The Reluctant Receptionist

well, folks, this is it: my last dirty laundry. and so, for a time, i was a writer of overwrought but unflaggingly earnest op-eds for maryland’s gay paper, baltimore gay life. since this whole column thing, which randomly, luckily, amazingly, landed in my lap in april of 2005, has been wrapping up, i’ve been going back and reading some of what i’ve written. it’s funny how much this column has seen me through: terry moving out to chicago; the many missteps and misfires between him and phong. so i’d just like to say thanks to scott and ron, my folks over at gay life (if they’re even reading this) for giving me this soapbox to preach from for the last few years. i might never find another pair of people who are so convinced in my ability as a writer, when i’m so often unconvinced myself. i’ll miss writing it, and i’ll miss the connection to baltimore it gave me, every two weeks.

The Beginning

“Amanda just called and told me that she’s moving out,” I told my boyfriend Paul on the phone, standing in my sister’s new bedroom in Wichita, the only place in the house that I had any privacy. It wasn’t even her room, really. Her room was back in our hometown and this one was different, foreign. It had all of my sister’s furniture, the whitewashed princess-style bedroom set she’d grown up with and left behind when she’d moved out, but the room wasn’t hers. It was as if people had taken the place I’d grown up in and thrown it into a bag, shaking it out and letting the pieces land where they may. The bedroom where I’d grown up hadn’t even fared as well as my sister’s: when I went home now I slept in the den in my parents’ new finished basement.

Now, my roommate back in New York City had told me that she was doing exactly what I’d feared she’d do for a while, ever since I’d started spending most of my time at my boyfriend’s place and stopped sleeping at ours: she was getting rid of the apartment we shared. I’d have until the end of the month to find a new place to live.

“There’s no way I can afford to keep that place,” I said, “and I don’t know anyone that I can move in with.” What would be the point in that, anyway? I’d only been visiting my apartment every two weeks to pick up things that I needed and to make sure that it hadn’t burned down. Was I really going to search Craigslist for a roommate so that I had somewhere to put my things? I wasn’t going to spend any less time with Paul, whether or not I’d had to find a new apartment.

When I’d told my mother that Amanda was moving out and that I’d have to find a new place to live, she’d suggested that I move in with Paul. She’d said that it was only logical: I’d been living with him for the last five months anyway, and I was throwing away money paying for an apartment that was increasingly nothing more than a glorified storage space.

I didn’t want to hurry it, though, moving in with Paul because it was convenient for both of us. Since we couldn’t get married (or even have a civil union, for that matter, since we lived in New York and not New Jersey or Massachusetts), the decision to move in together meant a lot more than just cohabitation, a lot more than it did to straight people who could take each other for a test drive before deciding to tie the knot. Being with Paul, I’d finally let myself relax and be happy. After he moved to New York, I felt like I was at home for the first time in ten years. But were we ready to move in together? Was he?

“Put your stuff in storage,” he said, “because there’s not enough room for it here. You’ve pretty much been living here already, and it’s totally stupid that you’ve been paying rent in Queens. Just move in with me.” He made it sound so simple, as if it was the easiest thing he’d ever said.

I sat down cross-legged in the dark of my sister’s new room and let out my breath, not realizing that I’d been holding it. I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, not even to myself, but it was exactly what I was hoping he’d say. We’d have to find a storage space, have to talk about rent and bills and where he’d fit me into his apartment, but those were just details. There was no way for us to know what living together would bring, what taking this step would mean. But I had a distinct feeling that it was really just the beginning.