CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

What I want to do takes a little while to coordinate. I have to find a day that week that Jacob, Kev, and Bri are all available, and then they have to talk to Talia without letting her know that something’s up. Thursday evening is the only time we’re all free, so I suffer through four basketball practices, two family dinners, and continued silence with Talia.

Well, except for one text.

I know I hurt her when I pulled away. At the time, it felt like the only thing I could do, but now that I might have lost our friendship for real, now that I’m not in the grip of the anxiety monster, I can see how wrong I was. The way I ignored her frantic calls and texts, tried to pass off my panic attack with a half-truth, avoided her at the party—remembering it makes my skin crawl.

I’m not doing that again.

So on Tuesday after dinner, I sit on my bed composing and revising texts over and over in my Notes app. None of them sound right. They’re too formal, or too long, or too explain-y. I don’t need to do that now. All I need is for her to know I’m not pulling away this time. I’m not going to ghost her. I’m here, and I want to fix this.

Finally, I take a deep breath, switch over to my texts, and just write from the heart.

I’m really sorry for what I did. I want to make it right. You don’t have to text me back. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking about it, and I’m not going anywhere.

I stare at the thread for a few minutes. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. She has read receipts off, so I don’t even know if she’s seen it. But I miss her so much, and I wish more than anything that I could go back in time and be brave. I know there were reasons why I was scared, but they were also in the past. This is the present. And I know who Talia is: She’s my best friend, and even if we date and it doesn’t work out in the end, I know we’ll make it through.

At least, we will, if she wants to fix this, too.

On Thursday, I give myself plenty of time to prepare. I dress in my favorite short-sleeved crewneck crop-top with a giant sunflower pattern on it, high-waisted shorts, and my pink sandals. I pack my bag carefully; I don’t want to forget anything. Mom helps me double-check, and then we’re off. Talia never texted back, so maybe she won’t even show up, but I have to try anyway.

The sun is just starting to set, turning trees and sidewalks to gold in its warm rays. The streets of Seattle feel enchanted in this moment. Hip-hop spills from a passing car, and someone at a bus stop busts a move to the beat; everyone on the sidewalk is laughing with their friends or walking like they’re headed somewhere important. The breeze is warm, the trees lush and green, and a bubble of calm embraces me as we rattle over the Mont-lake bridge and pass between Husky Stadium and the University of Washington campus.

The drive into Magnuson Park is crowded, with cars parked illegally along the road toward the beach. It’s not the hottest day this summer, but it’s still mid-eighties, and when it’s warm, people want to be near Lake Washington.

Just as we get to the end of the lot, Mom stops, and a car backs out of a spot in front of us.

“The parking gods have blessed us today,” she says, slipping in as they drive away.

Looking out at the water and at the Cascade mountains, light blue with gold crests against the pink horizon, I take a deep breath. I can do this.

“If anything goes off the rails, I’ll be right here,” Mom says.

“Thank you.” I look at her, and she smiles, her eyes misty.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says.

I smile. She opens her arms, and I lean into her for a hug. We stay like that for a long moment, and then I pull away and get out of the car.

“Don’t forget your backpack!” Mom calls as I start to shut the door. Of course. I almost left my bag sitting in the backseat.

Hefting it onto my shoulder, I walk southward down the path along the lake, away from the spot where we all went swimming at the beginning of the summer. I want somewhere a little more secluded; screaming children, barbecue smoke, and other people’s music aren’t the vibe right now.

The crowds peter out as I walk farther, until there’s just a few pairs and small groups here and there on the grass. The air is a little hazy, with a faint sweet smell; wildfire season is starting.

Finally I spot a tall, pretty tree, its branches sweeping out over the water. There’s no one under it, and the nearest people aren’t too close. Perfect.

I open my bag and start to set everything up. First I lay out the huge pink fleece blanket from my bed, and the dinner plate wrapped up inside it goes on top, in the center. Then the electric tea lights around the edge; there’s still plenty of light to see by, but the effect is important. And the effort. Then the Tupper-ware with our favorite cupcakes inside. I put them each on the dinner plate. Maybe her favorite flavor has changed without me knowing, but that’s OK. What I know right now is this: her favorite is chocolate, with coffee-flavored frosting. Mine is vanilla, with chocolate frosting. The crowning touch is a pair of ice-cold key lime LaCroix. Can’t forget the Skittle water.

I text my friends and settle in. Now all I have to do is wait.

Time slows way down as I sit there. The nerves are creeping in now, the bubble of calm dissipating. I know this is the right thing to do, but still. I’ve never put myself out there like this before. And if Talia says no after all this . . . well, of course she can. I don’t want her to do anything she doesn’t want to do. I’m just not sure how we’ll come back from that.

But no matter what, I know I’ve tried. Avoiding what I’m afraid of doesn’t solve anything. And if I’m going to put myself out there, Talia is the person I’d most want to do that for.

An image pops into my head: Talia and me, nine years old, splashing in water while our parents lounge in the grass watching us. Where were Sam and Ella? Somewhere, I’m sure. Sam would have been six? Seven? Ella was probably in middle school. In that moment, though, it was just me and Talia. We’d been reading a book series about animals, and we were pretending to be otters, playing in the shallows.

There’s nothing else to the memory. Just the same calm happiness I always feel with her. Like she really gets me, loves me, thinks I’m cool. Like I’m safe with her.

Safe, like the time she yelled at some Bible-thumper who got in my face at our first Pride. He was standing in the middle of the sidewalk with one of those huge hateful signs they always carry, yelling at people passing by. I don’t even remember what he said, just his contorted face in front of mine all of a sudden, and then Talia screaming right back. And her eyes, dark and on fire with indignation. Her hand squeezing mine. Her voice listing off all the logical fallacies of right-wing Christianity as she towed me away from him through the crowd.

She’s always been there for me. And I’ve always been there for her. In middle school, her parents struggled with their marriage for a while. We had only come out to each other at that point, and she was afraid telling her parents would make things worse. There were so many nights she cried to me: about the puberty changes she hated, about the fights her parents were having, about her fear of the future if nothing changed—or if everything did. Her parents started couples counseling, and I came out to mine, and then she told hers, and it was like her murky gray world got its color back.

I’ve always been there for her.

Until now.

But I’m going to change that. I want to be the friend she deserves—and maybe even the girlfriend, too. If that’s what she wants.

When my phone pings, a jolt of anxiety zips through my chest.

We’re here, Kev says.

I stand up, scanning the path, looking for my friends in the current of people strolling up and down the lake. There are families walking past me back toward the beach area, parents laden with coolers and chairs, people on Rollerblades, older couples holding hands, gaggles of kids my age chattering and teasing each other. And—there.

Talia’s talking to Bri and Jacob. Kev is right behind them, scanning the shoreline. His eyes finally land on me and light up, and I smile.

I look back at Talia, tall and gorgeous in a mustard yellow fit-and-flare sundress with cap sleeves. She looks up, away from Bri, and I can tell they’re all catching sight of me but all I can see is Talia.

Her eyes go wide and she stops. My friends stop, too, standing at the edge of the path, twenty feet of dry summer grass between us. Talia turns to Bri.

“What is this?” She sounds confused. Maybe upset. I can’t tell.

“Hayley has something to tell you,” Bri says.

“Were you all in on this?” Talia asks.

Kev and Jacob nod.

Talia turns back to me, mouth opening, then closing, like she wants to say something but can’t find the words.

“Come sit with me,” I say. “Please?”

She takes a step forward, then another, and slowly crosses the grass to the blanket. Her gaze sweeps over the cupcakes, the LaCroix, the tea lights, everything I laid out.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she says.

“I wanted to,” I say. I look over her shoulder briefly; our friends are fading back into the crowd, heading up toward the beach.

When I look back at Talia, her eyes are full of tears.

“Why?” she chokes out.

“I’m really, really sorry,” I say. “When I realized I like you, I panicked. You’re my best friend, and I’ve never had a relationship, and I’ve always—” I’m choking up now, too, tears spilling over. “I was afraid. Ever since sixth grade. I’ve always been afraid. Back then it was because of homophobia and shit, you know, this whole dumpster fire society”—I wave my hand—“and everything I’d internalized. But after that it was just easier. If I never put myself out there, then I’d never be rejected, homo-phobically or otherwise.” Now I’m really crying, and tears are streaming down Talia’s face, too. “And then we made this plan, and we went to that concert, and I realized I was in love with you—” Shit. I said The Thing. “And—and I just freaked out because if I told you and you didn’t like me, it would make everything awkward and I’d ruin our friendship, and maybe lose our whole friend group, and I’ve never had friends like all of you—it was just me and you for so long—and I thought it would be easier to hide it and make it go away, but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry I pushed you toward Rose. And I’m sorry I shut you out. I should have treated you better because you deserve it, and I understand if you don’t want to be with me and don’t want to be my friend—”

“Stop,” Talia sobs.

I shut my mouth, staring at her. She sits down heavily on the blanket, pressing her hands to her face. I sit, too, and wait, forcing myself to breathe, in and out, slow exhales.

“It hurt. So much.” She stares at my midsection, and I know it’s the closest she can get to eye contact right now. I hope I didn’t overwhelm her.

“I didn’t know why,” she continues after a moment. “I thought I’d done something wrong. But I couldn’t think of anything. And I didn’t want to just show up at your house because I was afraid I’d upset you even more. Then I saw Rose and realized. The way I felt. About you. It didn’t look like romcoms. It didn’t fit our plan. We didn’t meet at a beach or a party. Eyes locking and . . .” She’s rambling a little bit, but I understand her, like she’s always understood me, and I think I know what she’s about to say. “Rose is cool. But they aren’t you.”

We sit in silence for a moment, absorbing each other’s words. A fly flits around one of the cupcakes and I wave it away.

“You got my favorite,” Talia says in a soft voice.

“Of course.”

Her eyes move up and meet mine.

“I’m really sorry,” I say again.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“What can I do?” I ask. “I mean, if you need a break from us . . .” I swallow.

She shakes her head. “No, no. I don’t want any more breaks.” She picks up her cupcake. “Can I eat this?”

I smile. “Definitely.”

I pick mine up and we each take a bite, chewing in silence. The taste of the chocolate frosting helps ground me. Talia eats with one hand, her other hand petting the soft fleece of the blanket. That’s exactly why I picked it—I know how much she loves soft textures.

When she finishes her cupcake, she looks back at me.

“Talia,” I say. Her mouth curves in the tiniest way, more hope than smile. “I know I messed up and I’m not perfect, but I’m going to do everything I can not to do that again. If you only want to be friends, that’s OK. But . . . I want you to be my girlfriend. If you want to.”

Her eyes fill with tears again, and my heart seizes, but then she speaks. “I’d like that. I . . . I love you, too. As a friend. And in the romantic way.”

“I love you,” I say, voice cracking.

We both laugh, wiping our faces, relief and amazement flooding my body.

“Can I hold your hand?” she asks.

“Of course.”

We each get up on our knees and scoot toward each other until we’re face to face. This is the closest I’ve been to Talia in weeks and my heart’s pounding. We sit back down, crossed knees touching, and take each other’s hands.

“I totally get why you were freaked out,” she says. “I was, too.”

“Thank you,” I say.

Then we look at each other—really look at each other—eyes traveling over each other’s faces. I let myself linger on everything I never did before: the perfect thick arches of her brows; her skin, tanned and freckled from the sun; the strong bridge of her nose; the dimple in the center of her chin.

And her lips. Thin, with the tiniest, sweetest cupid’s bow, the bottom lip slightly bigger than the top. Usually, they turn up a little at the corners, but right now they’re totally relaxed, the way they do when Talia isn’t masking. The sight almost makes me cry again. She’s comfortable with me, like I am with her. Even after everything.

“Can I . . .” I bring my gaze up to hers, and she’s already looking at me. “Can I kiss you?”

She nods, a huge smile breaking out across her face. We take a deep breath at the same time—then explode in nervous giggles.

“You lean in first,” she says.

I nod and lean forward, and so does she, but we come in too fast, and—

“Ow!” We both pull back, rubbing our teeth where they clunked together.

She laughs. “One more time?”

I shake myself out and then clasp her hands. She squeezes once. I lean forward, slowly, and so does she, and then it’s happening.

We’re kissing.

Her lips are soft, and she tastes like coffee and chocolate, the flavor of her cupcake. Our mouths open and holy wow, our lips fit together and the kiss blends into another one. I’m kissing Talia. I’m kissing Talia! And it’s awesome.

She pulls back and we’re both grinning like clowns, staring at each other. Her cheeks are flushed, and mine are warm, too.

She clears her throat. “Whoa.”

I nod.

“That was my first kiss,” she says.

“Mine too!” I screech, and she bursts out laughing, squeezing my hands.

“Do you want some LaCroix?” she asks.

“Yes. Yeah.” My brain is still scrambled from that kiss. My first kiss. My totally life-changing first kiss with Talia.

She hands me one, and we crack them open together. We each take a big gulp and stare at each other, then break into giggles again. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Obviously I have no frame of reference, but you’re a really good kisser,” she says. It’s the most Talia thing she could say, and it’s my turn to laugh, shaking my head. She eyes me. “What?”

“Nothing. This is just awesome,” I say, pressing my hands to my face with a huge grin. “You’re a really good kisser, too. As far as I know.”

“Oh.” She covers her mouth. “I did not realize how that sounded.”

“No, no, I love it,” I say. “It’s so you. And I love you. As a friend. And romantically.”

She nods, blushing harder. “Good.”

I raise my can. “A toast. To us.”

“To us.” She says, and we clink them together. I take a drink, and the carbonation sparkles all the way down to my stomach.

Talia’s my girlfriend. I’m Talia’s girlfriend.

“Can I kiss you again?” I ask.

“Absolutely,” she says, and we both lean forward.