I look out at Bridget, getting her dress covered in sand. She and her new friend are engrossed in their sandcastle project, their heads so close they’re probably giving each other nits. The castle is taking up most of the sandpit now. It’s turned into an impressive project—some of the other children are noticing, chewing on their bottom lips, trying to work out how to join in. The two girls are concentrating too hard to notice them noticing. I wonder how many precious years they have left until they start noticing the noticing. Until the noticing means they change how they play, what they make, how they view each other. I want the world to be better for these girls. I am scared for them. Bridget really is astoundingly beautiful. My eyes skim over the rest of the playground, landing on the small group of Good Dads in the corner. With their babies in slings on their chests, and their paternity leave, and good for you, what heroes. They stand together like celebrities often do, and speak in deep voices about their sleep deprivation. It’s a start. I guess we should be grateful for the start. But, as they talk, I see where their eyes land, and it’s on Jessica’s beautiful daughter.

They watch her.

So I hold hands with my best friend in the world, and imagine what we could’ve been without it all. How I’ve wasted so much time and stress on the love of men, when my relationships with them will never be able to be like this because they’ll never be able to understand. I reflect on how, the only times I felt myself, and safe, and safe to be myself, was when it was just us. With women. With Jessica.

“Young people definitely have it easier,” I say, looking out at the bustling playground.

“Yep. So I keep telling them.”

“I worry there’s still quite a lot of work to do.”

“That, there definitely is.”

“So much. But less, I hope. Less...”

I glance down at Jessica’s hand in mine, and marvel at the beautiful friendship we’ve managed to just-about keep going, under the never-ending gaze and pressure of what we’re supposed to be, and do, and behave, and look like. Taught that our greatest allies—the ones who get it—are our competition and enemy. And how incredible it is that we’re able to still be there for each other, still holding hands, under the crippling pressure of that.

“I know I’ve said it already, but I love you,” I say again.

“I love you too.”

I rest my head on her shoulder, as she asks me about the wedding. I invite her. She smiles and says yes.

We squeeze each other’s hands and watch her daughter play.

Acknowledgments