Free An American Homo in Paris by Vanessa North Page B

friends that I’m a blogger? I can put jeans on— would that help?”
    “Don’t do that. I’m serious. I’m trying to have a serious conversation and you’re getting all evasive.”
    “I’m not evading anything. You haven’t said anything. What’s up?” Benji reached for Aaron’s hand, but he pulled it away. Now who’s being evasive?
    “You remember Henri?” he asked.
    Benji shrugged. Keeping track of Aaron’s work buddies was a full-time job in itself. “The blond?”
    “He’s not blond.” Aaron shook his head. “You’ve met him three times. He’s got black hair and a beard.”
    “The blond spoke English. He stuck out.”
    “They all speak English. But it’s better for your fluency if you speak French as much as possible. Anyway, Henri is the gay one. He’s taking me to Bourgogne for the weekend.”
    “Oh.” In nine months, Benji had managed to figure out that Bourgogne was Burgundy, and the wine from there was some of the best in the world, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to go there yet. Oh, sure he could have, if he’d been willing to go by himself. But it was hard to go places by himself while struggling to understand even the simplest conversations. But this didn’t sound like an invitation. This sounded like— “That sounds fun.”
    “It’s a date, Benj. I’m going away for the weekend with Henri. And when I come back, one of us is moving out.”
    Benji’s stomach lurched like he was going to be sick.
    “You’re… I’m sorry, are you… is this…” Great. Complete fail at two languages today .
    “My name is on the lease— but if you can find a way to make the rent, we’ll figure something out. You were the one who wanted to live in the gaybor—”
    Aaron’s phone buzzing interrupted him. Glancing at the message, he smiled and sent something back.
    “Listen, I gotta go. Henri is waiting for me. I’m sorry.” Aaron gave Benji’s shoulder a little squeeze, as if that could offset the words he’d just spoken. “I’ll be back on Tuesday, and we’ll sort it then.”
    He’s fucking breaking up with me.
    Moving out. Aaron was the one with the job, the income. He was the one with the work visa. He was the one who dragged Benji halfway around the world to play house husband while he dazzled some French tech firm with his mad programming skills.
    Benji didn’t have money for rent. He didn’t have money to go home. He was completely, utterly dependent upon Aaron. And he’s going away for a romantic wine-tasting weekend with some guy named Henri?
    He barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up the jambon beurre .
    ****
    An American Homo in Paris:
    The cheese stands alone.
    Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry I haven’t updated the blog recently. I did get out to Versailles with my camera, and I’ll post the photos soon, but this entry is more personal. I renamed this blog a year ago when I was getting ready to follow the love of my life to gay Paris. You guys know how fucking much he means to me, and how excited I was to come here. You laughed with me about my language mishaps, and you drooled with me over my favorite street foods. You said the nicest things about my photos— especially the selfies, you sweet bitches you. And when I was homesick, you made me feel connected. I guess that’s why I’m writing this. I’m disconnected. And I’m hurting.
    This homo’s been dumped.
    I wish I could say it’s all for the best or make some pithy comment, but the fact is, being dumped sucks. Being dumped in a foreign country where you don’t have a job, can’t legally get a job, and don’t speak the language? Well that’s some extra-French flavor to the suckitude.
    I don’t know when Aaron stopped typing “LOL” and started typing “MDR” instead… I don’t know when him thinking my accent was cute turned to him being embarrassed to take me places. I don’t know when I started resenting him, and I don’t know when he stopped loving me.
    I’m going to have to think of