Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
ALEJANDRA
After talking to Clara last night, I realized I need to tell my mom the truth about us.
I should’ve thought it through sooner, but I didn’t.
Now, the longer I wait, the worse I feel.
Clara’s basically a daughter to her, and judging by how my grandma reacted, she’s probably celebrating along with the whole family.
That’s why I can’t let her keep believing it’s real. I need to make this right, for Clara.
When I get to my mom’s house, I knock on the door, my heart already thudding. I don’t usually knock; I have a key, but this allows me to take a moment to ground myself and try to control my nerves. I don’t really know why I’m so nervous.
The door swings open, and there she is—her long, dark brown hair peppered with silver falling in waves past her elbows, with that same bright smile lighting up her face.
“Hi, honey, I wasn’t expecting you.” She pulls me into a one-armed hug, the other carefully holding a spatula coated in something that smells like vanilla far away from us.
“Sorry, Mami,” I mumble. “I should’ve called. I just . . . I needed to talk to you.”
She frowns slightly but shakes her head. “No, no. Come in.”
I follow her into the kitchen, where the counter is covered in flour, bowls, and blobs of sticky batter. Lately, she’s gotten into making sourdough from scratch—something about patience, process, and feeding a starter every day like it’s a pet. Honestly, it fits her.
“So, what brings you over looking so guilty?” Mom asks as she throws some flour on the counter. Straight to the point, as always.
“Have you talked to Lala by chance?” I gulp, trying to keep my voice steady. I’ve never really lied to my mom before, and the guilt settles heavily in my chest.
“I have.” She furrows her eyebrows. “Is she okay?” she asks, worry creeping into her voice.
“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s at the house with Clara.”
“What is it then? You’re worrying me, kid.”
“Did she tell you Clara and I are dating?” I ask abruptly.
“She did.” Mom wipes her hands on a dish towel.
I take a deep breath and say, “Well, we aren’t.”
Mom frowns. “Yeah . . . I figured. You’re this shaken up over that?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Wait, how?” I stare at her.
I was sure this would be a surprise. Everyone else seemed to hop on board with us dating so easily, like it made perfect sense. So, why is my mom the only one who isn’t?
She turns her attention back to the ball of dough in front of her, kneading it and folding it. “You assume I don’t know my kid? I’d like to think that if my daughter started dating her best friend, the one who’s practically family, she’d pick up the phone and tell me herself.”
“But you didn’t say anything.”
“I figured if there were something to tell, you’d tell me when you were ready.” She points at me with a wooden spoon. “And here you are.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
“What I don’t understand is why you are lying to Lala about this,” she says, turning back to her dough.
“She kind of cornered us into it.” explain how Lala tricked us into speed dating and how I hopped on board with Clara’s lie.
Mom laughs. “I can’t even blame you guys. I’ve talked to her so many times about this, but she’s impossible to get through to.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Why’d you tell her you were dating Clara, though?” She tilts her head slightly. “Weren’t there other people you could’ve asked? Like, someone from one of those dates your grandma was so excited to set you up on?”
“Yeah, I guess I could have. The thought did cross my mind, but I didn’t think she’d buy it.”
Plus, there wasn’t anyone from those setups I wanted to see again, and if I was supposed to pretend to love this person, I should at least like them or tolerate being around them.
“Do you have feelings for Clara?” Mom asks bluntly.
I blink, then scoff. “No.” Clara and I have spent so much time insisting we’re just friends—clarifying, correcting—that the denial comes out without thinking. “Why?”
“You and Clara have this way of looking at each other like the other person is the most important in the room. Maybe in the universe. Have you ever noticed that?”
Have I noticed? Yeah. My mom is far from the first person to say this.
But it’s just because we’re each other’s favorite person.
She’s the one I text first when something funny happens.
The one who knows what I’m thinking with a look.
The one I trust with the messy, unfiltered parts of myself.
So . . . yeah. I’ve noticed. But what does that have to do with anything?
I laugh awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck. “Yeah, I guess, I have. But it’s because we are just . . . comfortable.” The word is too small to encompass what I mean, but it’s the best I can come up with.
“You seriously don’t see it?” Mom asks, her voice gentler now.
I shake my head because not only do I not see it, but I also have no idea what she’s talking about.
“You know, when Lala told me you two were dating, I took her at her word. It made so much sense. There’s always been something between you.
But the more I sat with it, the less I believed it.
Not because you’re not compatible—God, you are.
That’s exactly why I did at first. But it wasn’t you or Clara who’d told me.
It was your grandma. That was the only explanation I had for why it couldn’t be real. Isn’t that something?”
“That’s the only reason?” I mutter with a dry look.
Her eyes narrow slightly, and her lips twitch, almost amused by my reaction. “I’ve always thought you and Clara had feelings for each other, that one or both of you were too scared to act on it,” she says so casually it takes me a second to register the words.
“But why? Why is it that everyone we’ve told has said something similar?
What are we missing?” I ask, almost defeated.
I want to understand it so badly. “Clara’s been in my life forever.
She’s part of my normal. I guess I’ve never really let myself think past that.
We’re close, yeah. She knows me better than anyone else.
She gets me in this way that . . . no one else really does, but that doesn’t mean there are feelings. ”
Mom gives me a small, warm smile. “Sounds a lot like feelings to me.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I close it again, not really sure what to say. But I’d know. I’d know if I had feelings for my best friend. But even as I think that, the answer isn’t as simple as it once did.
Have I always thought Clara was ridiculously attractive? Yes, but also, anyone who sees her thinks that.
“Why have you never brought it up before? Why are you bringing this up now?” I ask, a little out of breath.
She doesn’t say anything right away, then shrugs. “I figured you’d realize it on your own. I didn’t think I’d ever need to bring it up.”
I stare down at my hands, playing with a loose thread on my sleeve, trying to piece all of this together. Has everyone in our lives been . . . waiting?
“As you girls got older, your friendship grew with you. Then you started dating other people, and for a while, I thought maybe Maribel and I had gotten it wrong.” She pauses, watching me carefully. “But as your parent, I can’t stay silent about something I really think you both need to talk about.”
“So what?” I snap. “Because Clara and I are freakishly close, that means we must want to be together? We can’t only be best friends?”
“Honey,” she says gently, “you know that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying? That because we’re both lesbians and close, we have to have feelings for each other? God, I’m so tired of people assuming there’s some ulterior motive. Why can’t our friendship just exist without being questioned?”
As soon as I say it, I hear how intense I sound. I’m getting way more worked up than I should. I rub my hands over my face, trying to cool down. Why am I so defensive? It was a comment, not an attack, but her words hit a nerve. I hate that I’m reacting this way.
Mia’s face flashes through my mind, and I hate that it’s her I see, because every fight we had over Clara crashes into my brain—a loop of endless arguments and tears.
“Honey,” Mom says quietly, “I’m not saying that because you’re both lesbians and close, you must be in love. I’m saying that sometimes . . . the heart recognizes something before the head does. And maybe that’s what’s happening here.”
I shake my head, frustration knotting tighter in my chest. “You don’t think we’ve had this conversation before?
About how people always assume we’re secretly together?
We laugh about it and joke about being constantly mistaken for a couple.
I’m constantly fighting with partners, defending my friendship with Clara.
It’s annoying. Exhausting, even, that everyone refuses to believe we’re just best friends. ”
Mom nods slowly. “I know. And I do believe in your deep, beautiful friendship. I’m not trying to invalidate that.
But what I’m seeing . . . it doesn’t look like just friendship.
Not from the outside.” She wraps her hands around mine.
“Maybe I’m wrong and I’ve misread everything.
But you didn’t shut it down, not completely.
You didn’t say ‘never,’ like you might have if someone had suggested it about anyone else. You got defensive.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again because she’s right.