by Kyle Autumn
Would a best friend let this slide? Or would she pursue the conversation anyway? Honestly, I don’t know. All I know is I don’t want to lose her. So I shut my mouth. The truth is out there. I guess it’s up to her to decide what to do with it.
***
Zo
Bringing her back to my place was a no-brainer. What’s not is what to do about what she said last night. She was drunk. That’s not even a question. But I’ve known her too long not to believe her. Love can mean many things, and there are different kinds of love. Yet she didn’t say that she loves me. She said that she’s in love with me. And that’s very, very different.
I could be cautious and say that I heard her wrong. Maybe something got lost in translation and I misheard what she’d said. But I saw it in her eyes too. The words fell off her lips and landed right in my heart. Right in that spot I’ve always had reserved for her.
Maybe I’m a coward—well, yeah. I’m totally a coward. That’s all there is to it. I’ve built my life to be what was expected of me. Working a steady job, living on my own, and dating men in the hopes of marrying one and having children with him someday. That’s how my life is supposed to be.
The problem is that’s not what I want. While I enjoy my apartment and my job as a dental assistant, I’ve tolerated dating. Not because I don’t enjoy men. I do, and some of the men I’ve dated have been great. In and out of bed—because don’t get me wrong: I’m no virgin. They just haven’t been great for me. No one’s great for me.
Except my best friend. But, according to my parents and their beliefs, that would be an abomination. And it’d be an even bigger abomination if their daughter turned out to be a lesbian.
I live and breathe for my parents, seeing as it’s a miracle I’m even here. But that’s meant living up to their expectations no matter the cost to me. No matter if it means denying myself the one thing I want more than life itself.
It doesn’t help that it’s a recent development. One I’ve been trying to dismiss as normal feelings for a best friend. Someone you deeply care about because you’ve known them so long that they’ve become a part of you. But, when those feelings and thoughts turned into the romantic kind, I knew I had a problem.
Now, the problem’s even bigger. Because I apparently have a shot at making these feelings and thoughts a reality. There’s a chance they could come true. But their coming true means possibly losing my family. I have no idea what I’d do without my family. Yet Patti’s my family too. I’d been worried about losing her before she admitted how she felt. Now that I know that my feelings are reciprocated, that worry is gone. One less concern is good. The worry of losing my family will never go away.
I’ve disappointed her though. Her hunched position clearly telegraphs that. By choosing to ignore this, I’ve put us back in separate boxes. Put us right back to square one. And that’s not where she wanted to be, even if I don’t know why yesterday was that much different than any other day.
“Look,” I tell her as she sips her coffee. “I have to get to work. But feel free to stay as long as you want. Shower…whatever.” I rise from the couch and approach the front door.
She brings her legs up onto the couch and bends them to her left, watching me as I get my socks and my shoes on. Her gaze is hot, like a laser beam on me. But I have to ignore it. Coming face-to-face with this won’t do me any good right now. So, as I grab my purse, I keep my back turned to her. She stops me with one word though. My favorite word to leave her lips.
“Zed.”
The soft syllable roots me to the floor. Pauses my hand above the door handle. Still, I keep my back to her, but I peek over my shoulder. The pain on her face slices into my heart.
“I meant it. You should know.”
That’s all she says. It’s all the clarification she needs to give. No need to specify; we both know what she’s referring to. Doesn’t matter though. I can’t bring myself to acknowledge it. And I’ll break if I see how much ignoring her hurts. Instead, I’ll spend the rest of the day worrying about how my best friend is feeling, even though I know I have all the power to make her pain go away.
~~~
At work, I can’t get my head in the game. All day, I’ve called our regulars by the wrong names and spaced out while patients have been talking to me. Even Dr. Phelps had to ask if I was okay, and he usually tries to stay out of his dental assistants’ business. I guess I’m just a hot mess today. But I really need my head clear in twenty minutes because that’s when I’ll be at my parents’ house for regular Friday dinner.
The drive over gives me no clarity though. I’m still a hot mess. And I’m an even bigger hot mess when I pull up to their house and discover Patti’s car out front. Throughout the years, she’s occasionally come to Friday dinner. My family loves her almost as much as they love me, mostly because they didn’t want only one child, but that’s the hand they were dealt. So, when Patti and I became best friends, they started treating her like she was their own.
And she’s been grateful since day one. She was raised by her grandparents when her parents died in a car accident. Then, when her grandparents died, she was on her own. So she’s appreciated having my family take her in. It’s also been a way for me to keep her close. But it’s also why she has to know how seismic what she said to me is. She knows my parents as well as I do, and they won’t take too kindly to this. Not in the least.
“Hey, sweetie!” my mom gushes when I walk inside the house. “Dinner’s almost ready. I just have to take the rolls out of the oven.” As she hugs me, her sweet-smelling perfume envelops me. It’s the scent of my childhood, and memories rush into my mind while I embrace her.
Like the times she hugged me before each band concert in high school. The times she brought me soup and tea and felt my forehead when I was sick. And the times she helped me put my backpack on when I was a child. Even the times in my adult life when we’ve stood next to each other and cooked Friday dinner together. If I admit that I feel for Patti the way she feels for me, will all of those be just what they are—memories?
“Patti’s in the kitchen. She told us something pretty interesting, too,” she tells me when she pulls away.
My stomach drops to the floor. But I quickly realize that she couldn’t have told her about what she said last night. My mother wouldn’t be smiling at me if she had. Not knowing where she’s going with this has adrenaline rushing through my veins anyway.
She motions for me to follow her into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell us you are thinking about getting a cat?”
Relief like no other floods through me. Good grief. I told Patti that a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t followed through on it. I’m guessing it was something to talk about so she didn’t spill her guts to my mom like she did to me last night. I’m not ready to face her yet though. I could barely look at her this morning, but it’s good to know she still feels welcome at my parents’ house.
As I trail behind my mom, I say, “I wasn’t sure about it yet. I thought I’d tell you when I’d put more thought into it.”
“I hope you do,” she tells me. “I worry about you being there at your house all alone. Maybe you should get a big dog instead. At least until you get married. Then the man of your dreams will keep you safe.”
I roll my eyes at her usual type of comment. Once we reach the kitchen, the smell of stew hits my nose. It’s one of my favorite meals she makes, and my stomach starts growling with the anticipation of dipping a roll into the thick soup. After the day I’ve had, I’m ready to sit back and relax. Enjoy a normal night and a good meal with my parents.
But then my gaze lands on Patti, who’s sitting at the table and laughing at something my father must have said. He’s stirring the stew for my mom, and his smile toward her melts me a little. I want nothing more than for my father to smile at both me and Patti for the rest of our lives. I’m afraid, though, that my wish won’t come true if anything happens between us.
The growls in my stomach turn into kno
ts of fear. However, when Patti turns her attention to me and winks, all seems right with the world. I thought she’d still be in intense-mode, but she’s sharing a laugh with my father as my mom sets the table. So I set my purse on the counter and take a seat at the four-person table. Right next to Patti. Where I’ve always sat.
“Hi, Zoeybell,” my dad says when he embraces me. He’s called me that since my parents brought me home from the hospital, and even though I’m twenty-eight now, it’ll never get old.
“Hey, Dad,” I respond, squeezing him tight.
“Patti was just telling me about last night,” he informs me when he pulls back.
And there my stomach goes again. Dropping to the floor, tying itself in knots a Boy Scout can’t undo.
“She did?” I carefully question, eyeing her.
“Yep. Taking her home after she’d forgotten her limits.” With his back to me as he stirs the stew one last time, he says, “You two take such good care of each other. Just like real sisters would.” Then he smiles at us. “Who’s ready to eat?”
Not me. Not me at all. I’m ready to throw up all over the table. But I won’t do that. I’ll just keep secrets and worry myself to death instead.
Chapter 4
Patti
Dinner went well. She hadn’t been expecting me, but that’s probably because she didn’t check her phone at work. And, even though her parents didn’t seem to notice she was acting weird all night, I knew—especially when she barely touched her favorite stew. So, to me, it’s no surprise when we leave their house and she tells me we need to talk.
“Follow me to my place, then,” I tell her. After what happened last night, I need to sleep in my own bed tonight. And I assume this talk is going to take a while.
The drive there is nerve-racking. Nerves coil in my stomach, but I shut them down. It’s just Zo. Zed. My best friend. There’s nothing scary about her. Except the fact that she holds my future in the palm of her hand. One word and I’m destroyed. Hopefully, that’s in a good way.
When we get to my apartment, I unlock the door for us and let her go in first. She looks around like she hasn’t been here before. Like she’s not here at least once a week. And I wonder what she’s seeing. If my admission has somehow changed her perspective of me, my home, and us. Then I hope that it has changed her. I hope she realizes what she means to me, and I hope that it makes her look at me the same way.
But I know what’s at stake here. I know her parents just as well as she does. They’ve treated me like their daughter ever since Zo brought me into the fold. And they’re the closest thing I have to family. So I really do get it. And I would be putting it on the line too. But she’s worth it to me. Worth everything that could come from more than friendship between us.
“Is something different in here?” she asks, hanging her purse on the coatrack by the door. “It looks…neater.”
I don’t want to admit that I spent part of the day cleaning and dusting in anticipation of her coming by tonight. Sure, she knows I’m kind of a messy person. But she’s not, and she needs to see that I’m serious.
“Just cleaned it up a bit in here. It was probably time,” I say, laughing a bit. Trying to play it all down.
I don’t think I get one past her though. Oh well. There’s no point in lying to her now. I bared my soul, so I have nothing else left to hide. Nothing is more important than the truth I told her last night.
Still in her scrubs, she sits in her spot on my futon. It’s not lost on me that I have a coatrack but no couch or loveseat like a normal adult. I just like it better. It fits me better. And I’ve always liked how Zo thought it was cute. So the futon lives on.
“So,” she says, her palms on her thighs as she stares a hole into the carpet of my living room.
“Wine?” I ask. It seems like a wine kind of conversation.
“Yes,” she rushes out on an exhale, sounding relieved that I asked. Then she freezes, clears her throat, and says, “Please. That’d be great.”
“Long day?” That’s what I ask instead of any of the other questions shooting through my brain.
She nods as I go into the kitchen to get our drinks. “Something like that.”
When I return with two half-full glasses, she accepts one. We clink glasses in an odd “cheers” thing, and then, before I can finish asking her what she wanted to talk about—even though I know full well what she wants to talk about—she downs the entire glass of wine.
“Any chance you have more of that?” she questions, holding her glass out.
I take it from her. “Yes, but”—I set our glasses on the floor next to my feet and then return to my upright position—“not until we have the talk you wanted—”
The next thing I know, her lips are on mine. Her soft, wine-sweet lips. She’s kissing me with the lips of my dreams. And I, like a fly to honey, somehow return the kiss instead of stay frozen, rooted to my seat, like part of my brain wants to. No, in an act of mercy, the part of my brain that’s wanted this more than anything was allowed to make the decision on how to respond. And respond I do.
I cup her face as we kiss. My heart races and my stomach flutters when she softly moans at my touch. Heat courses through my veins, and a high I’ve never known nearly brings me to my knees even though I’m already sitting. Though her mouth stays closed, I still love it. It’s chaste but sweet. Innocent but perfect. All because it’s Zo.
Maybe it’s greedy, but I want more. I’ll never get enough of her. Yet I can’t push her. If it’s too fast too soon, I’ll lose her every way I have her. So I let her lead while her face is between my hands and her lips take mine.
When she pauses the kiss but leaves her lips against mine, I dare to open my eyes. And what I see takes my breath away. So much so that I break our connect to get a better view. A few inches away, she’s utterly serene. A light pink has tinged her cheeks, and she looks relaxed and happy. No worry creases her brow. None. At all. Even after what we just did. I thought she’d be freaking out, but apparently, I don’t know my girl—my best friend—like I thought I did.
Not if she just kissed me like it’s the only thing in the world she’s ever wanted to do. And like it’s the only thing in the world she’d fight to keep doing.
“Oh my god,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand.
I expected those words. But not the way she said them. I thought they’d come out with shock and fear. Not with the pure reverence she’s glowing with. Not with the absolute joy on her face and the love in her eyes.
Maybe I’m reading too much into this. Maybe I’m not though. When I go to ask, however, she puts a finger on my lips to stop me. Then she rises from my futon and holds her hand out. I look up at her, wondering what the hell is going on in her head. But she appears to be a woman on a mission, and I know for certain I’m not going to prevent her mission from being accomplished. Not when I have a feeling I’m the goal of the mission. No way.
When I take her hand, she tugs me up and turns her back to me. She leads me down the hall to my bedroom, and the whole way there, my heart pounds a wild sprint inside my chest. I’m afraid it’s going to explode when she pushes my door open and pounces on me again.
This kiss is much more passionate than the one before. She’s frantic now. The way I thought I would be when I finally got her in my arms—and this close to my bed. Yet I’m not. I’m straining to keep my head in this. To memorize the way she feels against me. To sear the imprint of her lips on mine. Because I’m not stupid. I’ll take this kiss because I’m selfish, but also because I don’t expect it to happen ever again.
She presses her front against mine now, so I wrap an arm around her to pull her closer. To test the waters, I open my mouth to see if she’ll let me in. Much to my delight, she does. And she tastes like the best things about life. Like all the things I’d die without. I have no idea how I’m going to give this up after this taste.
She slips her hands around my waist, and I run mine up her back and into her hair as
I direct us toward my bed. I have no intention of taking this too far, but there’s no reason why we can’t be more comfortable, right? Only, when I get us there, I start to realize what we’re doing.
We’re kissing. Zo and I. Kissing. It’s not a best-friend move. Even though I love her, adore her with every fiber of my being, I have zero clue where she stands. What state of mind she is in. Yes, I have exactly what I’ve been dying for for the past twelve years in the palm of my hand, but really, I’m the one in the palm of hers. And she has the ability to crush me with the closing of her fist. Or her mouth. Or herself out of my life.
No. I won’t have that. I won’t jeopardize having her around by doing something I’m not even sure she’s thought through. We were supposed to be talking, not making out. Though this is more than I felt I could ask for, that talk will do so much more for my heart and my mind. That is what I need right now. So, incredibly reluctantly yet fully resolutely, I break away from her mouth and grip her hips.
“Zed, I don’t think—” I start to say, but she stops me by shaking her head and kissing me again.
“Just let me have this one night,” she requests, pulling me back to her. “One night where my dreams have come true and you’re mine.”
“I’ve always been yours,” I breathe against her lips without any hesitation. “Always.”
It might be a mistake, but it’s mine to find out. Considering I’ve never been good at telling her no, I don’t start being good at it now. Instead, I let her find my lips again and pull me down to my bed. Where I kiss her until I forget how much it’ll kill me when it’s all over.