Stuff like this happened all the time. Society was shit about STIs, but they were almost always manageable.

  I would just wait for the test results and pause on dating until then.

  No big deal.

  Which is what I kept telling myself through my tearful breakdown in my car.

  CHAPTER Seven

  "Cheers, bitches!” Cory said as he raised his drink, and we all hollered.

  We were hanging out at our place with Connor, Fatima, and our two other friends Miki and Adrienne. I had been desperate for some friend time since I had been working so much and going on my weird dates. Also, you know, the feeling of impending doom that was the phone call from Planned Parenthood.

  Fatima squeezed my hand, and I peeled my shoulders away from my ears.

  My friends were the absolute fucking best.

  Cory and I became high school friends in choir and were dance partners. I had a massive crush on his dirty-blonde hair, brown eyes, lanky build, and pale skin but quickly realized I was of no interest to him, so we became besties instead.

  His boyfriend, Connor, was the coolest. They had been together for a little over four years. He had that typical redhead look with a smattering of freckles, pale skin, and light-blue eyes. Both boys were about the same height, but Connor had at least fifty pounds on Cory, as Cory said he was “in love with all those muscles.” Cue the eye roll. I loved their love.

  “Always so eloquent,” Fatima said, laughing and winking at Cory.

  Fatima was someone I found in college, and you know how they say your soulmates can be found in friends, not just partners? She was my soulmate. She knew everything about me, from the weird birthmark I had on my butt to how I had my coffee. She was also one of the most beautiful humans inside and out. She owned her own private practice as a mental health clinician and was single-handedly saving the world through her advocacy for mental health.

  “Should we do shots? I feel like we should do shots,” Adrienne said, grabbing a bottle of tequila.

  “I’ll grab some limes,” Miki replied.

  Salt, limes, and more alcohol were all passed around, and my heart grew two sizes looking at my people.

  Miki and Adrienne were friends we had all met while dancing at the local “Rainbow Bar,” as we affectionately called it, but it was just a bar for the LGBTQIA+ community.

  Adrienne was a high school chemistry teacher and one of the kindest people I had ever met. She was the epitome of Black Girl Magic.

  Miki was a fat positive influencer, and I actually just felt cooler for even knowing her and hanging out with her. She was also a huge advocate and leader for Latinx in the metro area and gave women, specifically young girls, a voice.

  A pang of envy shot through me as I looked at my friends, who felt like the most extraordinary people I knew, and my insecurities flared up. I felt a little lost with how my dates were going and how irresponsible I had been as a sexual partner.

  “You look like you’re about to cry over there, E. What’s up?” Cory said, tilting his head and leveling his brown eyes at me.

  “I’m stressed about this HPV thing and work has just been wild and whenever I am feeling meh, I feel extra single, you know?” I said, taking a sip from my red wine.

  “I know you’re stressed, but this isn’t a death sentence or anything. Lots of people have STI’s. I mean Connor gave me chlamydia in college whenever we weren’t exclusive,” he said, smiling innocently.

  Connor’s mouth fell open. “Well, shit, I guess I’ll drink on that note.” He laughed and slammed back his beer.

  “And you know I have HSV, but I haven’t had an outbreak in, like, two years,” Miki said, shrugging.

  I winced.

  I wasn’t trying to be insensitive; it was more like how do you confront your own internalized sexual shame. It was like fighting my internalized homophobia all over again when I realized I was bisexual. Society forced us to do constant unpacking of learned behaviors.

  “I know, and it’s not the same, but you know how when I first realized I was bi I had to confront my own internalized homophobia to myself? Like I was accepting of others, but when it happened to me, I was like losing my shit? It’s similar here. Like, I can conceptualize it for others just fine, and it seems normal and natural, but for myself, I feel like this weird hypocrisy. Does that make sense? Plus, any time cancer gets thrown around, my heart rate shoots through the fucking roof,” I said before taking another sip.

  “I mean, I get it,” Adrienne said, moving her long black braids to rest behind her shoulder. “It’s one thing to have an extrinsic experience with something and another to experience it directly for you. I think a lot of people experience that with things related to sex, sexuality, gender, race, et cetera. Basically, our heteronormative, conservative white society sucks some major titties.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” Fatima said, raising her glass before taking a swig of her seltzer.

  “Should we unpack anything else tonight? Purity culture? Police brutality? Ethical porn?” Cory said, perking up.

  The basis of our friendship was never shutting up about social injustice.

  “I don’t think I have the emotional labor for it tonight,” I said, feeling defeated in my life all around and like a pile of trash.

  “Should we move to the music video part of our evening where YouTube becomes our own personal concert?” Miki said, adjusting her glasses on her nose.

  “Okay, yes, but first, we should start with the last finale of RuPaul’s Drag Race because—hello—tradition of kicking off the YouTube part of our evening,” Connor said, picking up the remote and cueing us up.

  “Thank God. I don’t think I could handle us playing a drinking game and Connor escalating the shit out of it when it was just me and him left,” Fatima said dramatically.

  “Hey!” Connor threw a pillow at her face.

  “You are a pusher, and you know it!” Fatima giggled, dodging the weak throw.

  “Please don’t throw my things, okay?” Cory said playfully, shoving a pillow in Connor’s face.

  “I would have taken an edible earlier if I knew we would be hitting the music videos so early tonight,” Miki whined. She strolled to the kitchen cabinet, where we had our stash of gummies and chocolates.

  She laid them on the table, and we all took a small piece.

  “This is the new stuff, right?” I said, munching on the average dark chocolate.

  “Yeah, it’s new! Don’t push the limit, though. You know what happened last time,” Cory warned.

  “I don’t know if I can handle the amount of high you were last time, E,” Adrienne laughed.

  “It’s just, sometimes, I don’t know if it’s working and then I take another, and it works too well,” I laughed.

  The edible balance was delicate, and I was not that great at figuring it out.

  “Anywayysss, I have a request!” Miki said, clapping her palms together.

  We all went through what we wanted to see for the evening, and Cory kept a note on his phone of the order of videos.

  I loved the way my friends and I hung out.

  It made my heart so happy to have my people here with me and have a low-key night. I snuggled into the couch, and Fatima threw her arm around me as I pulled a blanket on top of us.

  Tonight, I would live in the moment and let go of what I couldn’t control.

  And, hopefully, the edible would do the rest.

  CHAPTER Eight

  "Hey, are you looking to add more classes to your schedule?” Kalina said as I was sitting at the desk.

  She was one of the most badass yoga practitioners. She was fifty years old and had the best handstands I had ever seen. She studied in India, since she grew up there and was a mentor I looked up to deeply. We often chatted about whitewashing in yoga and cultural appropriation. She was my go-to expert on all things yogic traditions, and I had taken many trainings from her.

  Basically, one of the coolest and brightest people I knew.

  “Maybe, I can’t do it here, though. I need somewhere that pays more, unfortunately,” I said, sighing.

  I loved it here, but being a yoga teacher and being basically freelance meant that I had to build my own schedule and create a balance of income. It was a lot sometimes, but I had been doing it for nearly a year, and I was in a constant flux of trying to find a schedule that worked better and set appropriate boundaries. It was amazing in so many ways and overwhelming in others. Very high highs and very low lows.

  “Another place I work at is looking for instructors, and I wanted them to connect with you. The pay is nearly double, and I have total confidence recommending you to them. They are looking for day time instructors,” she said, smiling at me.

  “Well, damn. You are saying all the right things!” I said as my smile grew.

  What beautiful words to hear. More money. No nights. A place Kalina loves.

  Hell. Yes.

  “Someone will probably text you or reach out on Instagram. Promise you’ll think about it?” she said, squeezing my shoulder.

  “Thank you for just being my yoga fairy godmother,” I said as she packed to leave.

  “Thanks for not being an ignorant, problematic white yoga teacher who listens to the BIPOC community and yogic traditions,” she said, winking at me.

  Honestly, what a great fucking compliment.

  “I’m trying my best!” I said, and she waved as she left the studio.

  I was scheduled to leave in about fifteen minutes, so I cleaned up my space and made sure the rooms were clean until my phone rang.

  “Hiiiii!” I said.

  “Hey, you have a minute?” my brother, Sam, said.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m just cleaning up at the studio. Is everything okay?”

  He had that serious something-is-up tone.

  “No, I mean with me, yes. But Grandpa took a turn for the worst, and Mom is going to go up to see him with Blair on Friday. I’m going to. I know your work schedule is sporadic but wanted to let you know that we would all be going, if you wanted to come, too,” he said, sounding tired.

  Neither my grandma nor grandpa were accepting of us. But I guess, on the hierarchy of acceptance, my sister was first, I was second, then my brother. We had to correct their use of pronouns and my brother’s deadname. It was always mentally and emotionally exhausting for my brother and rage-inducing for the rest of us.

  “You are seriously going up there? After all the shit they have said and done? I don’t mean for it to sound judgy, but I think everyone would understand if you didn’t want to go. I mean, I don’t want to go, and I am happy to stand in solidarity with you by not going and giving them a metaphorical middle finger,” I said, trying not to let my emotions swim over me.

  They had said horrible, insensitive, and hateful things to my brother and me. I didn’t want to put myself or him through that again, you know? But it wasn’t my decision. I needed to support what Sam felt was best, even if I didn’t understand it.

  “It’s not for them. It’s for Dad and for me. I want some closure,” he said quietly.

  Dad hadn’t asked us to come, but I knew it would have helped to have his actual people through this weird time. We were a team. A unit of love and acceptance. Dad could use some of that.

  “Okay, I’ll go, then. I don’t want to be the only one not going, and I won’t back down from a fight with them if they get hostile. I’ll call in some favors for work. Did Dad already lay the groundwork to fight the bigotry?” I said, grabbing my bag, squishing my phone between my shoulder and ear.

  “Yes, he said he already lectured them on how being on a deathbed is a great time to not be an asshole to your grandson and granddaughters.” He chuckled.

  That totally sounded like something my dad would say. What a guy.

  My parents had never forced us to have relations with our extended family because they were shit. But it still stung; it was weird to mourn a relationship that never was. My brother took it harder than my sister and understandably so. They had rejected his life and his identity. They rejected my sexuality but not my gender. My brother was gay and trans, and they didn’t even attempt to understand either or offer support. You don’t have to get it, but you sure as hell don’t have a right to be complete dicks about it.

  It’s weird when people on their deathbeds finally turn into a decent human. Like, you had decades to be better and do better?! But you didn’t. So, now that it’s down to the final hour, you are pulling it together? Felt gross, odd, and selfishly performative.

  “Thanks for letting me know. How are you? I miss you,” I said, pouting.

  Sam owned his own marketing company and had all the big local brands around town as clients—aka he got to do super cool shit and had ins with all the big wigs in the city.

  Some were open and accepting about him being trans, and others acted like it wasn’t a thing—they didn’t acknowledge it or talk about it. Him being trans was only one part of who he was, but it still deserved to be recognized and respected. He was too damn good at what he did for anyone to talk too much shit. Plus, one client had done it and got blasted on Twitter. It was glorious, honestly. I may have done some of the blasting.

  “I’m good. I have a meeting but tell me when you’re free for some coffee in that hectic schedule of yours, and I’ll make it work. I love you!” he said, and we exchanged our goodbyes before I hung up.

  I winced as pain stabbed my lower abdomen. Great, my period was coming in angry this month. Cool. Love that. Add it to the list of annoyances.

  An unknown number popped back on my phone, and I tried not to throw up looking at it. Dammit. This time, I answered because the chances of it being Planned Parenthood were high, as it had been several days since I had had my pap done.

  I sent up a silent prayer to whatever god was listening.

  “Hello,” I said, trying not to throw up.

  “Hi! Is this Elena? This is Dr. Lowe from Planned Parenthood.”

  Of course it was.

  “Hi, yes, it is. What’s the news?” I said, swallowing and closing my eyes.

  “We would like to move forward with the colposcopy, as I want to know more about the level of the HPV cells,” she said, all cheery again like she was talking about ordering ice cream or something.

  “Okay, should I be freaking out yet?”

  My heart rate must have risen as my breath came in short bursts. I was a yoga teacher, goddammit. I could have had better breath control. No reason to panic yet but medical stuff spiked my anxiety in a way I couldn’t explain. Probably unresolved trauma of doctors being assholes about my weight as a kid.

  “Not at all. This is to understand what is going on in your body! The reason we do paps is to keep an eye on things like this. It would be many years before this turned into anything serious, but if they have progressed to a certain level, we will want to go ahead and remove them now,” she said, her tone airy.

  Okay, so it wasn’t technically an issue, but still, this felt not good.

  “Great, okay. When should I come in for that?”

  She prattled off some dates, and I scheduled it for the following Monday. It was Thursday night, and my mom, brother, sister, and I were set to head to Nebraska to visit my dying grandpa the next day.

  Still felt weird to visit someone on their deathbed who had a big distaste for you, your identity, and your entire fucking family.

  Still, the only word I could think of was gross. It gave me the major ick, but I didn’t know what to do with that. There wasn’t anything to be done but sit with it and let it ride. My feelings were valid, even if they felt funny in my body.

  Whatever. It was for my dad. My dad ruled, and he needed support. Can’t believe his shitty parents produced such an awesome dude.

  I got off the phone with the doctor and texted Fatima.

  Me: Have to go in for them to pinch off a piece of my cervix. I know this isn’t a big deal but why do I feel like crying? And we are going to see my dying grandpa who is ready to apparently finally be nice to us now that death is at his door and sinners don’t get into heaven.

  The three little dots popped up within seconds.

  Fatima: Because the unknown is scary regardless and whenever you add sex/genitals in the mix it get’s even scary because society sucks. Plus I know medical complications give you a lot of anxiety.

  Ooh I know how complicated the grandpa situation is. How are you feeling about it?

  I mean, yes to all those things about the STI and where to even begin with how I felt about my grandpa.

  Me: The idea of talking about this with someone else too makes me want to crawl into a hole. Adrienne told me all about how she discussed her HSV status with her partners and why cannot I not be as cool, confident and collected as she is . . . ugh.

  The whole grandpa thing feels gross. I feel gross because I am angry and apathetic in a way and then I feel like my extended family is gross because they want to make amends at the 11th hour you know?

  Staring at my phone, I waited for her reply. I was dealing with an emotional rollercoaster, so I could use a breather.

  My phone dinged.

  Fatima: She has had years to practice. This is new. And some people are just better at having these types of conversation. It’s okay that it freaks you out! And yeah I think gross is an appropriate word here.

  Anything I can do to support you, love?

  I chewed on my bottom lip. She was right. It wasn’t right to compare our experiences. I sighed and took three deep breaths.

  Me: Nothing besides listening. Thanks for being a bomb ass friend. Want to come over and help me pack and tell me about your day?

  I tapped my finger on my thigh.

  Fatima: Yup. I’ll bring Thai. Be over in an hour.