With the prospect of one final hoorah, she responds to Sutton. While she’s an out lesbian to her family, the public does not know, and she prefers to keep it that way. Charlotte, who mainly uses the app for discreet hookups to relieve work stress, is planning to delete her account to maintain a low profile during her upcoming election campaign. Her best friend Regan creates a profile for her on SapphicSpark, a women-seeking-women dating app, then sends a not-so-subtle message to a woman whose picture caught Sutton’s eye. Sutton has recently come to terms with her bisexuality, and she’s ready to start dating but feels hopeless when talking to women. She’s driven yet unknowingly sweet, and she’s not willing to compromise her career dreams for anything. Charlotte, on the other hand, is New York City’s youngest deputy mayor and knows how to use her charm to get what she wants, which serves her well in the world of politics. She puts her heart on the line and asks for what she wants when it really matters. She is awkward and shy yet unintentionally charming. Congressman and going to graduate school, contemplating what comes next for her career. Until I found Haley Cass and her debut contemporary novel Those Who Wait.Ĭass wrote with such depth that I physically felt the presence of and could see myself in both protagonists, Sutton Spencer and Charlotte Thompson, in this slow-burn friends-to-lovers romance about coming out, politics, resilience, and standing up for what’s important in life and in love. Always surface level or through the lens of someone straight.
Like many others in the queer community, I had minimal exposure to LGBTQIA+ characters, and the exposure I did get involved families disowning their children after coming out, kids getting bullied, or Black Trans women getting assaulted or murdered.
It took me 25 years to fully realize my sexual orientation because I never saw myself reflected in the pages or on a screen. Boy and girl fight then make up and live happily ever after.
I didn’t admit it or know what it meant at the time, but I thought to myself “I’m team Bella.”Ĭountless times before that growing up, my adolescent brain consumed romcoms and love stories about what relationships were “supposed to” look like: Boy meets girl. I felt like there was something wrong with me because I wasn’t drawn to the male characters at all.
They hung up posters, scribbled on their notebooks, and wore t-shirts to the movie theater claiming whether they were Team Edward or Team Jacob. In high school, I remember the fandom around the Twilight book series.
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