Chapter 19
LAINE
The ceiling fan in Jamila's living room has a wobble.
I've been staring at it for twenty minutes, flat on my back on her hardwood floor, clutching an empty beer bottle to my boobs.
Maybe if I lay here long enough, the fan will come loose and drop on my head, and boom, that would be it.
I won't have to think about what I did last night.
Except with my luck, I'll just end up permanently maimed.
"You planning to tell me what's going on, or should I just keep refilling your drinks until you pass out?" Jamila asks.
Kerry appears in my peripheral vision, gently prying the empty from my fingers and replacing it with a cold one.
She's wearing basketball shorts and a faded Celtics jersey, her short ponytail bobbing as she straightens up.
I love Kerry. She's wonderful. And so easygoing.
Why can't I just fall in love with someone like her?
I could be Gay, I think. Dicks aren't that important, are they?
"Thanks," I manage.
Kerry leans down to kiss Jamila, who's curled in the armchair watching me with worried eyes.
I want to tell her I'm fine so she doesn't have to stress, but I can't add lying on top of my sins right now.
That might be the thing that tips me over the edge into doomed.
Maybe I don't actually believe hell exists, even though sometimes I wish it did.
But just in case. "I'll be upstairs with the game. You two have fun."
"Love you," Jamila calls after her.
"Love you more."
Darn it. This. Why can't I just skip to this? The comfortable with each other, no drama part. This part looks awesome.
But no. I had to go and fall for a guy who's basically in a platonic relationship with another man. And then I went and kissed that other guy. And then the guys broke up and went dark. Then I kissed them again, in front of each other. Who does that? Lunatics. That's who. I'm a lunatic.
Kerry heads out of the room, and Jamila turns to me. "Okay. You called me in a panic. Ate two helpings of my wife's Butter Chicken and you seemed okay. But you've had four beers and you're lying on my floor like a crime scene outline. Spill."
She's right. Nearly twenty-four hours since I lost my mind, and I'm spiraling.
I have to talk it out. And this didn't seem like a thing to talk to Joyce about.
And Bethany? Well since she moved on, we've barely spoken.
She's not someone I'd trust with this stuff.
But over and over, Jamila's proven to be the kind of friend that sticks.
Also the kind of friend who will call you out on your poop.
And I really need that right now. "You and Kerry seem perfect together. "
"We're not," she says dryly, tucking her braid over her shoulder.
"You look perfect." They really do. The way they look at each other, the easy back and forth over supper, all of it was the stuff good marriages are made of. Was I a little jealous watching them? Totally.
"Nobody's perfect, Laine." She nudges my shoulder with her foot. "Nice deflection though. Very smooth."
I stare at the wobbling fan blade. Seriously, I don't think I'd mind if it tried to take me out right now.
What the heck was I thinking, suggesting all three of us be in a relationship?
That's insanity. How would that even work?
God, if I thought my parents were disappointed in my dating life before this, I can't even imagine how they'd handle me coming around with two boyfriends.
I guess I wouldn't be the only person to ever disappoint a parent. But the idea of telling them makes me want to puke.
Or maybe that's the four beers.
Jamila pats my leg gently, and I glance over at her. I love her. She's pretty much the best friend I've ever had. And I think that if anyone could handle the crap show that I've turned my life into, it would be her.
"When you came out, was it hard? Like, with your parents? Your friends?"
Jamila's quiet for a moment. "My mom cried for three days. My dad didn't speak to me for six months. I lost a few friends who turned out not to be friends at all." She shrugs. "But I also found my people. I found Kerry. And we built something real."
Six months? That's not that bad I guess. "Your Dad, is he religious?"
She shakes her head. "I'm pretty sure he fell asleep the one time Mom made us go at Christmas."
There goes that theory. So if her Dad, a non-churchgoing guy needed six months, how long will my Dad need? Like, is it a 10x multiple? A 20x?
"Was it worth it? I mean— crap. I know it's not like you had a choice in the matter. You are who you are."
"Every single day." She leans forward. "Why are you asking about my coming out story while drunk on my floor?"
Okay Laine. You can do this. Moment of truth.
"I did something," I whisper. "Something maybe really stupid." Not maybe. Definitely. Epically.
One of Jamila's eyebrows arch. "Define stupid."
"I suggested—" God, saying it out loud makes it sound insane. "I suggested that Reid and Blake and I could all be together. Like, together together. The three of us."
The silence stretches so long I finally lift my head to check if Jamila's still breathing.
She's staring at me with her mouth slightly open. Seems like a reasonable reaction.
"Girl, you suggested a throuple," she says slowly. "With your ex-boyfriend. And the man who spent months being a complete asshole to you."
Ouch. That hurts. "When you put it like that—"
Her dark eyebrow wings up. "How else would I put it?"
I drop my head back to the floor with a thunk. "I know. I know. It's insane. I don't even know why I said it. They were fighting—literally shouting at each other about who deserved to be the bigger martyr—and nobody was asking what I wanted, and I just... snapped."
"Snapped how?"
"Kissed them both. Then word-vomited about this couple —throuple— I knew in Costa Rica." I wave vaguely south with my beer. "They made it work. Real commitment, real love, all three of them."
Jamila's quiet again. Processing. Or maybe silently judging me. I wouldn't blame her. I'm judging me.
"And how did they react? Reid and Blake?"
"Confused. Scared. We talked about what we're afraid of, what it might look like.
We were so mature for a minute there." I press the bottom of the cold bottle against my forehead.
"Reid's worried he'll lose himself again if it falls apart.
Blake's convinced he'll always be the outsider.
And I told them I don't even know if I can love Blake. Like, romantically. Ever."
"Woah. That's... a lot of honesty for one night."
"Yeah." My laugh has a wobble in it. "And now I've had twenty-four hours to think about it, and I'm pretty sure I've made the worst suggestion in the history of suggestions. This is a horrible idea, right? Tell me it's a horrible idea."
I push myself up on my elbows, desperate for Jamila to give me the out I'm looking for. Right now, one path seems so easy. Just walk away. Someday, find someone else, get married, get the white picket fence. And forget about the both of them.
The other path? Doomed, scary, stupid. All of that, but also, there's a little spark at that idea. Something that feels confusing and dangerous, but weirdly right.
But nothing about it would be easy.
Nothing.
She tilts her head. "Why did you suggest it?"
"What?"
"If it's such a horrible idea, why did you suggest it in the first place?"
"Because I was drunk on emotions? Because watching them fight about who got to sacrifice themselves was ridiculous?
Because—" I stop. Take a breath. Why did I suggest it?
Watching the two of them, both beautiful in their own way, both loving, trying to take care of each other, I got…
confused. Or maybe a little jealous. I want to be loved like that.
"Because I didn't want to lose either of them. "
"Keep going."
"Because Reid makes me feel safe. Like I finally have a home.
And Blake..." I trail off, searching for words.
"Blake has this way of seeing me. He looks at me like I'm the only woman on the planet.
He's intense and when he lowers his guard…
God, he's such a good man. Crappy coping strategies, really crappy, but a good man. "
"And?"
"And I'm tired of being the thing people decide about.
I wanted to be the one choosing for once.
" The words tumble out faster now. "I wanted to say what I actually wanted instead of turning myself into a pretzel to fit what everyone else needed.
And what I wanted—want—, I think. Maybe.
Oh jeez, I'm going to just come out and say it.
It's both of them." I suck in a breath so I don't pass out.
"I know it's greedy and complicated. I know that it might blow up in my face. But I still want it."
I don't say the other part out loud. That part about kind of loving the fact that two men want me.
The feminist core of me wants to slap my own cheek, but there it is.
Yeah, I love myself. I'm amazing. Blah, blah, blah.
But the idea that two men love me? Two men have seen the real me, and somehow think I'm worth loving above anyone else they've ever met? That's really heady stuff.
Jamila nods slowly but doesn't say anything. She is judging me so hard right now, and I don't blame her.
"This is where you tell me I'm being an idiot," I prompted.
"Is it?"
"Jamila." I sit up fully, beer sloshing. "Come on. Be my friend. Tell me this is crazy and I should run away and find a nice, simple, singular relationship like a normal person."
She considers me for a long moment. Then she unfolds from her chair and sits down on the floor beside me, back against the couch.
"I'm not going to talk you out of love," she says quietly.