by Siera Maley
I felt her stir beside me, and when she shifted in place and then started to roll over toward me, I hastily wiped at my eyes and tried to calm myself. But every tear I wiped away was replaced by a fresh one just as quickly, and she took one look at me and I knew she could tell that I wasn’t okay.
“Zoey,” she whispered. She fumbled for my hand and found it, then used her free hand to wipe gingerly at my cheeks. “I’m here. Whatever you need.”
I wanted to say that what I needed was my parents back, but I knew that she was only trying to help. Instead, without thinking, I shot forward and pressed my lips hard against hers.
She froze up at first, not kissing me back, but then slowly her lips moved against mine. Only another second passed before she pulled away, and I watched her look at me in silence as she stroked my hair with the hand that had been on my cheek.
“Was that okay?” I asked, aware that I’d caught her off-guard.
She just kept stroking my hair and didn’t answer at first, and in the darkness I couldn’t read her expression, but I sensed she was nervous. “How are you feeling?” she asked me.
“Bad,” I said, and she nodded like she knew it’d been a stupid question. I wanted to tell her that it’d felt good to kiss her, that for a split second I’d been able to do something other than think about how much I was hurting, but I knew how it’d sound and I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. Instead I leaned in slower this time and kissed her again. This time she kissed back, but it was light, like she wasn’t sure if we were supposed to be kissing at all.
I leaned in closer and slid my hand down her body to her hip, and she opened her mouth and then we were really kissing, and it was like a dam had opened and poured relief into every inch of my body. I pressed closer and closer and kissed her until I was warm, until I could feel that she was too, and we only separated quickly enough to take our shirts off. We pressed in close again and I kissed her skin everywhere I could; neither of us had gone to sleep in bras and I felt her gasp when I kissed and touched her where I hadn’t before. She didn’t let that go on for long before she rolled us over and kissed me everywhere, too.
Lightheaded, I fumbled in the dark for the elastic of her pajama bottoms and then started to push them down. In an instant, her mouth was off of me and she was back up on her hands and knees, looking down at me. She was breathing hard.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
She didn’t answer me. Instead, she said, “You’re upset.”
“No. No, I’m not,” I breathed out. “This feels good.”
“It shouldn’t be like this,” she whispered. “Zoey.”
I licked my lips and stared back at her, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I could feel my whole body starting to shake again. “Please,” I breathed out. Then I chewed on my bottom lip and waited for an answer, trembling.
“You’re upset,” she repeated again. I could see even in the dark that she looked conflicted.
“I’m not now, not anymore,” I tried to explain, hoping she would understand. “This is helping.”
“But we should do this because we both want to,” she insisted. I could tell she was trying to keep her voice gentle for my sake, and it felt patronizing. I was getting frustrated.
“I do want to.”
“You didn’t want to two days ago. You’ve just been through a lot tonight—”
“I know, and you’re the only person I want to be with right now, and I want to do this,” I assured her. “Because of what happened tonight and what we said to each other. You said you loved me.”
“I do.” She sounded distressed, like she wasn’t sure that I believed her. The thought made me feel like a new weight had deposited itself into my chest. She had to know that I knew and that I believed her. I knew she was just trying to do what she thought was best for me.
I sat up and Chelsea scooted back to give me room, and when we were face to face, I kissed her once, just briefly, then wrapped my arms around her and tucked my face into her neck. I knew she could feel the wetness on my cheeks, because immediately she hugged me too and ran a hand comfortingly up and down my back.
“We don’t have to keep going,” I conceded, finally, and kissed her neck just once. “I want whatever you want.” She’d said those words to me so many times, and this was the first time I’d ever said it back. I knew that wasn’t lost on her. “I trust you.”
She pulled back and stared at me for a long moment. Then she kissed me gently, mumbling a quiet “thank you” into my mouth. I nodded and kissed her back, and this time was different. Without any expectations hanging over our heads, a strange calmness fell over both of us, and when she touched me this time, goosebumps rose on my skin, but I didn’t push her or kiss her harder, just touched her with the same gentle purposefulness she touched me with, letting her know that I was there and present and still wanted her if she wanted me.
She pulled away eventually and motioned for me to lay down, and then she kissed every inch of my torso all over again, too slowly, until I was squirming.
I didn’t register that she’d stopped until I felt her breath tickling my ear and her hand at the drawstring of the sweats I’d worn to bed. “Is this still okay?” she asked, pulling gently at the strings.
I sucked in a shaky breath and nodded. “Yes.”
14
I woke up to the new worst thing I’d ever done.
Chelsea’s bare shoulders made it obvious that she was still nude under the sheets, and she was fast asleep beside me when I rolled over and stared at her back. When I sat up, it was with such an intensely sick feeling in my stomach that for a moment I thought I was going to vomit then and there. What had happened with my parents, and later, with Chelsea, hit me all at once all over again. I hardly had time to process it all before a knock came at the bedroom door—a knock that hadn’t been the first, I surmised, because a moment later the door opened and I was fumbling to make sure the sheet was pulled up to my own shoulders.
Chelsea’s mom took one look at me and froze, her mouth half-open. She glanced back and forth between me and a still-sleeping Chelsea for a moment, before she let out a quiet breath and then told me, looking almost regretful that she had to relay the message in the first place, “Honey, your dad is here to pick you up.” She shot me a sympathetic look and then closed the door.
I slid out of bed and grabbed my pajamas where they’d been tossed aside onto the floor, my brain short-circuiting in the seconds after it’d been forced to compute that my dad had come to get me. When I finished getting dressed, I felt frozen with fear. What if he had arranged to send me away somewhere? Could I refuse to go? I wasn’t legally an adult yet. Would Chelsea’s parents really just let him take me away like that?
I straightened up and stared at Chelsea’s sleeping form, wondering whether or not to wake her. Her mother hadn’t. I remembered what she’d been like with my mom and decided to leave her, not wanting to upset her more than I already had. I was also scared to face last night and what we’d done. I’d crossed a line I’d sworn I’d never cross with her. It had been selfish. And now she’d never forgive me when she found out about Skylar.
I felt tears trying to come where they had so often in the past day, and murmured a weak, “I’m so sorry,” to her. She didn’t stir, and I left her bedroom quietly, leaving behind the clothes in her closet.
My dad was waiting for me in the kitchen, which I hadn’t expected. Chelsea’s parents had even given him a cup of coffee. I wasn’t sure what I’d feel when I saw him for the first time after last night, but I took one look at him and he looked back at me, and instantly tears were streaming down my cheeks. He set his cup down and went to me, wrapping his arms around me, and I sobbed into his chest until I’d soaked the material of his shirt all the way through.
“C’mon, Zoey,” he murmured to me, rubbing my back. “Let’s go home.”
He steered me toward the exit, but Chelsea’s dad guided us there, and as he opened the front d
oor, he offered me a folded slip of paper and gave me a small smile. “Don’t be afraid to call,” he said openly, and I wondered if it was more for my dad’s benefit or for mine.
And then we were in my dad’s car, driving home, and I could feel bile rising in my throat at the thought of seeing my mom again.
Dad spoke first, several minutes into our drive. “I’m so sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have let your mother ask you to leave. That was a mistake and it won’t happen again.”
I stared straight ahead, not sure what to think. Finally, I mumbled, “That’s it? ‘I’m sorry?’”
“I found the McDaniel’s number and called them to make sure you were here and safe last night, but I thought the night apart would be good for you and your mother. Just to give her the time to calm down. Before she did anything else she’d regret.” He paused, and then asked me, “Are you okay?”
“No,” I said, and he let out an audible breath.
“Right.” He shook his head, like he was upset at himself for asking, and I watched him tap anxiously at the steering wheel with his fingers. Finally, he asked, “So, this Cole boy…?”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” I whispered. “We lied. It was Chelsea, every time.”
“Okay.” He reached up to rub at his face, and I heard him let out another slow breath, like he was trying to wrap his head around each individual word I’d said. Finally, he shook his head again and glanced over at me, resolute. I bit my lip hard and waited for what he was going to say next, sensing that it was going to change the course of the rest of my life, whatever it was.
“This thing…with you,” he began slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully. “This isn’t going away, is it?”
I blinked and felt tears slide down my cheeks. I didn’t look at him as I shook my head. “No, Dad. It’s not.”
He stopped tapping on the steering wheel and there was a long silence between us. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
He exhaled. “Okay.” It was matter-of-fact, no room for argument. I exhaled, too. “Okay,” he said again.
And that was that.
My mom didn’t acknowledge that I came home. She didn’t look at me or speak to me at all, and my dad guided me past her to my room. I sat down on my bed and he told me, “She just needs some time. She does love you, Zoey.” I didn’t believe him, but I nodded and forced a smile at him so that he’d leave.
When I was alone, I laid back on my bed and cried silently for a while, willing my chest to stop hurting. I couldn’t stop seeing my mom’s face crumpling when she’d realized what Chelsea and I had been doing in the driveway. And thinking about Chelsea made things worse. Every time I thought of her lying beneath me, grasping at me in the dark, I felt a strange pang in my stomach, and I couldn’t tell if it was from butterflies or if I was going to be sick. I couldn’t come back from what we’d done. She was going to hate me, and I was going to choose her over Skylar and then lose her forever anyway. And I’d deserve it. I’d have no one left but my dad, who couldn’t even be trusted to not let my mom kick me out of my own home right in front of him.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I sat up and wiped my tears away. It was a text from Chelsea. “I wish you’d woken me up,” it said. “Are you home?”
“Yes,” I sent back. “I thought you’d get upset.”
“My parents shouldn’t have let you go back.”
“My mom’s not talking to me, but my dad was better this morning,” I told her. “I think he knows that this is permanent.”
“If anything goes wrong, I’m coming to pick you up.”
I stared down at the message and swallowed hard. The last thing I wanted to do was spend another night in her bed while I was still lying to her, but I couldn’t tell her that. I started to type out, “I’m sorry about last night,” but another message came in from her before I could send it.
“Was last night okay?”
I blinked at my phone and contorted my face, confused. Was she really asking what it sounded like she was asking? At a time like this?
Bewildered, I sent back a short: “It was good.” Understatement of the century. Chelsea was a lot of things, but inexperienced wasn’t one of them.
“I meant are you okay with everything that happened with us…”
I felt my face turning red at the misunderstanding. “Only if you are,” I told her, dodging the question.
“That’s how I feel, too.”
I sighed and rubbed at my face, frustrated. I couldn’t tell her what I was feeling, because the only reason I regretted it was because of Skylar and Prom. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and shoved that aside, trying to speak to her like none of that was real, like we were real. “That was the worst day of my life and you gave me a happy memory at the end of it all. I don’t want us to take it back.”
It took her a moment to reply. When she did, it was to ask, “Has it ever felt like that with anyone else before for you?”
“No,” I answered honestly.
“Me either.” I could picture her alone in her room, nervous to type that out and send it. The thought had me closing my eyes and clutching my phone to my chest, like I could get those words inside of me somehow and make them stay there if I pressed hard enough. My phone buzzed again. “Promise me you’ll tell me if anything goes wrong with your parents? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I promise,” I said, and meant it.
It took me a couple of hours to gather myself enough to call Skylar, my best friend and future ex-best friend. I knew our plan was falling apart by the second and that our relationship was soon to follow, but I couldn’t help but to want to talk to her about everything that had happened with my parents last night. I’d never been the type to tell her everything, but she was the person I told the most to, and every time we got along, I was reminded of how much I’d loved the friendship we’d used to have before Chelsea. Before she’d turned into whoever she was now.
“Zoey!” she greeted me excitedly. “Oh my god, I’ve been dying waiting for you to call me. Tell me everything. Did she completely freak out? I bet she was crapping herself up until you called it off. Seriously, don’t spare any details.”
I felt like I couldn’t breathe, suddenly. “My parents caught us kissing outside after and my mom kicked me out,” I said. “So I stayed at Chelsea’s last night. My dad came and picked me up this morning.”
I waited, tense, for her answer, but she was silent on the other line. I knew she was trying to process everything I’d said. “Zoey, I…” she began, sounding apologetic, but then she seemed to realize something, and her tone changed. “Why were you kissing?”
I wanted to scream. “Skylar, my parents kicked me out last night and you care about a kiss? My mom tossed my stuff out on the driveway in front of us. I was worried they were going to send me away to some camp!”
“But they won’t, right?” she wondered. “You’re home now?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” I tried, but she interrupted me.
“So everything worked out?”
“My mom isn’t talking to me!” I let out a frustrated groan to myself, seething. “You want to talk about not being honest with yourself, Skylar? How about you admit that your plan almost got me disowned!”
“That is so unfair,” she shot back. “We only told you to pretend to come out to them, and I definitely didn’t say to let Chelsea kiss you where your parents could see. You screwed up. God, I knew you were gonna get like this.”
“Like how?!” I shouted, bewildered. “Like a person who has feelings?”
“You’re letting her control you now,” Skylar accused. “I mean, did you see those hickeys the other night? You just let her do whatever she wants to you, just like every other girl she’s been with. You were supposed to be different. She basically outed you to your parents by kissing you and you’re still defending her.”
“I kissed her!” I snapped, and instantly regretted
it. Skylar fell silent on the other end and I listened to the sound of her breathing.
“Then it sounds like it was your fault,” she finally said. “I hope you two didn’t share a bed last night, because who knows what you’d let her do then.”
“I’d let her do whatever the hell I wanted her to do because you wanted me to be her girlfriend and now I am,” I bit out.
I expected her to get mad at me and hang up, but she laughed instead. “If you sleep with her, I’ll never forgive you, and neither will she. You aren’t that stupid.”
“Okay.” I shook my head. “Thanks for being there for me today, Skylar; it’s not like I just had my worst nightmare come true last night or anything. You’re such a great friend.”
I hung up on her without waiting for a reply and tossed my phone across my bed, then buried my head in my pillow and screamed.
Chelsea’s Prom was in less than two weeks and Skylar and I didn’t talk for days. We ignored each other in classes, sat in different spots at lunch, and despite Cole’s best attempts to, in his words, “get the gang back together,” we didn’t meet up to discuss the next step with Chelsea.
I spent every moment with Chelsea trying to find a way to tell her the truth before my chance slipped through my fingers. But I knew that being honest meant putting an end to the one thing that was making me happy, and I couldn’t find it in myself to do that yet.
On Thursday, Dad surprised me and Mom with a therapy session from someone not affiliated with our church, and that was this whole big ordeal. We sat together in the counselor’s office with Dad between us and Mom talked all about how much of a disappointment I was and how they’d both failed as parents and Christians, and the counselor tried in her best roundabout way to explain to my mom that having a gay daughter wasn’t the end of the world.
