that in my attempt to run away from my gay panic, I ended upon a gay tour.
Ro loudly grunts. “Isn’t the whole point that this is supposed to be a safe space for us? How can we have a straight person on the tour?”
“Are you, like,Straightwith a capitalS?” Ari asks. “Or, like ‘straight.’?” She uses air quotes on the secondstraight, as if I’m supposed to know the difference.
“There is something very gay about reupholstery,” Vera notes.
“Like, you don’t really only date cishet men, do you?” Ari sounds horrified at the thought.
I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t know who I date, or what I want, or how to talk about any of this without choking on my tears.
The anxiety is everywhere, spreading from my brain to my stomach to the tips of my fingers and toes. Everyone is looking at me, debating my sexuality, andthisis the real plane crash. This is the near-death experience.
Even if I could survive the Camino, I could never survivethis.
A clanging sound echoes up and down the table, silencing everyone and everything, including the anxious thoughts drilling down inside me. I glance up to see Mal holding her pint glass and a butter knife. “Excuse me,” she says, clanging the glass one more time. “But I haven’t introduced myself yet.”
With that, all the attention shifts away from the three-headed, heterosexual freak to Mal. She briefly meets my eyes and gives me a discreet wink. This redirection isn’t accidental. She’s coming to my rescue.
And that’s when I do start crying. Small, quiet tears I’m able to hide because no one is looking at me except her.
SEVENMATOSINHOS, PORTUGAL
Mal
This obviously doesn’t count.
I said I’m going to avoid Sadie Wells on this trip, and I will. But I couldn’t just sit here while she collapsed in on herself like a dying star.
She didn’t know this is a queer tour. The universe has a fucked-up sense of humor, and it’s clearly decided to make poor Sadie the butt of its jokes.
So, yeah, I impulsively slammed my knife handle against my glass to save her from scrutiny. But this doesn’t count as flirting or anything.
“Excuse me. But I haven’t introduced myself yet,” I announce louder than necessary, ensuring that the entire table is looking at me, even the Italian in the tiny shorts who is doing wall sits against the stone façade of the outdoor fireplace like that’s a perfectly normal thing to do in a public establishment.
“Hey, everyone!” I turn on the charm, making eye contact with everybody in turn. As a kid, I would sit in the back of the room at board meetings, memorizing the way Valentim could make each member feel special and uniquely seen. “My name is Mal Gonçalves, she/her, lesbian-ish. And I came to the Camino because I got dumped.”
“Aww, biscuit,” Rebecca coos in condolence.
“Thanks, friend, but it’s okay. My ex and I weren’t right for each other for a lot of reasons.”
So many reasons. What was it Ruth said in that final fight?
You’re directionless.
You’re floating.
I need to be with a real adult.
Ruth loved my spontaneity and my restlessness when it meant trips to Thailand and Marrakesh and Paris; when it meant surprise gifts and tango lessons and extravagant nights out. But when it meant introducing me to her friends and colleagues as her unambitious girlfriend who lived off a trust fund and aimlessly drifted between nonprofit jobs, she liked it a lot less.
I loved Ruth in the beginning, when everything was new and exciting, but those feelings never last.
“Fleeing the country after a breakup is sort of my MO,” I tell Rebecca with perfect indifference.
“Are you Portuguese?” Vera clocks instantly.
