by Kat Fletcher
“Have you thought about how you’re going to tell your parents?” Justin asks in a more serious tone.
“When are you going to see each other again?” Sierra interrupts.
“I haven’t figured out how to tell my parents, but it’s going to be sooner, not later. And she’s sleeping over tonight.”
“Oh my God,” Sierra’s voice is shocked. “You’re sure moving fast.”
“We’re watching Doctor Who.”
“So she’s a dork too?” Sierra teases. “She goes to Valley. I knew she had to be off-kilter somehow.”
“Hey! She just has taste,” Justin kicks in.
“She has this TARDIS necklace that glows in the dark,” I note.
“So she is a nerd. No wonder you’re in love with her,” Sierra says.
I really don’t want to deal with that very frightening word beginning with L, so I change the subject as quickly as I can. “Do you want to meet her?” I blurt out, then open the contacts and drag Rach’s picture into the chat.
“Hey,” Rach says as her face appears. In the background, I recognize the kitchen in their cottage with its straight modern lines and matching stainless appliances.
“Hi, I wanted to introduce my friends.”
“Hey Rach,” Sierra says.
“You must be Sierra. Cool to meet you,” Rach says. Those lovely gray-blue eyes dart away from the camera for a second, then turn back to us. “Sarah and I were talking about you when we were at the beach. No Justin today?”
“I’m here too,” his disembodied voice announces. “Hello!”
Sierra’s video window does one of her patented blurs as she reorients it, then Justin slowly comes into focus at the wheel of the car. He glances at the camera for a sec and waves with one hand.
“They thought it would be best if he didn’t vid and drive,” I explain.
“Probably a good call,” Rach says.
There’s a slight moment of awkward silence as everyone watches one another on our respective screens.
“We wanted to see who’d captured our girl here,” Sierra smirks.
Rach starts to turn her head and the camera tilts down, then back up. “It’s cool to meet you and stuff, but I got to go. Sorry. Helping Mom with dinner.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointed.
“Sorry,” she feigns a nervous smile and waves. “TTYL!” Her eyes dart away from the camera for just a second and she mouths a kiss before clicking off.
I turn to mush and Sierra lets out a long “Ooooh.”
“So?” I wait for the verdict.
“She’s fucking gorgeous. Even I might go gay for her,” Sierra declares.
“You’d better not,” I threaten jokingly.
Justin’s voice comes on. “She is really pretty, but I wouldn’t. You know. I wouldn’t go straight for her.”
“Good,” I say firmly. “Here’s hoping she feels the same way about going straight for you.”
Chapter 11
“Sarah?” my dad calls out. “Rach is here.”
I’m still upstairs and still futzing around trying to figure out for sure what I’m wearing. I ran all my clothes through the wash when Rach left after lunch. I decide to go for retro and wear the same rose T-shirt I did when we went to the clam shack, which I’ve started to think of as our first date, even though I guess we haven’t been on a real date at all yet.
I resolve to take her out on a proper date, which is kind of another way of ignoring that she’s here and I’m nervous because she’s spending the night. It seemed like a great idea when we were talking about Doctor Who, but it’s a little different now that we’re sneaking off to make out under a beach tent and holding hands under the table at lunch. It feels like things are going so fast, but at the same time I don’t want them to slow down a bit.
“Be right down,” I call down the stairs.
As I say it, I realize that the whole thing is a little weird. Just this morning, she came right up and now we’re reenacting some kind of weird TV sitcom date scene where the the date is waiting downstairs for the girl to get ready? Please. Does this mean my parents have figured it out and are now treating her as my girlfriend? No, Sarah, you’re losing your mind. Rach is here to watch TV, I think as I slip my feet into the flip flops and head down the stairs.
“Hey Rach,” I give a little wave. She’s in the kitchen, standing next to the table where my parents are seated. I walk in. It feels strange not to go up and kiss her, but I try to remember it’s only been a couple of days since we met, much less admitted we felt something for each other.
“Root beer? Coffee?”
“Fish fingers and custard?” she asks.
“Wrong Doctor,” I joke back. My parents look at us like we’re crazy.
We both sit down and I turn on the TV and tune to the right station. I checked to make sure we get it, but suddenly I’m afraid it’ll come up as unsubscribed. It’s stupid because there’s no reason it would and it’s basic cable, I think. I am convinced for a second that the whole date is going to fall apart. It doesn’t, of course, and the last episode of the previous season appears.
“Perfect,” Rach says.
My mom announces, “We’ll be outside on the deck. It seems like a shame to sit in here watching TV on such a nice night.”
Rach and I look at each other and shrug. “It’s the new season. We kind of want to watch it.”
She casts us a dubious glance. “I picked up some cookies and soda, and there’s a bag of popcorn if you want to make kettle corn, and there’s some microwave pouches if you don’t want to go to the trouble.”
When they leave the room, Rach and I intertwine our hands. “I don’t think they can see,” I say and lean over and we share a quick, somewhat chaste kiss. My stomach does a nervous little dance half from being with her and half from terror my parents will walk in and I’ll have to explain everything. I’ve read a couple of stories online from girls who got caught with their girlfriends and it doesn’t sound like a great way to come out.
I grab some root beers, which my mom got in response to my new obsession with the beverage and we settle in and watch the episode. It’s followed by a “best of” thing that’s supposed to set us up for the new season. About halfway through my parents wander in and announce they’re going to make an early evening of it and head to bed, which leaves me very relieved. I know they want to give us privacy because we’re teenagers and they’re not, but all I can think of is if they only knew what was really going on.
Okay, I’m a little nervous about it as well. “Popcorn?” I suggest. We have about fifteen minutes left before the new episode. That’ll give us something to do that isn’t, well, isn’t making out or something.
“Popcorn? Definitely,” she declares.
We go into the kitchen and she peeks around conspiratorially, then walks over, puts her hands on my hips, leans forward, and kisses me.
“Later,” I laugh nervously and slip out of her grasp. “We only have fifteen minutes to make it.”
“So? It takes five minutes,” she waves the bag of microwave popcorn.
“No way. We’re getting the real stuff,” I say and pull out a big pot and put it on the stove to heat.
She regards me as if I’m deranged.
“Come on! Kettle corn. Get some butter, put it in a bowl, and melt it. You can use the microwave for that, but I’ll take care of cooking the popcorn the right way.”
I pour some oil and toss three kernels to start it off.
“You know, the microwave is a lot easier,” she says, sounding intrigued, but a little dubious.
“Have you seriously never made popcorn?”
“Yeah. You put it in a microwave,” she says, her voice a bit defensive.
“Trust me, it’s better. This is like the stuff at the movie theater. Only better. Real butter. If you melt it.”
“Whatever you say boss,” she laughs and starts to put some butter in a dish and starts it zapping. I watch her as she works. She
has this great way she moves, confident and definitely a little cocky. I’m clearly making her nervous because she keeps looking back at me.
She’s saved by the first three pops clanging against the lid. I dump the rest into the hot oil and she watches as I shake the pot, dodging the steam coming out around the lid. Finally, it slows and I put it down on the stove and peek inside just in time for a kernel to fly out and hit me in the face.
“Good job Sarah!” she laughs and taunts me with the microwave package.
I shake the pot a few more times as I give her a glare and frown back, but can’t hold it and break out into a grin. She strolls over with this sexy kind of strut and slowly traces a finger across my shoulder.
A pleasurable shiver flows down my back, drawing my attention from the steaming pot. “Rach…” I whine, “Don’t distract me or I’m going to burn this. And if we set off the smoke detector, then where are we going to be?”
* * *
We finish off the bowl of popcorn like a pair of ravenous beasts—what kind of beasts, I’m not sure. During a commercial, I bring the bowl back into the kitchen. When I come back, I sit down closer and this time lean back against her side and she wraps her arms around me. I stretch my head around and we share a quick kiss, then watch the rest of the show snuggling.
“That was good,” I say as the credits roll to the familiar theme. I’m not sure what’s going to happen now. This was the excuse to get together, but what now? Does she expect something? I know we’re not just going to go to sleep, but I’m still not sure exactly what else I want to do.
“Thanks for having me over to watch it,” she says. Her voice gives me a little confidence because she sounds kind of unsure too.
“So what do you want to do now?” I ask.
“Whatever.”
“More TV?” I ask.
“Sure,” she shrugs, picking up the remote.
“Maybe more TV upstairs?” I squeak out. “There’s one in my bedroom.”
She sits up on the couch, shrugs, then nods a few times. “Yeah. Okay.” Her voice is soft and tremulous.
I lean my head back and give her a quick peck and get up off the couch. She stands and wipes a hand against her jeans.
“Cute bag,” I say, picking up her tote and holding it out for her.
“Oh yeah, my stuff,” she says.
The bag is brown canvas, retro-industrial looking with a variety of buff silver buckles and black leather straps. Very stylish. Very Rachel. It’s a pretty vivid contrast from the one I brought when I slept over at her place, which was a bit of swag my dad picked up at a trade show, plain canvas with the logo of some legal publishing company I’d never heard of.
Once upon a time, there was a matching mug, until I dropped it emptying the dishwasher at home.
I give her a smile, embarrassed that I’m standing there contemplating free coffee mugs and dishwashers, then head upstairs. She follows me silently a few feet behind.
“That’s the bathroom,” I point out as we walk past the open door. “You can change into pajamas in there if you want.”
“Cool,” she says, going in and shutting the door behind her.
I take a deep breath, thinking as my stomach roils with nervousness that all that popcorn probably wasn’t such a great idea. I’d cleaned up my stuff and made the two beds. My PJs are laid out on mine. They’re my best pair, a tank with matching polka dot bottoms I got from Forever 21. They look wicked cute on me and cover everything up. Well everything, but a little flash of tummy. When I first brought them home, that part got a slightly disapproving “my daughter is growing up” eyebrow raise from my dad. That’s pretty much what I’m going for tonight or I thought I was.
There’s a soft knock at the door. “It’s okay to come in,” I respond.
She opens the door, takes a few tentative steps, then stops dead in her tracks and stares, her lips just slightly parted. “Sarah, you are fucking amazing in those.”
I cast my face down a little and smile shyly. “Thanks.” She’s got on sweats and a white tank that without a bra hangs on her body just so and looks pretty good to me.
I pick up the remote and click the TV on. She’s put her bag down and is sitting upright on the edge of the other bed, bouncing her knee and looking kind of like someone in a waiting room or something. I pat the bed next to me. “You can’t really see from there,” I motion to her bed and then to the TV, which is straight in front of my bed. That’s the whole reason I chose this bed, back six days and a million years ago when I thought I was going to be holed up in here doing nothing for two weeks.
She sits down and leans against me. The windows are open and now that it’s getting late the room is pretty cool and her body next to mine is a welcome warmth. I snuggle into her and pull my legs back to slip my feet under the light blue duvet piled at the foot of the bed. She does the same and slides her leg against mine.
“Sarah?”
“Yeah?”
“This is totally fucking weird,” she says and then starts giggling.
I slip my arm around her shoulder and give her a friendly hug, joining in the laughing. “God. It’s utterly weird. Can I make a confession?”
“Let me guess,” she says her voice soft, “you’re as scared of what happens next as I am?”
“No,” I break out giggling. “Way more scared.”
“I doubt that,” she says. “You know, we don’t have to do anything.”
“Well we’re going to do something. Watch TV right?”
We break down laughing again and I nuzzle the soft clear skin of her face with my nose and suddenly our lips are together. I turn to the side and embrace her and we slowly drift down to lie next to each other. I dart my tongue into her mouth as our lips crash together repeatedly as if nothing could ever feel so good.
We’ve both lost track of time and as she slides her hand under my shirt, touching me intimately. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt, as if each touch goes through my entire body, but it’s interrupted as the TV kicks out of the menu and back to live TV and the room is filled with the sounds of battle and screams from a repeat of Game of Thrones.
I pull back from her, panting and trying to suppress giggling. “Timing is everything.” I search through the rumpled bedsheets for the remote control as she watches me, her face a mixture of amusement and impatience.
I finally pull the remote out and brandish it in the air. “Love the show, but really not a plus right now,” I smirk and click the TV off.
“Definitely not a plus,” she says, obviously amused.
I think about her hand on me. “This isn’t a plus either,” I say and pull the crop top tank over my shoulders.
“Wow,” she gasps. “You are so beautiful Sarah,” she says as her eyes wander across my body. She smiles nervously, then slips her own shirt over her head. I kiss her, our bodies touching, this time skin to skin. The feeling is incredible and luxuriating in the mutual warmth, we slip once again down onto the bed.
The moment comes all at once. I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been making out, but I’m tracing kisses down her tummy and I stop and tickle her belly button with my tongue. I expect her to laugh. Of all the things going on, I’m surprised by how much fun this is. I don’t mean the “sexy times fun,” though that’s pretty great, but just plain fun. Instead of laughing though, she lifts her bottom and slides her sweats down, kicking them off and lying nude beneath me.
The mind is a funny thing. I can think about something trivial and without knowing it, I’m lost in my thoughts for minutes until Justin or Sierra snaps a finger in front of my face to get me back to reality. Then other times, in your mind, you have the most elaborate thoughts and entire fantasies, but they take just a moment and nobody even notices. This is one of those times.
My mouth goes dry as I peer at her body. I know what she expects and I want to do it so much. It’s something I’ve fantasized about since I was thirteen and figured out girls were really my thing. But I know if we k
eep going, things are going to get real. Lesbian graduation day or something.
I also know I can stop and that’s where this whole imagination and the mind thing comes in because I see this whole future that could be. I’ll stop right here, pull back, and we’ll just go to sleep. At the end of the week, we’ll say our goodbyes, and go on with our lives. Someday, years from now, after too much wine, I’ll confide in my best friend—a woman I haven’t even met yet—that this one time I engaged in some “youthful experimentation” or whatever it is people say. We laugh and go back to our husbands and that’s my life.
And that whole imagined life comes into existence and disappears in a mere instant before Rach can even guess that I was thinking about it. That life isn’t for me. Rachel can never be just an experiment. I’m crazy about her and more importantly, this is who I am. I like girls. I like her. I want her. It’s that simple. It’s not going to change. And I want this.
I cast a smile up at her and join her in slipping my bottoms off. Then I run those kisses down her tummy again. This time I don’t stop at her belly button.
Chapter 12
I wake up, the big spoon with Rachel in my arms. Her body softly presses and relaxes against my own in rhythm with her breathing. Until you actually spend the night with someone, you never realize how warm another person’s body feels. It feels right. She feels right. I plant a gentle kiss on her shoulder, then nuzzle her with my cheek.
She’s still sound asleep and I lie there with her close, playing with her hair. I should be saying that I have all these romantic thoughts and I do have them, but mostly I keep coming back to “Holy shit, I have a girlfriend” and its companion “Holy shit, we just had sex.” Two days ago I’d never kissed a girl before and I’m waking up with one in my arms? Really? Of all the things I’ve been wrong about in my life, this one was at the top. The family vacation on Cape Cod was definitely not boring. I can’t imagine this happening at all back home, never mind so quickly, but none of the rules seem to apply on Cape.
It’s still really early. I don’t want to wake her up, or really, I guess, what I don’t want is to let her out of my arms. I wasn’t very smart last night though. The door is unlocked. I try to disentangle myself without waking Rachel and pad across the room to turn the lock, then scurry back and slip back into bed.
