2. Sofia
Sofia
The look on Sara’s face was comical. Then again, I understood why she was surprised. Back then I’d been too young, too unsophisticated to put a name to the confusing feelings I’d had for my best friend.
Besides, I was a mostly obedient Greek daughter, dressing conservatively, getting straight As, and going to church every week.
Being a lesbian hadn’t been something I ever would have considered.
Hell, I’d married a man and lived with him for eight years before I finally realized that I’d been in denial about my sexual orientation my entire life.
It had taken me a couple of years of therapy and the coming into my own skin that happened in my thirties for me to accept who I really was.
The divorce had been amicable, and fortunately we’d never had kids, so that made it easier too.
Coming out to my parents had been another story. I’m pretty sure Mama had spent the entire week in church praying after I told her. Bampas had shut down, unable to reconcile that his koritsaki wasn’t his perfect little girl after all.
I hadn’t talked to my parents for several years after I came out to them.
Even now, fifteen years after my divorce, things were a little strained between us all.
Other than the occasional phone call, we mostly limited our contact to Christmas, Greek Easter, weddings, and funerals.
It broke my heart, but I had to live my own life.
“Do you live around here?” Sara asked, sidestepping the little confession that I’d just made.
“I live about ten blocks from here. How about you?”
“I’m in the neighborhood too. I can’t believe we haven’t run into each other before.”
“Everything happens when it’s supposed to,” I said solemnly, channeling one of my mother’s favorite sayings.
We lapsed into silence for a few minutes, our eyes meeting over the top of our cups. As our gazes held, I could feel something growing between us. A glimmer of attraction. A connection based on old friendship but reinforced by the realization that we were more alike than we’d ever imagined.
I’d learned long ago not to stifle myself, so I asked the question that was foremost in my mind.
“Are you single, Sara?”
“Yeah, I got out of my last relationship, gosh, it’s probably going on three years now,” she answered. “What about you?”
“I’ve dated a few women since the divorce, but no one that I wanted to get too serious about.”
“Really? Because lesbians our age are known to bring a U-Haul to the second date,” she joked.
Like many jokes, this one had an element of truth.
Sara continued, “In fact, this woman I know, Alice, her sister just came out later in life, and Alice challenged her to go on ten first dates before dating a woman a second time, to make sure that Rebecca didn’t just monkey bar into her first serious lesbian relationship.”
“Did it work?”
“Sure did. She fell in love with date number ten, in fact. They’ve been together like a year now.”
“I wouldn’t need to do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Go on ten dates to figure out what I want in a woman.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Nope,” I answered. “I know exactly what I want. And I’m looking at her.”