“I never said it was your fault. I said it was because of you,” I try to elaborate, but she doesn’t want to listen.
“But you are still blaming me?” Her wild eyes darken to an intense green.
One minute and we’re already arguing.
“No, I’m not blaming you,” I say. “I was terrified of my feelings. Trying my best to fight them off. Scared what would happen if I admitted the truth to myself, let alone Henry.”
“Terrified of being gay?” Her nose curls up in disgust. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds in this day and age?”
“Not everyone has a family like yours, Jenn. In my house, there never would have been a pizza party to celebrate my coming out at age thirteen. If I even gave a hint of what was going on inside my head, there would have been extra church and being sent off to get ‘fixed,’” I spew, and she shrinks back down in her seat. “And when you grow up in a home like that, you put walls up. You keep yourself guarded and protected. Henry was my protection, but you started to crack my walls. That’s why I said it was because of you.”
“Are you ready to order?” The waiter walks over. Neither one of us says anything, but the thickness of our tension is enough to send him away.
“Cracked your walls?” Jenn lowers her voice once he’s gone. “What does that mean?”
“It means, I wasn’t straight. I wasn’t even the bisexual I was trying to convince myself I was. I was a full-blown lesbian in love with my boyfriend’s sister.” I place an elbow on the table and rest my forehead into my palm. “Oh God, that sounds so fucked-up when I say it out loud. But it’s true. I was.” I pick my head back up and look her directly in the eye. “And instead of breaking up with Henry right away, like I should have, I held on. Because of you.”
She breaks our stare by reaching for a piece of bread from the basket. It’s probably stale by now from sitting there so long. After a few chews, she struggles to swallow it.
“You said ‘was.’ Past tense. That’s good to know those feelings are over.” She clears her throat and presses her lips into a thin smile. “Okay, well, we talked about it. I guess now we can finally move on.” She pushes back her chair as if she’s ready to leave already. “Oh, and congrats on choosing team girls.”
“Wait. Are you leaving? We haven’t even ordered.” She can’t leave. Yes, I wanted to talk, to explain things, but I also wanted… I don’t know, but more than this.
“We talked and now I suppose I have a better understanding. Your family made things hard. You were with Henry, but it wasn’t right. And you….” She doesn’t finish the sentence, the part where I said I fell in love with her. “And now you don’t. That’s good,” she says unconvincingly. “What else is there to say?”
I can think of a million things.
“You said just dinner. We haven’t had dinner,” I say, trying to encourage her to stay. Before everything exploded, we were friends. Best one I ever had. “Can’t we have dinner as friends?”
“Are you ready?” The waiter is back. Maybe his shift is ending, I don’t know, but he seems anxious for us to place our order. He looks to me with pen in hand, and I give a hopeful glance over at Jenn.
“What are your specials?” she asks, scooching her chair back in place. My shoulders relax and a smile spreads across my face. “Oh, and on second thought,” she says, “I will have a glass of pinot, please.”
“I want to know more about the hairdressing thing. You were only just starting and hadn’t graduated yet. What kind of hours do you work?” my friend asks me. Back to small talk.
The conversation went from two L words to friendship.
From “full-blown lesbian in love” to making small talk and talking about my job.
Which is good. Oh my God, what’s wrong with me? Yes, it’s good. Very good. Thank God, we’re not still discussing those other things. We’re going to have a friendly dinner and then goodbye. That’s perfect. The closure I needed. I’ll finally be able to move on.
“It varies. I’m usually off on Mondays, busier on the weekends. Hair color is what I’m best at.” I point to my colorful locks. “Most of my clients come to me for color and touchups. I can work my magic on any head of hair, short, long, thick, thin,” I say. Although, her locks shine beautifully all on their own. No magic needed. “Sometimes I even have a waiting list, usually in the summer. Everyone wants to go pink in the summer.”
“If your hair is any indication of your work, then I’m not surprised that there’s a waiting list.” She takes a tiny bite of her salmon; her plate still looks practically untouched. I’m halfway through a chicken parm, already thinking about dessert. “Do you still post the instructional hair videos? I haven’t seen any,” she says sheepishly, admitting that she’s kept tabs on me over the years.
“No, I stopped doing that after an incident with my camera.” I swirl a piece of chicken on my plate, getting annoyed when I find myself making a heart pattern in the tomato sauce.
“What kind of incident?” She places her fork down and gives me her full attention, her lips relaxing into a perfect heart-shaped pout. No wonder I’m making chicken parm hearts on my plate.
“I was making a video and…,” I hesitate, wondering if I should actually tell her.
“And?” She encourages.
“And... you came into my room at the cabin and surprised me. We talked and then… I lost track. I never pressed stop.”
“Oh. That means.... We....” She licks her bottom lip, casting her eyes to the side. “You recorded... it?” she whispers.
“Not on purpose. But yes, you and I unknowingly made a little porno that day.”
“It recorded everything?” Color rushes to her cheeks.
“Yeah, everything.” The clothes coming off. Needy kisses. Delicate touches. Tongues in new territory.
“I don’t know if you knew this, but that was my first time doing a lot of those things.”
“I did.” She was a noob. I was aware. “And it was me who was doing most of those things,” I remind her, trying to bite back a grin. There’s nothing funny about what happened, but sharing the truth with her about our secret flick after all these years does feel cathartic.
“Oh, Jenn.” She covers her mouth and laughs into her hands. “I don’t even know what to say. Everything? Really?” Her laughter stops and she raises an arched brow. “I guess that means you watched it.”
I had. I never transferred it to my computer, to avoid any cloud nightmares. But I had been able to watch it back on the small screen of the camera itself. And I watched it until the very end.
“I saw bits and pieces,” I say casually. All of her bits. All of her pieces.
“Do you still have it?” The hue of her stained cheeks changes. Is she embarrassed or is the magenta-tinged skin spreading down her neck a sign of lust?
It doesn’t matter. I cough away the rising lump in my throat and sip my wine.
“No,” I say, and luckily my pants don’t burst into flames. “I deleted it a long time ago.” Another pants check. Still okay.
What am I supposed to say? Honestly, Sasha, I never deleted it and I’ve probably seen it more times than the episode of Friends where Chandler proposes to Monica.
“Good. That video in the wrong hands….” She cringes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
Me either. In fact, Remi and I made a pact. God forbid something ever happens to either one of us, we are to immediately go to the other’s secret hiding spot and burn what we find without opening, looking, snooping, or passing judgement.
“Have you done any traveling lately?” I ask, taking us away from the topic of the video and on to something that won’t light up Sasha’s smooth skin like hot pink dye on platinum hair.
“I went to Barcelona over the summer with Jeanine. It was beautiful. Such a romantic place,” she says.
“Who’s Jeanine?” And because I know I’m trying hard to sound casual, the question comes out anything but.
“She’s a
friend of mine. I met her last year. We dated briefly before figuring out we’re better off as friends.”
Friends who take romantic trips to Barcelona together. Interesting.
“Have you dated a lot since figuring things out?” That’s none of my business. I ask anyway.
Sasha finishes her second glass of wine. Well, second glass since I’ve been here. I did make her wait quite a while.
“I wouldn’t say a lot.” Her teeth tug in her full bottom lip, and she lowers her voice to a sultry whisper. “But if we were to make another video, I’d be much better at participating.”
I inhale deeply and now my skin takes a turn at the color wheel. Who is this? The Sasha I knew was fun, but never quite like this. She’s playful, relaxed, and flirtatious. Is this the dating version of Sasha? This side certainly never came out when she was dating Henry.
But this isn’t a date. We said friends. Does that mean I get to go to Barcelona with her?
“More wine?” The waiter rushes over. There’s good service and there’s annoying service. His is the latter.
“No. Two is my limit,” she says, and at least I know this new side to her isn’t because she’s drunk.
“Still working on these?” the persistent waiter asks. I was, but now I feel funny saying so. We both nod, and he starts clearing our plates. “Dessert, ladies?”
“None for me,” I say, and Sasha gasps.
“Since when do you say no to dessert?” I love that she knows me so well, that she remembers. But I have to remind myself not to. The feeling in my gut, the connection, the spark reigniting from this casual dinner, it should be with someone else, not her. “Bring us one of those flourless chocolate cakes with two forks,” she says.
Dessert for two on a plate for one. This is not good. The supposed closure I came for, that I desperately need, is not happening. If anything, this casual little dinner is only fucking up my head more, opening every door in my brain. And behind each one of those doors is the same thought.
I don’t want closure. If anything, I want to be with Sasha even more now than I did back then.
What the Uck
“Oh God… fuck,” Jenn cries. Her thigh muscles relax, and she melts into my feathery down duvet.
My lips trail over her smooth stomach, kissing the spot between her breasts, up her neck to her mouth.
“Good morning,” I say, changing my position so that I’m straddling her waist. Dinner went well last night. Very well. What was supposed to be a quick kiss goodbye was anything but quick, and it most certainly hadn’t been goodbye.
“Very good,” she pants out. Her vivid strands of hair are splayed across my pillow. The purple and turquoise that frames her hooded hazel eyes, pouty lips, and flushed skin is a work of art.
“Where’s a camera when you need one?” I’m tempted to grab my phone from the dresser and snap a picture; not that I’ll forget this image any time soon. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Stop it.” Her eyes are bright green this morning, flecks of gold sparkling, brightening the brilliant color from the smile plastered across her face.
“That’s it. I’m grabbing my phone.” I slip off the bed, streak to my dresser, and grab the phone before running back and reclaiming my position.
“No pictures.” She hides her face.
“You captured our first memorable experience, now it’s my turn.” I open up the camera on my phone and direct it at her covered face. “Hands down. Let me see that beautiful face.”
“No, really, stop.” She uncovers her face and grabs the phone from my hand. Her smile is gone; so is the twinkle. “What are we doing?”
“I think you know what we’re doing,” I say with a facetious giggle and can’t resist the urge to follow up my words with a flick of her nipple. She flashes a quick grin in response but pulls up the blanket to cover her exposed body. Her hips lift, urging me off.
“We said just talking. Friends. I can’t believe I let this happen again.” She grasps the covers tighter against her chest. “I spent three years getting over the first time this happened. Now what? I spend the next three getting over this?”
“What’s there to get over? This time is different. I’m not with Henry anymore.” I get up from the bed and grab a shirt from my closet, sliding it over my head. “The way I see things now, I was never fully with him at all. Can’t we just start over?”
“You lived with him. You became part of our family. He was ready to propose to you.” Her jaw tenses and her eyes shut. “You had sex with him. His bleh was in your, uck.... I can’t.” She gets up from the bed, searching for her clothes.
“Stop.” I grab her wrist and force her to stop moving and face me. “The Henry part of my life is over. Forget about his bleh and my uck. I like uck.” I wrap my arms around her waist and lift my head up slightly to meet her eyes. “I like your uck.”
She laughs, and her shoulders drop.
“I didn’t call it an uck, I paused and just said uck, as in yuck, from thinking about it.” She laughs some more.
“Stop thinking about it.” I drag my hands up to cup her cheeks and place a gentle kiss on her lips.
“Jesus Christ. There are like fifty billion lesbians in the world,” she says, tossing up a hand. I don’t think that’s an accurate count, but Jenn’s always been one for dramatics and overexaggeration. “So why does it have to be you?” She sighs. “Why can’t it be one of the other ten women I dated this year?”
“You dated ten women this year?” What does she mean by dated? Is this more exaggeration?
“Eleven if I count this little night as a date.” She whooshes a pointed finger between us. “And as great as this whole night has been, it has to end here. We can’t take this any further. You can’t ever be my girlfriend.”
“I can’t?”
“No, you can’t. Anyone else in the world, yes.” Her hands move up and down like she’s playing an imaginary piano. “You, no.”
“Then I won’t be your girlfriend.” I bring my lips up to her nape. “We can just be friends.” Another kiss. “And lovers.”
“Ew.” She laughs playfully, pushing me away. “I hate that word.”
“That’s why I said it.” I step back in and push some purple strands away from her face. “I remember all of your fantastic little quirks and idiosyncrasies. You were everything he wasn’t.” The mention of him causes her face to fall once again.
I wish he was never part of my life. But if it wasn’t for him, I’d never have met her.
“I don’t know.” She pulls her hair back and paces to my dresser in search of a rubber band.
“What don’t you know?” I walk over to the dresser, sliding my hands around her waist, meeting her eyes in our reflection.
“If we do this friend thing, I need you to know.” She swallows, pulling in a small breath. “I’ll never tell anyone. And neither can you. It would have to be a complete secret. He can never, ever find out.”
Keep Jenn a secret? The girl who I want to take out and show off to the world. Have by my side at work and social events from this point on, not caring what anyone thinks. The girl who makes me want to come out to my Russian parents, no matter what the consequences. No, I don’t want Jenn to be a secret. I want Jenn to be an announcement. A pinned post.
“Okay, no one will know,” I say to keep her from leaving, from shutting me out again.
More should be said. So much more needs to be said. But the conversation ends there. Within seconds the two of us are back in my bed, tangled in the sheets. And as her talented tongue swirls over my skin and her fingers tease my warm flesh, I tell myself it’s okay. We’re getting ahead of ourselves.
Her face disappears under the covers, and a feeling washes over me that goes way beyond the physicality of what we’re doing.
My feelings for Jenn are still so strong that even after all this time, I’d do anything to have her in my life again.
Even take a chance on this fucked-up,
secret bullshit that is bound to explode at any time and come back to bite us in our... ucks.
A Slight Buzz
“Your client is here,” Remi sings. “And he brought us coffee.”
“Is she ready for me?” he asks.
The second I hear his voice, my giddiness and good mood crash. The secret flashbacks to all the passionate encounters from the past few weeks come to a grinding halt.
“Hey.” I swivel around in my styling chair and face my brother. “I almost forgot you were coming in today for a cut.” Forgot, avoided, blocked it out of my mind.
“I got you a French vanilla coffee, two sugars and cream.” Henry hands the cup over to me. As always, he’s very thoughtful, bringing Remi and me coffee prepared the exact way we like it. And even though I won’t charge him for this cut, I’m sure a fifty will mysteriously show up in my wallet the next time I look.
“Thanks.” I place it down on my station. The lump of guilt that bubbles in my stomach from seeing him for the first time since the gala leaves no room for the caffeinated brew.
“Your hair’s gonna look good today.” Remi talks in between sips. “Jenn’s been bouncing around here for almost three weeks.” She cups her hands over her mouth and whisper-shouts, “I think she’s getting laid.”
“Nope. Don’t need to know that.” Henry immediately shuts down Remi’s crass explanation. Thank God.
“Well, I’m not even positive that she is. She won’t tell me what’s going on.” Remi squints her eyes into two tight slits, trying to squeeze the truth out of me with her powerful lids. “But I know something is going on. She met someone for sure.”
“Really?” Without the crude description, Henry’s interest is piqued. “That’s wonderful, Jenn. Where did you meet her?”
“I didn’t meet anyone.” Technically—we had already met. The two faces in front of me don’t seem convinced. “And if you want to talk more about my sex life….”
“No.” Henry shuts me down. “Let’s just start the cut so I can get back to the office.”
Whiskey Flick Page 4
