The Straights

Charlotte wiped the counter for the third time, even though it was already spotless.

She moved through the kitchen barefoot, the cool marble a pleasant contrast against her skin, humming softly as she stacked a mug in the cupboard and adjusted a dish towel that had already been folded just right. She felt light. Buoyant. Like something inside her chest had finally clicked into place.

At the small kitchen table sat Roy, hands wrapped around his coffee, shoulders slightly hunched in that way of his that made her want to smooth him out with her palms. She glanced at him and smiled without thinking.

God, she loved him.

The thought came easily, warmly, without hesitation. Loved him in the quiet way that felt solid rather than dramatic. Loved the way he looked a little uncertain, like he was always bracing for someone to change their mind about him. Loved the way he listened. Loved the way he had kissed, like she was the first woman he'd ever kissed.

She still could not quite believe her luck.

All her life, Charlotte had dated people who made sense on paper. Beautiful people. Impressive people. Men with sharp jaws and ambition, women who turned heads when they walked into a room. People who fit the life she had been handed without question.

And yet none of them had ever made her feel like this.

Roy was short. Soft. His hairline was retreating, his body comfortably imperfect, his confidence tentative at best. A man she would have dismissed outright not that long ago.

And somehow he was perfect.

She set a pan on the stove and turned back to him, already planning breakfast. Eggs the way he liked them. Toast, lightly buttered. She did not remember him telling her his preferences, but she knew them all the same, the knowledge sitting comfortably in her mind like it had always been there.

Her sister was coming over soon. Tabitha would roll her eyes, of course. She always did. Gay little sister, allergic to sentiment, perpetually unimpressed by Charlotte's romantic enthusiasms.

Charlotte smiled to herself. Let Tabitha's eyes roll. Rolling eyes did nothing to diminish a full heart, and Charlotte was past the point of caring what anyone thought.

The knock at the door came sharp and sudden.

Charlotte brightened immediately. "That'll be Tabitha," she said, grinning. "I can't wait for her to meet you."

They walked to the door together, her hand fitting naturally into his. She opened it without hesitation.

Tabitha stood on the other side, familiar and solid and unmistakably herself. Short, spiky blonde hair. Tattoos creeping out from beneath the sleeves of a battered band t-shirt. Torn jeans, boots scuffed from use rather than fashion.

Charlotte opened her mouth to greet her—

And then it happened.

For just a fraction of a second, a strange sensation washed over her. The fine hairs along her arms lifted, her skin prickling as if she had brushed against static electricity. A subtle disorientation, like missing a step on the stairs.

Then it was gone.

Charlotte blinked.

Tabitha was smiling.

Not at her.

At the man standing beside her.

Charlotte's gaze followed Tabitha's, settling on him with a faint, distant curiosity. He was... ordinary. Shorter than average, a little heavyset, balding. Neatly dressed, if slightly rumpled. Someone she did not recall seeing before.

Odd.

She became aware of her hand slipping free of his, the motion unremarkable, unmemorable, as if it had never been there in the first place.

Tabitha stepped forward and took the man's hand with easy confidence, fingers lacing together like they belonged.

"Charlotte," Tabitha said easily, "I want you to meet my boyfriend, Roy."

Charlotte froze.

Boyfriend?

Her eyes flicked between them, her smile tightening as her mind scrambled to catch up. Tabitha. Her sister. A lesbian. Had always been a lesbian. Had fought for it. Had bled for it, in quiet ways Charlotte had never fully understood.

And now this?

She laughed lightly, because that was what you did when something made no sense. "Your boyfriend," she repeated, testing the words. "Since when do you have a boyfriend?"

Tabitha squeezed his hand, beaming. "Since a while ago. I told you, remember?"

A hazy, unspecific knowledge slipped into her mind. Had she been told? She wasn't sure.

Ushering them inside on autopilot, her thoughts already spiralling. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She shot a glance at the man again. Roy. A completely unremarkable name.

She had never seen him before in her life.

"Tab," she said carefully, once the door was closed. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Tabitha frowned, but nodded. "Sure."

Charlotte gestured toward the bedroom. "Just a minute."

They stepped inside, the door closing softly behind them. Charlotte crossed her arms, grounding herself before she spoke.

"Okay," she said, lowering her voice. "What is going on?"

Tabitha's brow creased. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Roy," Charlotte said, not bothering to soften it. "You're a lesbian. You're into women! And now you show up holding hands with some guy and call him your boyfriend like it's nothing. What gives? Did you, like, do conversion therapy or something?"

Tabitha scoffed. "I am still a lesbian, nothing's going to change that."

"Then why him?" Charlotte pressed, the concern bleeding through despite herself. "And if you were going to pick a man, why someone like that? He's short, he's... he's middle-aged, Tab. He's not exactly—"

"Attractive?" Tabitha supplied sharply.

Charlotte hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. I don't get it. This feels like one of those phases again. Like when you were a teenager. You trying to fit in. Trying to be normal."

Tabitha's expression hardened.

"You don't have to do that," Charlotte continued quickly. "You don't have to contort yourself for anyone. Mum and Dad are never going to accept you, no matter who you date, so why hurt yourself trying? You are good exactly how you are."

Tabitha stared at her like she had lost her mind.

"Hurt myself?" she repeated. "Charlotte, I'm happy."

"With a man."

"With Roy," Tabitha corrected. "And yes. Very."

Charlotte shook her head. "You don't even like men."

"I didn't like the men I'd met," Tabitha said patiently. "Turns out I was looking at the wrong kind of man."

She smiled then, soft and radiant in a way Charlotte had rarely seen. "Roy is perfect. He listens. He's kind. He makes me feel seen. I love him."

The word hit Charlotte like a slap.

"You... love him?"

"Yes," Tabitha said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "We're going to the cabin for the weekend. Just us. I can't wait."

Charlotte opened her mouth, then closed it again. None of this made sense. Every instinct she had screamed that something was off, that her sister was walking into something she would regret.

But Tabitha looked so certain. So content.

Charlotte exhaled slowly. "Okay," she said at last. "I don't understand. At all. But you're an adult. If this is what you want..."

"It is," Tabitha said firmly.

Charlotte nodded, forcing a small smile. "Then I'm here. If you ever change your mind. If you need to talk."

Tabitha laughed, light and genuine. "Change my mind? Charlotte, I have a boyfriend. You should be happy for me."

Charlotte hesitated, then nodded again. "I am," she said, even as unease curled quietly in her stomach.

They left the bedroom together.

Roy looked up from the kitchen table, uncertain, hopeful, entirely out of place.

Charlotte smiled at him politely.

And wondered, fleetingly, that if her sister had to suddenly catch a case of the "straights", why she had chosen someone so ordinary.