By consensus the four of us agreed not to talk about dead bodies or blood or, as Tessa put it, “anything even remotely gross,” and the conversation wandered through the topics of where we’d each lived, our hobbies, and embarrassing stories from high school.
Safe territory.
The places you go when you need to set the dark things aside. However, the more we spoke, the more the three of them seemed to jump from topic to topic without any discernible links between the subject matter. I was caught constantly playing catch-up while none of them seemed to have any trouble at all following the conversation. I finally commented that women do this all the time but that guys can’t keep track of where the discussion is going because the thinking isn’t linear.
The three women stared at me.
“Chauvinist,” Tessa said, not completely seriously.
“No. I’m not. You know that. I’m just saying-”
“It’s okay, Pat,” Cheyenne said. “I’m glad you’re aware there’s a difference between men and women.”
Actually, I’m aware of several of them…
“Yes, exactly,” I said. “That’s my point.”
“And you’re right. We are different-physiologically, chemically, hormonally, psychologically, emotionally. The way we think, prioritize, remember, construct knowledge, and process information-all different.”
Good. A way to salvage things.
“There you go,” I said. “Men and women think differently. Men are more logical, women are more-”
Lien-hua raised an eyebrow. “Careful, now.”
Tessa signaled her agreement. “I second that.”
“I’m just saying-” By the looks on their faces I decided I’d better try a different tack. “However, you do know that some feminists might argue that masculine and feminine roles are simply social constructs and not physiological traits.”
“Then they’re ignoring the research.” Cheyenne shook her head. “But that’s no surprise. In one of the tragic ironies of the twentieth century, feminists never fought for women to become more feminine.”
“What do you mean?”
“Instead of celebrating what it means to be a woman, to be feminine, to be an empowered female, they fought for women to act and be treated more like men. That’s why I call them masculinists.”
“You call feminists masculinists?” I said.
“That’s right.”
She must have noticed the surprise on all of our faces because she went on to elaborate, “Yes. Masculinists. Because in their fight for more rights, they ended up devaluing what it means to be a woman and emulating the very things they criticized most in men-imperialism, identity confusion, militaristic propagandism, dehumanizing competition, careerism.”
Lien-hua, Tessa, and I glanced at each other. I had the sense that all of us were unsure what to say.
Cheyenne set down her chopsticks. “Women should be extended the same dignity, opportunity, and respect as men but shouldn’t be treated in an identical way: equality without uniformity. I want to be treated like a woman, not a pale imitation of a man.”
“You go, girl,” Tessa said.
Cheyenne took her up on the offer. “Women should never be ashamed to be feminine. Strength comes from conviction, not from acting like a man. Being feminine doesn’t mean you’re weak, it just means you’re proud to be a woman.”
All three of them looked at me as if they were daring me to refute her. I had the sense that if they were guys they would have pounded fists with each other, but I decided this might not be the time to point that out.
“Feminine is good,” I said at last.
Cheyenne stood. “I’ll be right back. I need to use the ladies’ room.” She’d smiled as she said the words and offered a warm emphasis to the word ladies. She left for the hall.
Lien-hua and Tessa watched her sweep away. When she was out of sight, Lien-hua said, “She’s not subtle is she?”
Nope, I thought.
“Nope,” Tessa said.
“I’m glad she’s on our team,” Lien-hua said evenly. Then she went back to her meal.
But I noticed that she avoided eye contact with me as she did.