“I could use a cup of coffee.” Hunger throbbed through his words, betraying years of yearning.
But when Charlotte took a step forward on the path, he didn’t follow. He stayed rooted on the sidewalk, his posture ramrod straight.
“They don’t check your queer bona fides at the door,” Charlotte said. His eyes flicked from the house to her face, his mouth thinning. “Everyone’s welcome.”
Garrett sighed in a quick whoosh. With a dubious look at his ratty bro tank, he said, “I look like shit.”
“No one ever threw me out for wearing J.Crew.” During freshman orientation, Charlotte looked about as gay as a Vineyard Vines catalog.
His eyes shifted back and forth between her and the bright green doorway behind her. Charlotte felt lucky to watch him grapple with himself, an intimacy she’d done nothing to deserve.
“C’mon,” she said. “It’s just coffee.”
His yearning won out. This time when she walked toward Acronym, he followed.
Garrett stopped when they crossed the threshold. She turned to check on him and found him thunderstruck as he took in the foyer, from the mountain of shoes beside the front door, to the multicolor wrapping paper taped to the walls. Someone had stolen blue-and-silver tinsel from the dining hall and wrapped it around the stair railing. It looked like a shabby dollhouse of radical queer politics, every surface loud and soft.
Years ago, she’d dragged Jackie through the front door with an earnest Welcome home! For Garrett, she kept it simple. “The kitchen’s through here,” she said after giving him time to adjust. He followed her down the hallway.
A boy sat on the counter surrounded by Thai take-out boxes. He looked up as Charlotte entered and smiled: It was Wynn, the almost-grad she met at the disco. He waved them over with his chopsticks. “Hi! Charlotte, right?”
“Hey, how are you?”
Wynn shrugged. He wore another jumpsuit, this one a deep blue color with a feel the bern button and several other pins on the pocket. “Just got back from the Lawn. Waiting for the ringing in my ears to stop,” he said. “DJ Khaled isn’t my vibe.”
“Me neither. Mind if I make some coffee?” Charlotte nodded to the pot beside the sink.
“Help yourself.” Wynn swirled his chopsticks through a box of pad thai. “Plenty of food too. You know where the plates are.”
Garrett hesitated in the doorway, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Charlotte gave him an encouraging nod. “Wynn, this is Garrett.”
Wynn waved as he chewed some tofu.
Charlotte pointed to a cabinet over the microwave. “Can you get some mugs down? You’re taller than I am.”
The direct request overrode Garrett’s nerves, and he crossed the room to help.
“Hi, Garrett,” Wynn trilled after swallowing. “Please eat something, I ordered way too much.”
Garrett blinked as Wynn passed him some chopsticks. “Thank you.” He unwrapped the paper and snapped the sticks apart. “Nice pins.”
“Thanks!” Wynn pinched the fabric between his fingers and held it out so that Garrett could see his collection. Charlotte recognized a purple he/him badge that her class made during a fundraiser for house repairs. Jio went a little nuts with the button maker at the student activities office. Extra pronoun buttons still lived in a shoebox in the library upstairs.
Garrett shook some noodles onto a clean plate. “Is this from Naga? Love that place.”
“Yeah! I’ve been trying to re-create their cashew stir-fry, but I can’t get the texture right. There’s rice too.” Wynn passed him another take-out box.
“You like to cook?” Garrett leaned against the counter beside him.
“When I have time. My friend and I want to start a YouTube channel with like, super basic tutorials. I have this great recipe for home-cooked potato chips, hang on.”
Charlotte kept an eye on Garrett as she hunted down coffee grounds. His hesitation faded amid the enthusiasm of their host’s chatter. Nothing like food to make everyone feel included.
She put a fresh pot on to boil. Before long the room smelled like dark roast and spices. While she waited for it to brew, she read the notices stuck to the refrigerator. Magnets held up posters for concerts and student plays, handwritten infographics about consent and microaggressions.
Refugees are welcome here. DREAMers are welcome here. The undocumented are welcome here. First-gen students are welcome here. Survivors are welcome here.
Trans women are women.
Ban billionaires.
Thick black Sharpie underlined the idealism of Hein’s current students. She traced the handwritten words on a page ripped from a zine: Casual sex does not mean you can be casual with your partner’s humanity.
Below this startling wisdom, in all caps: LOVE YOUR ONE-NIGHT STAND. HOOKUP CULTURE IS TOXIC.
“Is someone making coffee?” Jio slinked into the room, rubbing their eyes. Their makeup was hopelessly smeared but they brightened as soon as they recognized her. “Char! Where’ve you been?”
“Get a mug, I put on a full pot.” Charlotte nodded to where Wynn was walking Garrett through a recipe. “Jio, you know Garrett.”
“Course I do!” Jio hopped up onto the counter beside the takeout. “How you doing, hun?”
They didn’t bat a glittery eyelash at Garrett’s abrupt appearance. She felt a surge of love for her friend.
The coffee maker dinged. Charlotte poured out four mugs as Wynn fetched oat and whole milk from the fridge. They sipped and chatted about soy sauce. Charlotte mostly listened, watching Garrett relax into the conversation. When she caught his eye accidentally, he hesitated before giving her a small nod.
She wondered what brought him here: who he was and how long he’d known. But the details weren’t any of her business. Acronym was a place to come and just be. Grab a cup of coffee and dance to the disco music. Ignore your problems or organize to fight them. Pass out on a futon without being hassled.
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