“And, obviously, nature really matters to us. And being in harmony with nature and with ourselves.”
“And, so, being frank and strictly off the record, we’ve been a little bit worried that some elements of your lifestyle are not necessarily compatible with what we see as healthy and positive living.”
I was pretty sure that they could have gone on like this for at least another hour but, mercifully, it seemed like they thought they’d made their point. And now they were gazing expectantly at me.
Somehow, I didn’t throw the seeds at them.
“I completely see where you’re coming from,” I told them. “And, being frank and strictly off the record, I’ve not been in the best place recently. But I’ve taken time to reflect and look inward, and although I think it’s going to be quite a slow, holistic process, I’m beginning to take steps to really realign myself with where I’m supposed to be in life.”
Tamara reached across the table and laid her hand across mine like a benediction. “That’s really centred of you, Luc. Not a lot of people have the courage to do that.”
“Just to be clear”—Adam suddenly looked a little bit uncomfortable—“it’s not about the gay thing.”
A nod from Tamara. “We have lots of gay friends.”
I widened my eyes in a look of reassuring disbelief that I had been practicing for way too long. “You know, it never even crossed my mind that it might be.”
A couple of hours later, they’d gone, having formally un-pulled-out of the Beetle Drive—which, y’know, they could do because their Johrei retreat wasn’t happening. I celebrated and/or consoled myself with a terrifyingly good chocolate caramel brownie. Like, seriously. Better than a real—I mean nonvegan—chocolate caramel brownie. My working theory was that getting a dessert from a vegan restaurant was like having sex with someone less attractive than you—they knew it was a tough sell, so they tried harder.
“How was the jackfruit?” asked Bronwyn, popping up beside me.
“Surprisingly good. There was even a thirty-second window when I stopped wishing it was meat.”
She folded her arms. “You’ve been bottling that up, haven’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I have. They are the worst people, Bronwyn.”
“I blame the yoga. All that time in facedown dog’s not good for you.”
“They actually used the phrase ‘It’s not the gay thing.’”
“Oh, so it was the gay thing then?”
“Yeah.” I hoovered up the last crumbs of brownie. “They’ve got to that place where they’ve realised being homophobic is bad, but haven’t quite reconciled that with the fact they’re a bit suspicious of gay people.”
Bronwyn oofed. “Are you going to need another brownie?”
“I think I might actually. This is on expenses. And I kind of feel like work owes me.”
She did, in fact, bring me another brownie. And I did, in fact, eat it.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, swinging herself onto a repurposed wine crate, “I had a text from Rhys. He wants to know if you’re getting fired or not. He does worry about you, Luc. On account of how you’re such a bellend.”
“I think it went okay. Bellend or not, I’m depressingly good at pandering to straight people when I have to.”
“Well, it’s a living, isn’t it? Probably better than digging a hole.”
I squirmed. “You don’t think it’s…messed up?”
“No point asking me. I’m not the gay pope. You do it. What do you think?”
I carried on squirming. “It’s not a massive part of my job. It just feels like it right now.”
“You mean,” she offered, helpfully, “because you were in the newspapers being a massive junkie slutbag?”
“Excuse me. I’ve recently been in the newspapers having a very nice boyfriend.”
“Yes, but that’s only for pretendsies, isn’t it?”