When I came to Avalon, I was Linda Gonzales. A social worker placed me with six foster families before I was finally adopted by the Lotte family, my forever foster family. Gwen doesn’t believe in legends, and certainly does not believe that the name ‘Gwen Lotte’ has any connection to Gwenhyvfar, the famed woman who notoriously betrayed King Arthur by falling in love with his best friend and confidant, Sir Lancelot, a love that led to widespread destruction and Arthur’s ultimate demise.
“I do love you,” she says, her voice soft and understanding. “But not that like. You’re my brother, and I’m a dyke.”
That didn’t stop King Arthur from falling in love with his twin sister, Morgana.
Morgan. I dismiss the notion immediately that Arthur and the mysterious girl from earlier share a blood connection, but mentally set the thought aside for further investigation, because that’s just how my brain operates.
“Arthur is dying for you to make a move,” she says. “What is the hang-up?”
“I can’t. We already know what happened the last time. It was a sign.”
Gwen flips over the railing and lands beside me, her feet planting firmly on the ground like a gymnast. She places her hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
“Homophobia is not a sign,” she says. “It’s a mental disorder, and you’re going to die a virgin if you continue to live like this.”
“Virginity is a social construct, Gwen. It has meaning because we give it meaning. It doesn’t actually exist.”
Gwen sticks out her tongue at me. “You do realize that’s precisely what a virgin would say.”
I shake off her hand and pull out my phone. “It’s nearly midnight. Aren’t you supposed to be burning off negative energy or some shit?”
“Text Arthur, tell him you want to suck his big dick.”
“What?” I ask. “I thought you were drunk, but now I think you’re experiencing severe psychosis. Because you are absolutely bonkers.”
“Why not?” she asks. “Do you want me to text him? I’ll do it for you.”
A screen door slams and someone calls out, “Gwen!” My sister bumps my head with hers and points at my phone.
“He would probably bust a nut just reading that text.”
“Why are you like this?” I reply.
“Just sayin’, is all. Bring that negative energy out back and prepare to get naked.”
Gwen is always naked, or talking about getting or being naked. She jumps at any and all reasons to undress in front of others. I love her, but she’s mental.
After she leaves, I walk around the house and find a spot to lean against. My head is swimming and my stomach burns. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, but I’m not really into the idea of possibly running into Todd again just for a slice of cheese pizza, so I’ll wait to eat something when I get back to Arthur’s.
I should probably text him to see where he is, so I send him a message, and decide to scroll through Instagram while I wait for a response. The third picture I see makes my gut sting even more—Arthur has two girls on his lap and they’re both kissing. I can’t really see his face, but he’s smiling, so that means he’s having a good time, enjoying himself and the view. The girls are closer to his age, and look like models. A splendid time being had by all, I’m sure.
I’m self-aware enough to know that everyone, not just me, finds the light in Arthur’s eyes warm and alluring, that the things I admire the most in him are admired by many. But I am not in a good mental space, haven’t been since my arrival, and I know now with utmost certainty that I should have gone home after work.
“Fuck this,” I say to myself, and push off the side of the house.
I shove my phone into my bag and make the decision to walk home alone.
Chapter Three
The Dioscuri
A few days after the party, I find myself sitting in Baubles & Books, having coffee and eggs with Gwen. She hasn’t shut up about the party since we got here, though, because apparently after I left, several people got really high, stripped naked and jumped into a creek that runs alongside the old farmhouse. The night ended in someone getting their ass bitten by a baby water moccasin. Must’ve been city folk, because everyone around here knows better than to do such a dumb thing. You never get into a creek at night, especially when you’ve been drinking.
“Have you heard from Arthur since Friday night?” Gwen opens two plastic containers of creamer and pours each one into her coffee. “Did you go home with him?” she asks. “I don’t really remember much from that night, honestly.”
I reach for the ketchup and squirt a dollop of dark red brilliance beside my eggs. Gwen makes a retching sound and points at it. I reply, “They’re my eggs. And no, I haven’t. I left before he did.”
“What pissed you off this time?” she asks, never missing a beat. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, don’t ya?”
I survey the small, mostly empty store before answering, doing my best to contain the frustration I feel bubbling up from the pit of my empty stomach.
The store has been here since we were in middle school, but I have trouble remembering specific details about it opening, my memories hazier than usual for some reason. A colorful assortment of resplendent stained glass in all of the windows and wind chimes hanging from every open screen make it difficult to maintain a sour mood in here.
At the front of the store are two displays, one full of packaged, vacuum-sealed herbs for medicinal purposes, and the other full of calendars, journals and small charms meant for novice witches and those interested in casting spells. A purple calendar attractively adorned in stars and moons immediately catches my eye. Not because I’m a novice witch, but because I’m a sucker for Celtic-inspired art. The plastic-wrapped paper chart reminds me of a journal I have packed away in a box from my dorm room.
The rest of the store is pretty much just stocked with cheaply made wooden bookshelves and used books on various types of witchcraft. No real organizational skills or thoughts have been applied to the actual setup of the store. How Baubles & Books has managed to stay afloat this deep in the Bible Belt is beyond me. As unintuitive as it might sound, I suspect it has something to do with magick.
Gwen and I are seated by a large bay window that looks overlooks an empty parking lot, and wafts from the burning incense snake their way toward us. I love the pure, clean scent of sandalwood, so that smoke doesn’t bother me at all.
“How can I put this, without sounding like a huge ass,” I finally say. “I’m a very selfish person, I know this about myself, and I don’t particularly like the idea of sharing Arthur with everyone, which is why I won’t commit to the idea of being with him exclusively.”
Gwen replies, her mouth full of hash browns, “Exclusively? I don’t know what that means. Are you saying that you would be into an open relationship? Because that’s very ‘millennial queer’ of you, if so.”
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I don’t want him to settle for me.”
We have had this conversation more than once, and every time, it ends with us arguing about whether I have the right to make that decision for Arthur. I wait for Gwen’s impassioned response, and take a sip of the Earl Grey tea that was just brought to me.