Page 109 of Ambiguous
Julian unfolds his napkin and puts it in his lap. And that reminds me of a different napkin I rubbed all over his lap. Now that I know what’s under his clothes… And those are not thoughts I should be having at a family dinner.
“Tell us more about yourself,” my mom says, as she unfolds her napkin and holds up a dainty fork.
“Well, I’m a singer,” Julian starts.
Everyone chuckles. “I think they know that,” I stage whisper.
“Cheers. Yeah. I’ve been doing it professionally for about ten years now. Before that, I just sang at church.”
Pop-Pop perks up. Dammit. Religion performs well. “What church do you go to?”
I’ve been watching my grandfather’s reactions, searching for anything from hostility to a desire to use Jules. He’s been quieter than usual, but this has gotten his attention.
“I don’t go to one anymore, but my family were C of E. Church of England.”
Julian’s lack of interest in organized religion isn’t a plus in my grandfather’s mind. But I’m starting to not think that the future of queer politics rests on my shoulders, so what’s a plus for him or his campaign doesn’t matter as much as my feelings for Jules.
“Do you think you’ll ever become an American citizen?” my grandfather asks.
“Pop-Pop,” I chide.
Jules puts a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t mind him being curious. And no, I don’t think so. If I did, it would be to vote, but I’m not really sure that’s fair. I vote back home, and that’s enough.”
“Isn’t home here?” my mother asks.
“These days, yes. Part of me will always consider London home, though, and I do have a residence there.” He turns to me. “Want to go there with me sometime?”
“Absolutely,” I murmur. “And sorry about the questions.”
“I truly don’t mind.”
“Well, we’re all for LGBT rights in this house,” Pop-Pop says. “Even if dealing with it in real life takes some getting used to.”
Dealing with it. I open my mouth to tell him he’s being insensitive, but Mom pipes up. “So many rockers are gender-bending.” She smiles at Jules fondly. “You’re just one in a long line.”
Pop-Pop nods. “Right. You’re flamboyant to get attention. I understand.”
“The truth is,” Jules says, “I dress the way I do because I like to. I’m actually not fond of the attention it draws to my private life.”
“Surely you wouldn’t wear something feminine like those bracelets if you didn’t want to press buttons. You’re challenging men being men.” Pop-Pop sips his wine.
“That’s an interesting way to put it,” Jules says.
“Pop-Pop,” I say, “can we change the subject?”
“I don’t mind talking about it,” Jules says quietly. He meets my grandfather’s gaze, his voice clear. “Many people think my clothing choices, gender expression, and sexuality are all the same thing. But they aren’t.”
“Since you’re here as Sam’s partner, I assume you’re gay or bisexual,” Pop-Pop says placidly.
Jules presses his lips together and tilts his head. “I don’t have a label for my sexuality. I am into Sam, yes. Very much so. But don’t confuse my sexual orientation and clothing choices. Or my gender expression.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I’m cisgender. I just happen to not like to be constrained by gender norms when I dress. It’s… fun. More than that, it makes me feel, well, more me.”
My grandfather looks confused. Mom, meanwhile, is watching Jules with glowing eyes. I think she’s still bowled over by the fact that she’s having dinner with Julian Hill.
Jules continues, not missing a beat. “Let me put it this way. Have you ever met a cisgender heterosexual woman who hates traditional femininity? She doesn’t wear dresses or cosmetics and can’t stand flowers, that sort of thing.”
“Of course.” Pop-Pop clears his throat.
“Her sexuality and her gender identity are what the world would consider ‘normal,’ while her clothing choices are androgynous, or what some might call masculine. Expressing one’s femininity or masculinity—or a combination thereof—doesn’t mean one is gay or straight.”
