But it would be so much more difficult than it was back home. The condo was not large, and Oma slept with her bedroom door cracked open. Plus, she knew everyone in the building. If anyone saw us, they would tell her. And on top of all that, as I’d told Jess, there really was nowhere to go. I opened my mouth to say these things, but she spoke before I could begin, the displeasure heavy in her voice.
“Fine. We’ll just stay in.”
I kept washing dishes, the water scalding my hands. I didn’t know what to say.
After a few minutes, she jumped down from the countertop and started drying the things that were too large for the dishwasher. “It’ll be nice to just catch up,” she said quietly, and I turned the water to cool.
It was—nice, I mean. Oma went to bed early, and we sat out on the balcony again in the warm night air, sipping cold mint tea and watching the reflection of the streetlights on the water. I wasn’t surprised when Jess pulled out a flask and offered it to me. But I shook my head, and she, too, didn’t seem surprised at my refusal.
“Suit yourself,” she said, tipping it into her tea. Vodka, maybe, or gin. I didn’t try to stop her. Technically, I wasn’t breaking the rule I’d agreed to with Oma. I thought it was sort of a silly rule, because we wouldn’t hurt anyone by getting a little drunk at a sleepover. But unlike my parents, Oma actually trusted me. I didn’t want to disappoint her.
Jess and I talked for hours. Mostly, she talked. She told me about problems with Patrick—he showed up to things late, she’d seen him flirting with another girl—and a little about Ethan, things I already knew from texting with him. She told me about adventures with Ashleigh that had her giggling as she explained them but didn’t sound that funny to me. She named people on the periphery whom I didn’t know. She didn’t bring up the things we used to talk about, big questions about our futures or books we had both read or complaints about our parents. I got caught up on all the things I didn’t need to know.
She started getting tipsier and cozier, tilting her head on my shoulder and leaving her hand on my knee. But it wasn’t right. I shied away from her even as I wanted to lean in.
It was late, almost midnight, when she laughed and said, “Oh my God, and then this one time at Ashleigh’s house, her older sister and her girlfriend were home from college for the weekend, and they brought this rum—”
“Wait, Laura has a girlfriend?” I remembered Laura King, Ashleigh’s older sister. She was two years older than us and had been well-known at Greenmont, a lacrosse star with supernaturally gorgeous hair. I felt the conversation open up to me. A possibility. A way in.
“Yeah. They’ve been together for, like, six months.”
“That’s cool.”
“Anyway—”
“Do you know if she’s out to her family?”
“Um…” Jess tipped her head up to the sky. My heart was racing. “Yeah, I guess. Yeah. Because she brought the girl home. She was cool. I think she was the one who got the rum. Why? Did you know Laura?”
“No. Just wondering, I guess.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. I could feel the moment slipping away. “Anyway—”
“Actually—”
Jess stopped. She turned her body toward me and let out a heavy sigh. “What is it?”
“I think I…um. I think Laura and I have that in common.”
“What?” She was drunk, impatient.
I took a deep breath. I said, “I think I’m bisexual. It turns out.”
Jess stared at me. Then she chuckled, bit her lip. “Huh,” she said.
Instantly, I regretted it. I watched her face, hoping against hope that she would not connect this with the kiss in Ethan’s bedroom. I wondered if the condominium board would be able to trace it back to me if I vomited over the balcony. I waited for her to speak again.
“Well,” she said finally, “that’s cool.”
“The way you’re saying that doesn’t sound like it’s cool,” I managed.
“No, it is. It’s cool. I’m glad you told me.” She sighed, leaned back on her elbows, and looked at me with affection. She reached up and tousled my hair, something she only did when she was drunk. I relaxed the tiniest bit. “I just think it’s funny that you move up here and make these new friends who are queer, and suddenly you realize you are, too. I just feel like, you know. You’re a new woman up here.”
“It has nothing to do with Kitty and Claire,” I said, even though I wasn’t entirely sure if that was true. I could hear the edge of panic in my voice. I took a deep, long breath. The air was warming but still crisp this time of year.
“What does it have to do with, then? Do you like someone here? I thought you were into that guy Sam, but is there a girl?”
I looked at her, stretched out there on Oma’s balcony, her hair falling on her shoulders, her shirt riding up to expose a soft line of bare skin. I remembered how her lips had felt on mine, her tongue in my mouth. How our bodies fit together—that night at the dance in the stall and so many other nights, asleep in the same bed, sharing the same space. I wanted to dissolve myself inside her. To have her surround me so completely that I could feel nothing else.
“No,” I said finally. “It was just something I figured out, I guess.”
“Well,” she said. She sat up again and squeezed my hand, smiled. “It doesn’t change anything, as far as I’m concerned. You’re still my best friend. You just have a larger dating pool. I mean, I’m jealous.”
“Yeah.” I tried to return her smile. She hadn’t brought up the kiss.
She took a long sip from her teacup. “But yeah,” she said, “so Laura’s girlfriend had bought this rum, and we were all at Patrick’s house, and his parents were out with friends…”
We talked for a while longer, and I let her voice wash over me without listening. I had told her. Part of it, at least. I should have been relieved, but relief didn’t come. Instead, I just felt sad. I wished I was not so committed to following Oma’s rules. I could’ve used some vodka.
After she finished yet another long, rambling story about her and Ashleigh, I rose, grateful for the steadiness of my feet underneath me. “I’m gonna go to bed,” I said.
“Oh.” Jess looked up at me, her pupils wide and dark. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s just been a tiring week.”
“Okay. I think I’ll stay up a little bit.”
“I’ll wake you in the morning for brunch. We need to leave around eleven.”
“Okay.”
I turned to go inside, leaving her with her legs swinging off the balcony into the night. As I was about to slide the door closed, she spoke up. “I love you,” she said.
I paused, looking at her, the curves of her waist and her smooth sloping shoulders and her hair brushing against her neck. The cup next to her was almost empty. “I love you, too,” I said and closed the door.
Nineteen
I had made the walk downtown many, many times. I never ceased to love it: quiet and still, with the streets laid out in a rough grid, I could take any number of paths to the same destination, depending on how much time I wanted to spend walking. There was the way that went by the cemetery, or the route that intersected with the wholesale bakery that sometimes gave out free samples, or the one that led past the shade tree with a bench that was good for reading.
I felt more like myself, walking alone on these narrow, familiar streets, than anywhere else. The only other times I could remember feeling so completely in my element were the long hours I used to spend with Jess at home, in the park or in our rooms, just the two of us. I assumed that bringing these things together would result in a combination as perfect as each experience was apart.
This was not the case.
“God, there is actually nothing to do in this town, is there?” Jess yawned.
“It’s not like home is a thriving metropol
is,” I said. I was trying hard not to be annoyed. I adjusted my camera strap around my neck. The thin strap that had been comfortable over sweaters was less ideal on bare skin; I had to ask Sam where he had bought his, which was nicer, made of embroidered canvas.
“Yeah, but there’s a movie theater,” Jess said. “And a mall and bookstores. And you can drive everywhere. You don’t have to walk.”
“We have a used bookstore,” I pointed out. “And there’s a movie theater if you drive fifteen or twenty minutes north. But I like walking. At home, we never get to walk anywhere.”
She tipped her enormous sunglasses down at me, skeptical. “But it takes so much longer.”
“But it’s nicer. It’s…contemplative.”
“Okay, well, I can be contemplative when I’m not hungover.”
I bit my lip and didn’t tell her that she shouldn’t have been drinking in the first place. We passed the cemetery in silence. It was the kind of thing I thought she would like, but she was in such a mood, and I felt peculiarly protective of the graves.
As we turned the last corner, I saw Sam and Claire and Kitty had beat us to Harold’s. The sight of them leaning against the bright blue wall, usually so wonderful, made my stomach turn. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t the Jess I wanted them to meet. But I couldn’t turn back. They had seen us. Claire started waving.
I exchanged hugs with everyone as Jess hung back a little, and then I said, “Jess, this is Claire, Kitty, and Sam,” pointing to each of them in turn. “Y’all, this is Jess!”
Blessedly, she took off her sunglasses and smiled. “Nice to meet you guys,” she said. “June has told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already.”
“Same here,” Kitty said.
Claire was the first to step forward for a hug. The others followed, and as they did, I started to breathe a little easier. It was understandable that Jess had woken up in a bad mood. It was a little too warm out, she was a little hungover, she’d had a long car ride yesterday.
“Table for five?” Leah called from the door. I introduced her to Jess, and Leah greeted her so warmly that by the time we were all tucked into a booth, Jess and I opposite Kitty and Claire with Sam in a chair at the end, I really did feel fine.
Jess opened her menu. “So, what’s good here?”
The table exploded with suggestions.
After we ordered, Claire asked how Jess and Patrick had met, and Jess smiled and told her. She asked how Claire and Kitty had met; they told their story, and Jess cooed and laughed at the right places. I asked how Claire’s practice was going for her end-of-year piano recital in a few weeks. Jess and Kitty talked about a book they had both read recently, and though they disagreed—Jess had liked it, Kitty hadn’t—at least it was a shared experience. We talked again about standardized tests.
There were times, of course, where Claire, Kitty, Sam, and I were giggling over something and Jess didn’t know enough context to join us. And other times, when Jess was telling a story about a party where she and Ashleigh had been wasted—moments when she brushed aside the fact that she couldn’t quite remember what had happened—when I was aware of Kitty’s eyes flicking to Claire’s, laughter coming forced if it came at all.
As the others spoke, I kept sneaking glances at Jess, trying to read her expression. Last night, I had thought she was enjoying dinner, when she had apparently been bored. Was she bored now? Did she like my friends? Did she approve? She looked at her phone a lot, and I knew the others noticed. But then she smiled with a genuine joy, and I hoped the others noticed that, too.
By the time our food arrived, I was cautiously optimistic. The hardest part was over. No one was at their best when they were hungry; everything was better with pancakes. Kitty took a spoonful of her grits bowl and said, “So, Jess, has June taken her portrait of you yet?”
Jess looked at her pancakes—she had taken Claire’s recommendation—and shook her head. “No, and I don’t totally understand it. What’s the deal with the portrait?”
“It’s our final assignment for our photo class. We’re supposed to take pictures of people who are meaningful to us. And obviously, you’re incredibly meaningful to me.” The words came out much more serious than I’d intended. Maybe because I had explained this to her at least three times over the phone. I took an enormous bite of waffles to hide my discomfort.
She rolled her eyes. “Seems fake.”
I laughed; I wasn’t sure what else to do. But the waffles felt like cement in my stomach. She continued.
“You can take pictures of your friends anytime. That’s not a class project. Or if it is, it’s the easiest project ever.”
Sam had been pretty quiet, but now he spoke up. “It’s more than that. We’ve been studying portraiture for weeks now. And it’s easy to take a decent photo, but it’s hard to take a really great one.” The table sat in awkward silence for a moment before Sam cleared his throat. “June is an awesome photographer. I don’t know if she’s showed you any of her stuff, but…”
“I saw some last night,” Jess said. There was a tightness in her voice. “They’re cool. I guess I just don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?” Sam asked.
Jess moved some food around on her plate with her fork. “The point. I mean, anyone can take a photo. I don’t get why you would want to spend hours and hours in the darkroom, or whatever, to get the same exact thing you can have with your phone immediately.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I said.
Sam looked at me sharply. “It is a big deal,” he said. “You’re really proud of this work. You’ve been spending a ton of time on it.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I guess.” I stared at my plate, at the elaborate swirls of strawberries and cream melting into the waffle squares. I didn’t want to look at anyone else. I expected Sam or Jess to say something, but when I glanced up, they were studiously avoiding each other’s eyes. The silence hung in the air for a long, long time.
“More coffee?” Leah swung by our table. I pulled myself together to hold out my cup for a refill.
“June, did Sam and I tell you about the matzo incident at Passover a few weeks ago?” Claire asked, helping herself to some syrup. “It involved a squirrel.”
I loved Claire infinitely in that moment. “No. Please explain.”
“I honestly think it wouldn’t have been that big a deal if it hadn’t gotten inside the house,” Sam said.
“But it did get inside the house, didn’t it?”
I listened to their story and ate my waffles. But Jess was silent for the rest of the meal. I felt the distance between us growing greater, inches expanding into miles. I saw the way Sam and Kitty and Claire looked at me between sentences and knew that my attempt to appear relaxed was not working.
We were supposed to walk around town after lunch. I was hoping to take Jess to a park I liked and show her some of the weird old magazines in the antique stores. Then, I was going to show her the campus: the dorms and the art building and Oma’s classroom.
Now, as she sat silently beside me, none of that seemed viable.
After we paid, I cleared my throat. “I think Jess and I are gonna head back to the condo,” I said. Though everyone had known the original plan, no one objected. I didn’t mention dinner, either; we had talked about them coming over to Oma’s to cook, but now I wasn’t sure.
“Sorry if I was a downer,” Jess said, the first words she had spoken in ages. “I’m just super hungover.”
The silence that followed made me want to disappear. Was I imagining it, or were the others avoiding my eyes?
“We’ll see you later,” Kitty said noncommittally as we all got up from the booth. “It was great to meet you, Jess.”
“You too,” Jess said. We exchanged hugs. I didn’t linger. I wanted desperately to be away from Harold’s, away from my friends, away from all the ind
efinable awkwardness that had eclipsed what was supposed to be a nice meal.
Jess and I walked without talking for a while. I kept going over the conversation in my head, trying to figure out why things had gone wrong, until I started second-guessing that anything had gone wrong at all. Maybe I was too sensitive; maybe she really was just tired.
“Are you okay?” I ventured after a few minutes.
She sighed. “I’m fine.”
And I knew I wasn’t imagining it.
We passed the soccer field, the grass lush and overgrown in the green chaos of spring. We passed the bakery with the old wooden table and chairs set out in front, as if waiting for a couple to sit down and have coffee. We passed my favorite of the many churches, its whitewashed walls shining in the sun, its red doors flung open to the air. I wanted so badly for her to see these things like I did, their astonishing ordinary beauty. But she kept her sunglasses on and looked at the ground or at her phone as she walked.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
More silence.
Without a solid plan for her portrait, I had been hoping to take a picture of her somewhere on this walk. In many ways, it was not unlike the time we used to spend together at home: alone and outside. But I wasn’t seeing any locations that inspired me. I was preparing to give up and snap a picture at home when we passed by the elementary school and its playground.
“Jess, look.” I pointed to the empty swing set.
“Yeah, what?”
“It’s like the park at home.” The setting was different, but the swing set was the same, blue metal posts and two faded red rubber seats. “Could I take a picture of you there?”
She was silent for a moment, her jaw set. “Okay,” she said finally.
“Cool!” I was hoping some forced cheerfulness would make a dent in her mood. We walked around the wire fence until we came to an unlocked gate. I gestured Jess toward the swing set and held my camera up to my eye, adjusting the focus. Through the viewfinder, she moved listlessly, trailing her fingers across the chains. I snapped a shot; she turned.
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