I often wonder, at the holiday gatherings of my partner’s family, how I will be introduced. When I first moved up here back in 2006, I got the prestigious label of “roommate.“ We had our “coming out” visit before the move, and it was made abundantly clear that “the lesbians in the room" would not be addressed as such when others were around. Then, we ate Subway sandwiches and called it a wash.
When you hear stories of “coming out,“ you tend to hear two sides. The first being “acceptance” and the other being “flat out hatred.“ However, there’s a middle ground that isn’t always discussed, and that middle ground hurts just as much as “flat out hatred.” The fake smiles served at family dinners, the mashed potatoes combined with the “roommate" label, that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth while you eat Thanksgiving dinner with the “in-laws" you’re not supposed to acknowledge.
Couldn’t I at least be a friend of their child?
This gets more awkward when you realize that the rest of the family has honed in on the truth. Aunts and uncles who can read between the lines, cousins your age who are hip with the GLBT community, the younger brother who accepts you without a care in the world. But my partner’s mother and father still fought it, still denied it, and it became a thing to get use to every holiday. Always wear the roommate smile, that poor girl whose family don’t live in the area so she’s passing the gravy around at her not-family Christmas.
Then, something changed.
We decided to get a house close to two years ago. We saved up our money and found a house we liked. The downpayment, however, increased and we suddenly couldn’t afford it. But then, like some sort of suburban super woman, mother-in-law came through and gave us the rest of the money. Father-in-law appeared through the clouds next to her, with hammer and nails, fixing our kitchen and telling us about the wonderful world of appliances and counter tops. The change had been made in the blink of an eye, and suddenly, the roommate status was dropped.
But the feelings still linger.
I still wonder, when meeting the rest of the family and old friends of the in-laws, how will I be introduced. I still wonder what they think of me, if they’re proud of what I’m trying to accomplish, if they’re excited about the published works of a jobless girl who their daughter is in love with.
I still wonder… until yesterday.
Yesterday was the 4th of July, and we went over to watch the fireworks at their new house. As the guests came in I held my breath, waiting for that introduction to ring through the air. And then, father-in-law said it.
“This is Briana. My daughter’s partner.”
And now, I don’t wonder anymore.
How I spent the fourth of July :)
