“That’s fine with us,” her dad says. “Might want to clear my papers off the spare bed. Goodnight, girls.” Her parents vanish upstairs.
Bren pops her head back in the kitchen. “Let me go clear my dad’s stuff. I’ll be back.”
I nod with a half-smile on my face. Bren disappears.
Rinse and scrub, I tell my brain. Her parent’s approval floors me. I can’t even imagine how my mother would handle me having a boy sleep over. Ha, wouldn’t happen. Not that she has anything to worry about. I wonder if she’d let Bren sleep over now—which could be dangerous. Bren in my bed … I can’t even let myself go there. Oh, wait. If Bren is sleeping in the guest room … then I’ll be sleeping in her bed. Yes, glorious yes.
Water sprinkles my face. “What are you smiling about?” Bren asks, drying her hand off and passing me the dishtowel.
“I … was thinking that I don’t have a nightshirt or a toothbrush. I sleep over at Sarabeth’s so much that I always have stuff over there.”
“No problem. Hold up.” She goes into a room down the hall. From the small glimpse I get, I see a Chinese lantern hanging in the corner. She returns with a large T-shirt; 10K sponsors dot the back of it. “Try this. Let me see if we have a spare toothbrush.” She flips on the bathroom light in the hall. Drawers open and close, and I hear her dig through them. I bring her T-shirt to my nose and inhale deep. It’s covered with that Bren-spice I can’t identify and the cool breeze smell from the beach. It’s pure heaven.
“Here’s this—” Bren steps out of the bathroom with a packaged toothbrush in her hand.
My face burns beet red. I pull the shirt away from my nose.
“That’s my dad’s shirt,” Bren says flatly.
My mouth could trap flies with it hanging open like this.
“I’m just kidding.” She chuckles.
“You are so mean.” I snatch the toothbrush from her and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, hoping the heat in my face dies down soon. “Dora toothbrush. Really, Bren? You’ve totally shattered my fantasy of you now.”
“My mom buys this stuff for my nieces and nephews. I swear.”
“Mmm-hmm. I’m sure.” Cannot believe I got busted sniffing her shirt.
Bren grabs my free hand, and our fingers interlock. We both stare at our joined hands.
“How’s your hand?” I crack open our joined palms to inspect it. She still has my bandage on it.
“It’s perfect. Had a good nurse.” Her crooked smile broadens mine. “You want to watch a movie or something?” Or something, my heart thuds.
My body goes loosey-goosey under her touch, and I do that stupid slow-bounce on my heels thing. “Sure,” I say, breathily.
She pivots toward her bedroom, drawing me tight against her back with our clasped hands. I follow close behind her. I’m sure she can feel the thump, thump, thump pounding from my chest.
Vintage movie posters plaster her room. On the bare brick wall, Casablanca, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, and Dr. No are framed, the prizes of the bunch. Sunny yellow curtains hang over the windows. Citrus-colored triangles spiral out in a sunburst pattern on her a tribal quilt. Tangerine sheets tuck underneath—her bed is actually made. I set the toothbrush and T-shirt at the foot.
“These photos are amazing.” A clothesline of magazine-quality snapshots hangs above her aqua metal desk. In one photo, she’s wearing a heavily embroidered tunic in the desert. In another, she’s huddled arm in arm with her basketball team.
Bren props herself up against the pile of pillows lining her headboard. “Thanks. My mom has a great eye for photography.” She flips on the television to Netflix. One arm tucks behind her head.
Indian style, I sit on the opposite side of the bed, stiff-backed. “Wait a minute, I thought your family didn’t own a television.”
“Ha. Yeah, well we didn’t until about week ago. One of my stipulations for moving here. Basic cable and Netflix only, though.” Bren reaches out, hooks her arm around my waist and snuggles me up right next to her. “I promise I won’t bite,” she says. My body tightens for a moment. Muscle by muscle I allow myself to relax into the pillows, into her. Her fingers softly trace circles on my arm as she searches for a movie.
Her boldness thrills me. Every time she touches me, it’s with a sureness and confidence I’ve yet to find in myself. I wonder how many girls she dated to build up that confidence.
“What?” She taps my leg. “You’re thinking again. I can tell because you’re scowling. Is it about what Sarabeth said?”
I tug at the frayed threads on my cut-offs. “That? Well, she was just being a real jerk tonight. I didn’t like some of the stuff she had to say about you, and I don’t know what she would think about me being … you know.”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Nope. Does that bother you?” I look into Bren’s eyes. “You know I don’t live in the same world as you. Your parents are amazing. They seemed almost … giddy I was here to see you. They didn’t even put flour on the floor.”
“Flour?”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “When my mom was a teenager, an ice storm forced her boyfriend to stay the night. My grandmother sprinkled flour on the carpet in the hall so she could see footprints on the floor in case they snuck out of their rooms in the middle of the night.”
She laughs. “That’s pretty smart. I guess my parents trust me. I’ve never given them a reason not to. But does it bother me you have to hide the greatest part of you?” We both watch her finger draw on my knee. “I wish it were different, but I’ve been in this situation before. It’s not impossible.”
I’d never before thought of my being gay as the best part of me, actually the opposite. I fiddle with her watchband. “So, you’ve dated other girls before.” I hold my breath, daring a peek from the corner of my eyes.
“Yes. Don’t tell me you haven’t dated before. Chelsea told me how lovesick you were over Dave.”
I punch her arm. “Ugh. I abhor Dave.” Her body shakes from laughing. “I think Chelsea just told you that because she wanted you for herself.”
“Probably. Chesty Hannigan is not subtle. She wanted me all right.” Bren grins a bit too smugly for me.
“That’s it.” I stand up like I’m going to leave.
Bren catches my arm and yanks me back, and I collapse onto her bed. “You’re not going anywhere.” She settles herself closer until our bodies lie parallel, a fist’s width apart. “I’m with the one I want, and it’s not her.” She smiles. Her face is so close, so beautiful. I fight the urge to smooth my fingers over her perfect brow. Out of habit, I glance around the room.
“Nobody’s here to see us, Kaycee.” Her hand grazes my arm and rests on my hip. Her touch sends tingles across my skin. “You’re free to be you. Do what you want.” The last part feels more like an offer instead of a suggestion.
What I want is for Bren to press her lips against mine. To see if kissing her is different than kissing the boys I’ve been with. For once I want to feed the thing inside of me that I’ve been fighting and let it feast on what it wants.
If the electricity charging inside me is any indication, I will not be disappointed.
But as much as I want this, I’m terrified. Scared I won’t live up to her expectations. Scared I won’t live up to my own. Scared that once I go there, there will be no turning back to the girl I was before. Too much energy builds between us. I need air. I start to roll myself away from her—
Bren’s hand clinches my hip. “Don’t run away.”
One look into her eyes and I know. “I don’t want to run away.”
“Then don’t.” Her gaze drops to my lips.
“I don’t know if I’m any good at this.” My voice sounds soft and frail. I don’t know if I’m talking about kissing or being gay. For the first time, I witness Bren’s cool demeanor slip away and her breathing grows
heavy. My words are an admission to my willingness to make the next step. It’s mine to make, not hers.
“Kiss me, Kaycee.” Her whisper-quiet words tickle my insides, imploring me.
I lean forward, erasing the gap between us, and press my mouth to hers. Her lips are just as soft as they were the first time. Gentle pushes from her mouth urge more from me. I concede and open up my mouth to hers. Sorbet flavors tang my tongue. The taste awakens a need in me.
Urgently, like I’ve been starved for years, I kiss her harder and lose myself in everything that Bren offers. She responds to my need, and then some. Her grip on my hip tightens, and I feel the slight nudge backward. Suddenly it’s not enough that I’m kissing her. I don’t just want to taste her, I want to feel her, all of her. I let myself tip back from her leaning pressure. The magnetic pull between us brings her body down on mine. The weight of her grounds me, anchors me to my true self.
I spin in the centrifugal force of Bren’s merry-go-round. A drunken haze of Bren loosens my entire body, and I’m pliant in her restless hands. They skim up from my hips, over my arms, into my hair, and back down. I can’t seem to drink in enough of her either. I grip the nape of her neck and pull her tighter against my mouth. A low moan hums from her mouth to mine—then Bren pulls back.
She wobbles slightly as she leans her bodyweight on one arm, exhaling heavy breaths. I smile at the sight of her trying to regain her control. She stares down at me. “Thought you said you weren’t any good at this.”
“Guess I was wrong?” I shrug my shoulders and giggle awkwardly.
She smiles and taps a few soft kisses on my mouth. Tenderly she brushes her lips back and forth over mine. The sensation brings a burning from my stomach, and it spreads within me. “Glad you like it,” she says over my mouth.
“I do. This is nothing like kissing Dave Bradford,” I say before I can stop myself.
Laughter vibrates from Bren’s chest. “I hope not.” Her head tilts. “You’re not thinking of him, are you?”
“Oh gosh, no. No, no, no. Not at all. You don’t understand.” I notice my fingers are smoothing and stroking the sides of her hair. I stop. “I just mean, this is not disgusting or repulsive—well, of course it’s not. I’m saying … I’m actually enjoying this. Like really enjoying this.” I bury my face in my hands. “Okay, that just sounded pathetic.”
“Sounds perfect.” She pulls my hands off my face. “You’re pretty darn cute when you get flustered.” She doles out two or three more kisses.
I sigh. “I’ve never done this before,” I confess. “Not kissing. I’ve kissed before, but not like this and never with a girl, not for real. I don’t know where we go from here.” Because there is no going back to the Kaycee I was before.
Bren rolls to her side and props herself on her elbow. She loops my disheveled hair behind my ear, out of my face. A tender kiss dots my lips. “The fact that we are going somewhere makes me happy. I get that things are different here than other places, but I don’t want my girlfriend to constantly second-guess her actions. I want you to be comfortable. If that means I have to be more reserved under the public eye, then I’ll control myself, for now.”
The word girlfriend echoes in my head.
“Just promise me something,” Bren says. “Promise me when it’s just you and me, you won’t hide.”
I stroke her soft hair, and then graze my thumb over each perfect brow. Bren closes her eyes to absorb my touch. “Promise.” I kiss her. I’m vaguely aware that her parents are somewhere in the house, trusting us. But the frenzy of Bren’s mouth on mine builds again. It’s a dizzying high I don’t want to come down from.
After a while, Bren draws back. She rests her forehead against mine. “We should … watch a movie,” she says. I must have made a whining sound because she follows with, “If you keep kissing me like that, I’m not going to behave.” A wildness dances in her eyes, making me nervous and excited all at the same time. She groans an I-don’t-want-to-be-good-but-I-should protest and turns toward the TV, tucking me into her shoulder.
I cuddle into the curve of her body. She buries her face in my hair. Warm breaths puff the top of my head when she laughs at the goofy black-and-white comedy we’ve settled on.
The fact that she’s willing to hold my hand while I figure this out melts my heart. I want nothing more than to be the girlfriend she expects, but realistically I’m not sure how to step out into the world as Kaycee, the Lesbian. Her patience makes me want to show her I can do this all the sooner.
I just hope her patience doesn’t wear out.
Bren wakes me some time past midnight. I use the bathroom to change into her long T-shirt and brush my teeth. She sidles in past me to do the same as I exit. She scrunches her nose at my sleepwear. “I should have given you my Camp Chipmunks T-shirt from the fifth grade—way shorter.”
“You’re such a perv.” I shove her in the bathroom and close the door before she can respond.
In her room, I slip under the covers. They’re still warm from us laying on them. The smell of spice and fabric softer wafts from the sheets. The idea of me sleeping an entire night on Bren’s pillows zips a bolt of energy through me. I thrust my arms and legs out, sprawling over as much of her bed as I can. Giddiness takes me over, and I move my arms and legs open and closed. It’s not until I hear the bathroom light click off that I know I’m busted.
“What are you doing, crazy Kaycee?” An ear-to-ear grin consumes Bren’s face.
I pull her covers over my head so I don’t have to actually look at her when I answer. “Snow angel … in your sheets.”
Her weight dips the bed, and she yanks the covers off my head. “You are eat up with it. You know that?”
I wallop her head with a pillow. “You don’t even know what that means,” I say. Too late, she wrestles me for the pillow, but I pummel her with it a few times before she takes it.
“I’ve heard enough colloquialisms from y’all.” She pins my arms down and tosses the pillow on the floor. “I think I know when someone is eat up with it.” She’s right, I’m totally consumed by everything that is her. She’s all I can think about.
We both giggle when I squirm around, trying to get away, but dang it if all those long limbs of hers don’t keep me from getting far. She knocks the other pillow off the bed before I can reach it and yanks me back by the ankle.
I stop struggling and snicker at my epic defeat. Bren lightens her hold on my wrists and straddles herself over my legs. I puff the hair out of my face, panting. “Phew. You … are the one eat up with it.”
Bren’s playful smile slips into a solemn tenderness. She leans over into my face. “That, I am.” She brushes the sweetest kiss across my lips.
I pray that whatever is eating the both of us up doesn’t bite us in the butt later. Because right now I’m falling so hard, I might not ever recover.
Chapter 13
If the Sunshine courthouse is the heart of the city, Sunshine Baptist Church is the liver—a liver ten times the size of its heart. The church where I was baptized sits a stone’s throw away from historical court square on Main Street. Pastor Ronnie Olsen has preached at our spirit-filled, God-fearing, and Bible-believing church for the last twenty years. It’s one of forty-nine churches in Sunshine, but it’s the biggest and the oldest.
This morning I absolved myself of all guilt for staying at Bren’s by making sure I was home in time for service. Not Sunday school, though. Mother, none the wiser about where I was the night before, didn’t ask me about the sleepover at Sarabeth’s, only about decorating the float. The way I figure it, lying is only a sin when it’s committed … technically, I have not lied.
As we get out of Mother’s car at the church parking lot, Mrs. Perkipsky’s voice calls out behind me. “Where is your hosiery, dear Kaycee? With your knees all exposed I suspect your legs are quite cold. I at least hope you have a slip on.” Her gray ha
ir helmets her head in a perfect beauty shop tease. Garish coral lipstick stains her lips; tinted cracks seep past the defined lip line. Blush the color of apricot globs on her cheeks.
Nobody chastises her for her ghastly makeup.
Sinful me, I shouldn’t have worn my devil-skirt, bearing that oh-so-tempting one inch of flesh above my knees. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mrs. Perkipsky requested an undergarments inspection to insure I wore a proper lady’s slip underneath. I’d like to inform her that one, it’s unseasonably warm for September, and a humid eighty degrees is sure to strike by nine a.m.; and two, at my last check, we were decades past the fifties.
Instead I bite my tongue. “No, ma’am. I’m not too cold. But thank you so much for your endearing concern for the welfare of my lingerie.” Mother cuts me a look. Quite possibly my exaggerated thanks could be considered a sin.
I’ll pray out my sarcasm inside.
Three sections divide the congregation—it’s bad enough most churches in Sunshine are racially segregated, but within the church there is an additional separation of status. Mother and I take our usual spot at left center, the humble sinners section. She chats with Ms. Rita while we wait for services to begin. The Sunday school classes file into the sanctuary, and I’m glad I don’t see Sarabeth. If I’m lucky, she worked on the float late into the night, and her parents let her sleep in.
But I’m not lucky.
The deacons prop open the front doors to the church. Sunlight radiates into the room from God’s holy entrance. Despite the fact that the front steps butt up to Main Street, and the parking lot is behind the church, some people love making that long journey around to the front like it’s a red carpet affair. For well-funded parishioners like Mr. Larry Beaudroux, it’s all about the grand entrance. He and Mrs. Beaudroux step into God’s spotlight in all their pristine glory, and Sarabeth follows behind them. I slink down into the pew and study the church bulletin as if it’s the SATs, not that it does any good with my mother waving at them like a flag.
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