I squeezed Ruby’s hand and she kissed me on the cheek. I couldn’t help but wonder if the other couples noticed. Sometimes I forget that I’m a lesbian. As in I forget that it’s statistically unusual and that some people have strong feelings about it. Even though I’ve encountered a few thoughtless comments or downright cruel ones, especially at school when I first came out, for the most part, the people in my life don’t care. But people still looked. I saw it when Hannah and I walked down the street. People would glance at our clasped hands. Briefly. Sometimes they smiled, occasionally they frowned, mostly they just moved on to noticing the next thing, but it always made me feel watched. Sometimes it’s the little things. Being noticed doing something that would be invisible if I were with a boy.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Janet, your instructor today.” A small but round woman with an enthusiastic smile bounded into the room, rubbing her hands together. The couple opposite us dropped what they were doing immediately and paid rapt attention. The old man in front of us turned up the level on his hearing aid.

“You’re all beginners here, is that right?” the woman asked. She had the fervor of one of those American preachers and I got the impression she really fucking loved cooking. She also didn’t wait for an answer.

“By the end of the morning, you will be beginners no longer. You are going to learn basic skills you can take home and practice, and if at the end of the day you feel like By God I love this cooking malarkey, you can sign up to my six-week course starting in September, where you will learn the answers to all those burning questions like, What the hell is a scallop? Can I make it at home instead of paying twenty euros for a starter in a restaurant? And why does everyone act like making risotto is so hard when it’s just mushy rice?”

I chanced a glance at Ruby, who was hiding her mouth behind her fist.

“But today . . .” The woman dropped her voice and the old man rattled his hearing aid pack like it was broken.

“We’re going to learn how to make . . .” She paused for dramatic effect and I bit down on my lip so I wouldn’t laugh out loud.

“CHICKEN PIE!” She yelled the last word and the old man jumped. The kiss-ass couple opposite us started to clap but trailed off when no one else joined in.

“There is no need to be that excited about chicken pie,” I said to Ruby.

“Maybe it will be the best chicken pie of our lives.” Ruby jazz hands’d and all three kiss-ass couples shushed us simultaneously. It was kind of spooky.