Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
CLARA
Alejandra comes home pale-faced, eyes wide and unfocused.
I immediately worry. My mind is conjuring up every worst-case scenario it can think of. She’s been gone for hours, and now she’s barely looking at me.
The last time she came home like this—red eyes, tense shoulders—it was right after a huge fight with Mia. That was the night they’d broken up for good, and the whole house had felt off after that, like the air had been sucked out of it.
I follow her into my room, trying to be there for her, reaching for her to hug and reassure her, but she keeps slipping out of my arms. She’s pacing around the room, murmuring to herself so low I can barely hear what she’s saying.
I watch her pace for what seems like hours, before finally pulling her down and sitting her on the bed.
“What is going on?” I ask, trying to be as gentle as possible, but I hear the tension in my voice. It’s hard to stay calm when something is clearly wrong, and she’s not talking to me.
“Do you think you’ll ever want to be in a relationship?” she asks.
My eyebrows shoot up. I wasn’t expecting that to be what’s had her pacing around the house.
I open my mouth, but the words stall on my tongue.
“I—I don’t know,” I finally say through a thick swallow.
“Lately, I’ve been thinking it’s not the worst idea, but .
. . I don’t know. Sometimes I think if I were meant to be with someone, I would’ve met her by now.
Or at least met someone who makes me forget—” you, I almost say.
But I stop myself in time. “Everything and everyone,” I finally say after a long pause.
A hollowness I’ve never felt before starts to form in the pit of my stomach, spreading slowly and steadily, wrapping itself around my ribs.
Alejandra is quiet, and I can’t bring myself to make eye contact. When I start to worry I’ve made things weird, she laughs nervously. “I didn’t think you’d ever want to settle down.”
The tension in my chest eases a little. “Sometimes I still don’t think I will. But . . . I don’t know. I kind of hope I do,” I say, as I draw circles on her palm with my thumb.
The words catch me off guard. I wasn’t expecting them to mean so much.
I’ve never craved that kind of connection.
Never longed for it the way most people do.
I’ve always felt like, if it wasn’t with Alejandra, then what was the point?
Somewhere along the way, I got so detached from what I was feeling, so tired of wanting something I couldn’t have, that I stopped trying to connect in any real way.
I started chasing physical closeness instead.
Enough to make me feel something without actually feeling anything.
But lately, something’s shifted. The pull to feel what everyone else seems to hold so dear is stronger.
I’ve spent so long dodging love, convinced no one stood a chance.
Always waiting in some corner of my heart for her.
But the truth is, these feelings I have for Alejandra only cause me pain, and I need to move on.
“You don’t think you could fall for someone?” she asks softly.
I hesitate. I don’t want to say no. Fuck, I hope it’s not no, but doubt slips in anyway. I’ve never fallen for anyone the way I’ve fallen for her, so how can I know?
“I don’t know,” I admit, forcing a smile. “How about you?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the pit growing in my stomach.
“Do you think that it could ever be me?” she asks, completely disregarding my question.
I stare at her, confused, not sure I heard her correctly. “What?” I choke out, my voice catching on the word as my chest tightens.
“Have you ever wanted to date me?” she clarifies, her eyes steady on mine, waiting.
My thoughts swirl at a dizzying pace. I stare at her, unsure of what to say.
She tilts her head. “Just please tell me.”
My cheeks warm. My mouth moves before my brain can catch up, completely ignoring the screaming “yes!” in my head.
“No,” I say, but the word feels wrong on my tongue.
I watch her face for a reaction, any flicker of disappointment or doubt, but I can’t read her as easily as usual right now.
“I figured,” she says quietly, her eyes dropping from my face to the ground, and my stomach twists.
I want to reach through time and rewind the moment. Say that I had. That I do. That it’s complicated and scary. But I can’t, so I stay silent.
“My mom got in my head,” Alejandra says, and my heart starts racing.
“What do you mean?” I blurt out, panic creeping in.
Alejandra tells me what her mom said, what my mom thought before she passed, and my stomach churns.
The room tilts slightly. I never told my mom I was gay.
Never even tried. It wasn’t something I’d thought she’d needed to know, because I had been afraid.
Afraid it might hurt her, or change the way she looked at me.
She was dying, and I didn’t want to disappoint her.
I’d thought I was protecting us both. But really, I had been protecting myself.
Hearing Alejandra say that my mom had known—that she’d understood, maybe even encouraged it—heals a part of me I hadn’t realized was still bleeding.
Alejandra’s arms tighten around me. For a second, I don’t understand why. Then I hear my sobbing, like it’s coming from somewhere outside of me. Wet streaks trail down my neck as my eyes overflow.
Alejandra holds me like she’s trying to keep all the pieces of me from falling apart. It’s been so long since I’ve cried about my mom that I almost forgot how heavy it feels—the ache, the loss, the regret for things I never got to say.
Gently, Alejandra pulls back enough to see my face. Her hand finds my cheek, and she caresses it softly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I was so caught up in what my mom was saying that I didn’t even stop to think about how hearing Maribel’s feelings about us might hurt you.” Alejandra leans her forehead softly against mine, her eyes warm and gentle.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispers again.
I shake my head and sniffle. “It’s okay.
I’m glad you told me.” I kiss the tip of Alejandra’s nose.
“There were a lot of times I wondered how she would feel about me being gay, regretting that I never told her, so I’m glad she did know after all.
Even if she thought it was because you and I were going to end up together. ” I can’t help but chuckle.
Of course my mom saw me so clearly. Of course she knew even before I did. I let out a shaky breath, wiping at my eyes. “It feels . . . good, you know? That she knew about me.”
Alejandra’s face softens. “Yeah?”
“I spent so much time hiding it, even from myself, but somehow she still knew. It makes me feel . . . seen, I guess.”
She squeezes my hand.
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat rising again. “I think a part of me was scared she wouldn’t be okay with it. But now it seems like she was waiting for me to catch up.”
Silence falls over us again as we hold each other. This is what I love most about my friendship with Alejandra—emotional moments like this feel natural, sweet, and easy.
“Clara?” she says after a few minutes of silence.
“Yeah?” I look up at her.
“Do you think our moms were right? That, what you and I have, isn’t just friendly?”
I let out a sharp breath, blowing raspberries through my lips to hide the sudden rush in my chest. I could tell her about my feelings. I . . . probably should.
“What do you think?” I ask instead, trying to figure out how much to say.
Alejandra sits up, her eyes level with mine as she holds my gaze. She runs one hand gently through my hair, and I melt into the touch. My eyes closing as her fingers find the nape of my neck.
She takes a big breath. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it before, but my mom’s like the sixth person to bring it up.
I brushed it off easily when Lala brought it up and again when the girls did, but more and more, it feels like there’s something here we’re not seeing, and I can’t ignore it. Can you?”
I’ve spent years wishing she’d notice this thing between us. Even through the fear, I’ve always wondered, always wanted to try. I could tell her I’ve been in love with her for years, or I could lean into this “newfound attraction” and have a shot at something real. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
I stare at her, debating, searching her face for the answer.
And then I see it—she’s not saying this because she realized she has feelings; it’s confusion, coming from some sense of obligation to other people, and as much as I want her, I don’t want her like this.
I won’t risk it. No matter how deeply I care for her.
“Alejandra,” I breathe out, her name catching in my throat. I’m trying so hard not to give in—to this, to her—as desperately as I want to.
“I don’t think we should do this because it’s what everyone else expects or wants.
I need to know you’re doing it because you see something real here, because you see me as someone you could want, long-term.
Not as some kind of social experiment.” I pause, stomach clenching.
“We mean too much to each other to risk our friendship over something that isn’t real.
Or something you’re not sure about.” My voice is trembling despite how hard I’m trying to keep it steady.
Saying this out loud hurts so much more than I thought it would.
Her eyes soften. “But I do want you forever. I want you in my life always. No matter what, no matter where I go, I need you there.” She rests her forehead against mine.
I shake my head and pull back. “I need you, too, Ale,” I whisper. “But . . . you want me around as your best friend. Not as someone you could fall in love with. Plus, I’ve never had a real relationship. It feels like too big a gamble to try to have one with you. I don’t want to lose you.”
The words spill out before I can stop them.
I’ve laid my feelings out in the open without actually telling her.
I should feel uneasy, raw, and afraid of what she’ll do with all of it.
But I don’t. Not here. Not with her. In this bubble Alejandra and I create when it’s just the two of us, I only feel safe.
“You could never lose me, Clara.” Alejandra wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me close. I sink into her, breathing her in, my heart aching with how much I want her and how safe it is in her arms.
When we let go, she doesn’t say a word. Just gives me the tiniest smile I’ve ever seen cross her lips, her gaze distant, clearly lost in thought. I desperately want to know what is going on in her head, but I don’t ask, and the silence stretches between us.
After a few minutes, I can’t take it anymore. Normally, I don’t mind the quiet moments between us, but this one is different; it’s tense.
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” I say, breaking the quiet. I squeeze her hand one last time before letting go.
She nods wordlessly.
I stand, and as I do, Alejandra grabs hold of my wrist. I look down at her, and she’s staring up at me—brows slightly drawn, lips parted like she’s on the edge of saying something. I can see she wants to, but she keeps stopping herself.
So I wait. After a few long seconds, she slowly lets go, like it physically hurts her to do it. Her hand drops back to her lap, and whatever she was about to say disappears with it.
I turn and head to the bathroom. Once inside, I close the door behind me and press my back against it, letting out a shaky breath, trying to wrap my head around everything.
I brush my teeth, slip into pj’s, and get under the covers, hoping the scent of Alejandra’s shampoo on my pillow will ease the ache in my chest. But tonight, it doesn’t bring the usual calm; it only makes my eyes sting.
The bed dips, followed by Alejandra’s arms wrapping around me tightly.
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too, bunny,” I reply, trying to keep my tears from spilling over.
Sleep doesn’t come easily tonight; my mind is too aware of Alejandra beside me.
Every shift of her body, every breath, keeps me awake, my body hyper-focused on the warmth radiating from her.
It’s ridiculous, I know, because we share a bed at least four times a week, tangled in sheets and each other.
But tonight, I’m lying on my back instead of spooning her, and my breath hitches anytime I think Alejandra might roll over and throw her arm or leg over me.
Everything about tonight feels different.
The air is charged, and my mind won’t calm.
All night, “You want me around as your best friend, not as someone you could fall in love with,” echoes in my mind.
I hear myself say it over and over. Then, silence.
Alejandra’s silence, because she didn’t correct me.
Her silence is the answer I’d been dreading, and her silence plays in my head like a nightmare on repeat.
I’ve had that conversation with myself a thousand times since.
Replaying it, rewriting it, imagining all the things I could’ve said—should’ve said. I should’ve corrected her. I should’ve told her how I feel—how I’ve felt for years. It was the perfect moment, the door wide open . . . and I couldn’t step through.
I never can, and I hate myself for it.