Fresh off a break up, I attend a queer prom-themed party with a couple as my dates. When I use the term “couple” to describe them, it causes excessive shifting. But that’s what they are. And I am, happily, their third wheel.

We pay a twenty dollar cover. A friend of a friend who is responsible for rallying a vast majority of the attendees through a queer, Black film cooperative, says hi. She is glowing in the center of a circle of women who are all actually dancing. (Rare!)

“If you think any of my friends are attractive,” she whisper-screams to me over the music, “Tell me.” They are attractive. Partly in the way they make me feel short — a rarity for my 5’11 self — but mostly in how they move so freely. “Thank you,” I scream-whisper in response. “But I think I need a little time.” She shimmies backwards into the metallic circle of joy that awaits her, calling out: “I respect that.”

I return to my dates. I remember being scolded by a man at 4am in Berlin: “If you aren’t moving your feet you aren’t dancing.” We unironically move our feet. We ironically fist pump to early 2000s deep cuts. The DJs are two beautiful lesbian couples — the masc halves spin while the femme halves step-touch off to the side in stilettos. My friends cling on to one another, whispering. I turn out to face the partiers, giving them privacy, but they pull me back when they notice. My friend of a friend reappears, “If you start to feel like a third wheel, come dance with us.”

A “third-wheel” implies exclusion. A stray left out of the main dynamic of the couple. People feel bad for all that this person is missing out on. However, as a lifelong third-wheel, all that I’m missing out on is my favorite part. You can blame it on avoidant attachment or being a Sagittarius, but exclusion can be incredible.

I love being friends with couples. My whole life I have. For anyone interested in converting to the lifestyle, I suggest choosing the functional ones and becoming close with both parties. Two of my closest friends met three years ago at a Halloween party. I had a front row seat to all of it: from my friend discovering her sexuality to the push and pulls of monogamy negotiations to where we (I mean they) are today – a beautiful studio apartment in Greenpoint.

I’ve always felt this way. Even as a teenager, my two best friends were a straight couple. We would eat fries and gossip and take naps together. A popular girl pulled me aside senior year and asked, “So what’s it like to be a third wheel?” I responded, “Oh. I don’t see it that way. If anything, he’s the third wheel.” The couple loved that response. After their relationship disintegrated, I wanted to take him to the prom. This resulted in her returning my house key through a third party. Even though she’d helped me come to terms with my sexuality and knew we’d be going as friends, it was still a betrayal. It was a betrayal of the friendship the three of us shared.

Couples are a soft place to land. You can get super close with them and trust that they have their own separate dynamic to get back to. You are merely a welcome addition! It’s clear cut. They are a fully functional unit without you, so when you’re added it is simply because they want you there. This is not the case for all other friendships. As I get further along in my twenties, I see female friendships all around me combusting due to jealousy, resentment, you name it. One of the biggest reasons I hear for friendships ending is that the relationship was “circumstantial.” I hear people say, “I wouldn’t be their friend if we hadn’t met at work.” Or at school or at the dentist. But couple friends are not circumstantial. They are going out of their way to share their dynamic with you.

For me, a sacred aspect of the third wheel role is its platonic nature. I’m curious about my monogamous romance with the idea of monogamy. Mostly in theory. And because I keep being asked to be curious about it. But my friendships have always been so far removed from that. My friends’ relationships all fall somewhere along the spectrum of monogamy, so the beauty of this dynamic, and in 99.9% of my friendships, is their complete removal from sex. There’s such joy in knowing that this person (or these people) are only sticking around for the sake of friendship.

I’m a gatherer. I love hosting. I love having my friends meet my friends. I’m also so aware of the dynamics of everyone around me at all times. With a couple, you don’t need to be. Because of the private nature of their relationship, I’m not checking in to see if anyone has to pee or needs another drink or loves that song. They have each other for that. I don’t think twice about calling my uber or taking a lap or talking to the bartender. I hope my friends are having a good night but, truly, I have no idea. I’ll probably find out in the morning.

I offer an emotional buffer to couples that doesn’t really exist in one-on-one dynamics. I’m a natural caretaker and love being my friends’ point person. But in this case? Their partner is their point person. So whether my friend has to pee is none of my business. What is my business, you ask? My friendship with them. Both of them.

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