Gay Panic & Emotional Support Lesbians

The conference room had been decorated with a single, sad rainbow streamer that drooped like it had seen too much. Bay stood in the doorway, clutching her emotional support iced coffee and trying not to pass out.

She spotted Jane immediately. She was laughing at something one of the interns said, hair up in a messy bun, giant silver hoops swinging as she nodded along. She looked like the kind of queer who had a subscription to both Bon Appétit and chaos.

Bay turned around to leave. Immediately.

Too late.

Jane spotted her and lit up like a pride flag on fire.

“Bay! I didn’t know you were joining!”

Bay gave a little wave that looked more like she was swatting away bees. “Yeah. Carlos said you needed a rep from inventory, and I said... cool.”

“That’s so great,” Jane said, scooting over and patting the seat next to her. “Sit here!”

No. Bad idea. Absolutely not. Bay’s brain screamed in all caps, but her legs were like, sure, let’s ruin our life again!

She sat.

The meeting began, but Bay heard none of it. Something about sponsors, volunteers, themed events, rainbow cupcakes—whatever. She was too busy pretending to take notes while actually writing “don’t say anything dumb” fifteen times in the margins of her notebook.

Jane leaned in. “Do you wanna co-lead the vendor team with me?”

Bay choked on air.

“I mean,” Jane continued, smiling like this was completely casual and not an emotional earthquake, “you’re great with people. And you’re, like, fun.”

Bay blinked. “You think I’m fun?”

“Yeah,” Jane said, with that stupidly sincere tone that made Bay feel like someone had yanked her heart through her ribs. “You’re hilarious. And sharp. And kind of a wild card, which makes things interesting.”

Bay, panicking, did the only thing she could think of.

She spilled her coffee.

Everywhere.

On her notes. On the table. On herself.

“OH MY GOD,” she blurted, jumping up. “I—this isn’t symbolic, I swear—”

Jane burst out laughing, handing her a wad of napkins like she’d been prepared for this exact moment.

“You’re definitely co-leading,” she said.

Bay wiped her pants, her face burning. This was fine. Everything was fine. This was her brand now: chaotic gay who flirted by way of beverage-related accidents.

At least Kylee would think it was hilarious.

Kylee’s art studio smelled like acrylic paint, lavender incense, and judgment.

Bay flopped dramatically onto the floor as soon as she walked in. “I embarrassed myself again, Kylee. I am the Picasso of self-sabotage.”

Kycharacter

was in the middle of painting a very realistic but very naked Greek statue, didn’t even blink. “You mean with Jane?”

“No, Kylee. With the Pope.”

“I don’t know your life,” she said, smirking as she wiped her hands on a paint-stained apron. “Tell me everything, you absolute disaster.”

Bay sat up. “I spilled coffee. In a meeting. On myself. After Jane called me fun. Who does that? Who has a breakdown over being complimented?”

Kylee handed her a mug of peppermint tea and a look that said, You. You do that.

“You know,” Kylee said, sitting cross-legged beside her, “when I first met you, I thought you were this confident, smooth-talking flirt.”

Bay raised an eyebrow. “When did you meet me, in a dream?”

“I said thought,” Kylee grinned. “Then you tried to seduce me by offering me half a granola bar and complimenting my shoelaces.”

“It was a good granola bar,” Bay mumbled.

Kylee leaned her head against Bay’s shoulder. “You’re not smooth, B. But you’re charming. In a ‘please don’t leave her alone in public’ kind of way.”

Bay sipped her tea and groaned. “Why are you so emotionally balanced?”

“Because I’m gay, not chaotic,” Kylee said, poking her. “Anyway, Jane wouldn’t keep asking you to be around her if she didn’t like you. You don’t ask a walking fire drill to co-lead a vendor team unless you want more chaos in your life.”

Bay made a noise like a dying bird.

Kylee nudged her again. “Just flirt like a normal person.”

“I don’t know how! My entire flirtation strategy is spilling drinks and gaslighting myself!”

Kylee sighed dramatically, grabbed a notebook, and scrawled something on it in giant block letters.

HOW TO FLIRT: A GUIDE FOR DUMB GAYS

• Say a normal sentence.

• Make eye contact.

• Don’t spill anything.

• Maybe smile??

• Cry later.

She held it up like it was sacred scripture.

Bay took a photo of it. “This is going on my wall.”