Dear You,

I’m in love! 

I never thought I would be in a place like this. I never thought I’d ever find someone who set my soul aflame, and brought me untold joy and happiness. She makes me feel safe, and secure, and powerful, and strong. Even when I’m uncertain and afraid, she holds me tight and she offers me consoling words, builds up my resolve, believes in me in ways I never thought anyone would. 

Do you remember that story I told you years ago? About how Kris rode in my car, and told me a man would never entertain my “silly little writing thing” for long, how he’d make me give it up, raise the kids, stop writing all the time? That my dream was doomed to fail because I was doomed to marry? Leora doesn’t think like that. She believes in me, believes in my ability to accomplish the only thing that I’ve ever truly loved doing: telling stories, making people feel things, making them come alive. She is encouraging me to work towards that. She even said that maybe, once we get our numbers up, I can move to doing art full-time. And that she’d support that. And me. And… well. It’s what we’re working towards. And I couldn’t be more excited.

Anyway. I never told you how we met, did I? We started chatting on this lesbian dating app, HER. She had a tiny house, and we talked about that a lot. Eventually, we ended up meeting up in December for our first date at Cafe Artista. We drank chais, she made a sarcastic remark to me right away, and I knew immediately that we’d get along. We chatted for a long time, until the cafe closed, and we got kicked out. She walked me to the car like a gentlewoman, and that was the first date out of all of the ones I’d been on that I got in my car and thought, “God, I want to see her again.” I told Justine right away, too. I called her and told her I felt so good about the date, that I was so excited to see Leora again, that I really hoped Leora felt like it went well, too. 

And she did, turns out. We met again, and again. We went to the bagel shop. She took me out to Karma. Eventually, I invited her over for sake (after having a lot of sake myself), and she came up later that week. And it was amazing. I know you know that I’m super careful about who I let into my house. And I felt safe enough inviting Leora. And… it felt amazing to have her there. It felt right. We drank sake, we had food, we played games, and… she stayed the night. She stayed the night! The way my heart raced when she said she planned on staying over! How startled I was by my own response of, “Good. You should plan on that.” It’s like I hardly knew myself in that instance! 

She curled up next to me, and we slept in warm comfort. She teased me about all the blankets on my bed, of course, and we had to pull a ton off because she runs so warm. We didn’t even kiss that night, but I remember how my heart raced at the idea of her in my bed. 

We talked for hours in the morning. She laid on my chest while we learned more about each other. I made us breakfast, tea, made sure the house was warm for her before she came downstairs. We spent a long time together that next day. And, eventually, we parted ways only for me to call Justine and tell her all about it. 

I wish I could’ve told you. I wish I could’ve shared my excitement about Leora when it was first happening. But I kept it hidden from you. When you and I were together, and I’d be texting, I told you it was Justine. It wasn’t. It was Leora. 

We shared our first kiss in my house. Up in my loft! I’d never had a kiss like that before. It was new and exciting and… I was hopelessly smitten. 

She showed me her favorite tv series. It’s fun – the 8th Kingdom, I think it’s called? I want to rewatch it with her sometime. It was a blast the first time! We watched it in her previous place, the cottage she used to live in. We’d curl up on her bed and set her computer up and settle in. 

Ah! And she’s a cook! She likes to show off. She flambéd some lamb for me, and that was delicious. I’d never had lamb like that before! And she made this really delightful pesto chicken… and I resisted staying the night at her place for a while because I’d have to get up early to be sure I showered and got to work on time but… eventually I caved. 

There’s nothing better than sleeping next to her. I love her so much. I knew I was falling for her well before I ever admitted it to myself. 

She said it first, you know. That she loved me. I decided to give her a key to my house, and that was big for me. She knew that. And while we were curled up on her couch, she told me she loved me. 

I was so hesitant at first. I said I was falling for her, too. She teased me about how I don’t have to say it back if I don’t want to. But I did! I was just terrified of admitting how much I already loved her. 

Before we moved in together, we were basically moved in together. We were with each other a lot, and saw each other often. We were always making food for each other, switching whose house we’d stay at over the weekend… and then we moved in together and honestly it’s been really nice. It was scary at first, trusting her so much like that. Trusting what we were building. But she’s been nothing but amazing, and loving, and affectionate, and… 

Look, I know you don’t care. You don’t want to hear any of this. You don’t like that I’m gay. You don’t like that I don’t treat Leora as “a friend.” We’re going to get married one day, and I won’t be inviting you to that because of how you see me, and my relationship, and my identity. You don’t love this part of me, and unfortunately for you – for both of us, really – that means you don’t love all of me. And I don’t want someone in my life that doesn’t love all of me. 

I think you have this notion of being able to love parts of me, without loving the fact that I’m gay. And that’s not how love works. What would you think if you heard I call myself genderqueer? Do you even know what that means? How would that change our relationship further, how would it damage the way we talk about things? I haven’t ever said anything to you because I didn’t want to harm what little bit of a relationship we had left. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? Because you’ll never read this letter, and I’ll never send it. 

I’m a genderqueer lesbian. I relate to the word “woman” but not around certain people. I push and change the dimensions of the gender I was assigned at birth and tweak how I interact with it. I like women. I like women a lot. I like the way their bodies are shaped, the way they make me feel, how they touch me, how they move through the world. 

Can you love that? Can you love it and approve of it? Can you love every aspect of me without cutting sections of who I am out of that so-called love? If you can – I wish you would’ve done it already. I wish you could’ve gone to Pride with me. I wish you would’ve been a shield between me and the hurtful things your family has said about people like me. I wish you would’ve protected me, like you always said you would. 

We’re going to build a house together, Leora and I. We’re going to spend our lives together. I’m sorry you won’t get to see any of that. I wish you could. I wish you were the kind of person who could love all of me. I wish you could be there on my wedding day. I wish I could tell you how I want to propose. I wish I had the strength to send this to you.

I don’t know when we’ll talk again, mom. Thanks for all the good memories. Teaching me to cook, to bake, the laughter we shared together. You taught me to be strong, and you taught me to be kind, and to be fiery. And passionate. And to never listen to what anyone else said about my future or my personhood. You made mistakes raising me – both you and dad. Mistakes that have left lasting scars, that I’ve been working through bit by bit over the years. But you’ve also done a lot of good. I think sometimes you think I hate you, or am angry with you all the time. I’m not. I’m tired. I wish you could just listen to the ways you hurt me and we could address them, and we could heal together, and we could move forward as we grow to be better people. I wish we could be on better terms. I wish I could keep learning from you. But I’ll hold the good moments we shared together tenderly as I step towards my future without you. 

Goodbye,

Lauren