Chapter 19 #2
"It's not—I don't even know if it's love. With Blake, I mean." If he'd never tried to tear me down, I'd probably be in love with him by now. God, what a mess. Reid loving me, Blake in love with me, me in love with one and open to falling for the other.
Wait. God, would we have ended up here anyway? Probably not. I would have kissed Blake at some point, and it would have been cheating, and I would have destroyed everything. There's no way any of us would have come out of that okay.
But he did hurt me. And we all fell apart.
"Maybe you don't love him yet. But something's there, or you wouldn't be lying on my floor having an existential crisis about it."
I groan. "You're supposed to be the voice of reason. Tell me smarten up."
"Honey, I've known you for almost a year. Have I ever told you what to do?"
She has a point. Jamila's never been the advice-giving type. She asks questions. Reflects things back. Makes me figure out my own mess.
Makes me be all grown up.
"Can't you just this once?" I hear the whine in my voice and don't care. "Just tell me it's impossible and I should forget the whole thing?"
Jamila takes the beer from my hand, sets it on the coffee table. Then she turns to face me directly.
"Here's what I know," she says. "You came to Eugene to stop running. To build something permanent for the first time in your life. And you did that. You have a job you love, friends who care about you, a life that's actually yours."
"But—"
"I'm not finished." Her voice is gentle but firm. "You also fell in love. With Reid. That was real—I watched it happen. And then things got complicated with Blake, and instead of doing what old Laine would have done—"
"Running away to Cuba?" Yeah, that almost happened. I was looking up flights and jobs within hours of the break up. Escaping felt like the only option. That instinct is a hard one to fight.
"—you stayed. You fought for what you wanted. Even when it hurt. Even when Blake was awful and Reid wasn't listening and everything fell apart."
I blink back the sudden sting in my eyes.
"And now you're sitting here, terrified, because you had the audacity to imagine something different. Something that doesn't fit the script." Jamila squeezes my hand. "I'm not going to tell you it's impossible. I've seen too many 'impossible' things work out to believe that anymore."
Oh my God, is she going to tell me to do it? "But?"
"But." She holds my gaze. "The road you're talking about? It's not going to be smooth. People won't understand. Your parents definitely won't understand. There will be jealousy and confusion and days when you wonder what the hell you were thinking."
Yeah, that sounds…horrible. "You're really selling this."
"I'm being honest." She doesn't smile. "Because you deserve honest. If you do this—if you actually try to build something with both of them—it's going to take more work than any relationship you've ever had.
More communication. More vulnerability. More willingness to look like an idiot in front of the people you love. "
I stare at the ceiling fan. Still wobbling.
Still turning. Communication I've always been good at.
Vulnerability, not so much. But I was figuring that out with Reid.
We were building that trust. But we needed more time.
I'd have to start building that trust all over again, but with both of them. God. That sounds like a lot of work.
"So you're not going to talk me out of it," I say slowly.
"No."
"Even though it might be a disaster."
"Even then."
"Why?"
Jamila's quiet for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is softer than I've ever heard it.
"Because I spent years pretending I was straight. Dating men I didn't love. Being a version of myself that made my parents, my church, my community, comfortable." She shrugs. "And then I met Kendra—"
Kendra? Crap. Was I calling her wife the wrong name this whole time? "Wait, I thought—"
"Before Kerry. First woman I ever kissed." A small smile. "She was completely wrong for me in every practical way. But she showed me that the life I'd been living wasn't the only option. That I could want something different and go after it."
"What happened with her?"
She laughs. "Crashed and burned spectacularly. But it didn't matter, because by then I knew who I was. What I wanted." Jamila bumps her shoulder against mine. "Sometimes you have to try the scary thing to figure out if it's really what you need."
I let that sink in. The wobbling fan. The distant sound of Kerry's basketball game upstairs. The weight of possibility pressing against my chest.
"What if I try and it destroys everything?"
"Then you'll know. And you'll rebuild." Jamila stands, offering me a hand. "But what if you don't try, and you spend the rest of your life wondering?"
I let her pull me to my feet. The room tilts slightly—four beers on an emotional rollercoaster will do that.
"Think about it," Jamila says. "Really think. Not just the fear, but what you actually want. And then—whatever you decide—I'll be here."
She hugs me. Tight. Real.
I pull back from the hug, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. "Why couldn't I just fall for one normal guy? Like a dentist. Or an accountant. Someone who works nine to five and has a 401k."
Jamila snorts. "A dentist."
"Yes! Someone boring and stable who wants to buy a house in the suburbs and argue about whether to get hardwood or carpet.
" I'm aware I sound ridiculous but can't stop.
"Instead I'm sitting here considering a relationship with two men who live together and have more trauma than a tornado survivors support group. "
"Laine."
"What?"
She crosses her arms, giving me that look—the one that says she's about to call me on my bullshit. "When have you ever done normal?"
"I—"
"You grew up in how many countries? Twelve?"
"Fourteen."
"Fourteen countries. Living in church basements and construction trailers.
You've been a travel nurse for a decade, moving every few months.
" She ticks items off on her fingers. "You speak four languages.
You can build a water filtration system from scratch.
And correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you once help deliver a baby in a bus station in Honduras? "
"That was an accident. I mainly just stopped her baby from sliding right out onto the floor." That was one experienced mama. Four other kids, she basically ordered me around and told me when to catch. It was exhilarating and terrifying at once.
"My point is—your entire life has been the opposite of normal. So why are you suddenly acting like you'd even know what to do with simple?"
I open my mouth. Close it.
She's not wrong.
"You'd be bored out of your mind with a dentist," Jamila continues. "Admit it."
Nope. No way. "Maybe I want to be bored. Maybe boring sounds really good right now."
"Liar."
I slump onto the couch. "Fine. Maybe I'd hate it. But at least I'd know what I was doing. There's no roadmap for... this."
"There's no roadmap for any relationship that matters." She sits beside me. "But I'm guessing that's not really what's scaring you."
It's not. She knows it's not.
"What are your parents going to say?" she asks quietly.
And there it is. The question I've been avoiding since the words left my mouth at Reid's house.
I lean my head back against the cushions. "I don't know."
"Have you thought about it?"
"I've been trying not to."
Jamila waits. Patient. Giving me space to actually think instead of panic.
My parents. God.
"They've seen a lot," I say slowly. "You know?
They've been missionaries since before I was born.
They've been all over the world, and lived everywhere.
With people from every background imaginable.
Different religions, different family structures, different everything.
" I twist my beer bottle between my hands.
"They never judged. Never tried to force their beliefs on anyone.
Which sounds weird, I know, since they're missionaries and building churches.
But they always tried to lead through love and acceptance. "
"But?"
"But I'm their daughter. Their only kid." The words stick in my throat. "And they're Christian. Really Christian."
"Some of my biggest supporters were in my church. A black baptist church in Georgia. So Christian doesn't automatically mean intolerant."
"I know. I know they're not..." I search for the right words. "They're not the type to disown me or anything dramatic like that. But they're going to have feelings. Big ones. About their daughter telling them she's in a relationship with two men."
"Laine, big feelings isn't the same as rejection."
"No. But it's not approval either." I grab my beer off the table and pick at the label. "They'll worry. About my soul, probably. About whether I'm making good choices. About what their mission community will think."
"Do you care what their mission community thinks?"
"No. But they do." I sigh. "And I care about them. I don't want to hurt them or make their lives harder."
I press the heels of my palms against my eyes. When I look up, Jamila's watching me with a soft expression that pushes me a step closer to losing it completely. I love her so much. She's such a good friend.
"What do you think?" My voice cracks. "About me doing this? Would you—do you judge me?"
"Oh, honey. I'm a raging lesbian. Non-traditional relationships and families are kind of a thing in my world." She pulls me into another hug, and this time I do cry. Just a little. "I think you're brave as hell."
"Even after everything Blake did?"
"Even then." She pulls back, hands on my shoulders. "You're choosing to try. That takes guts."
I hiccup-laugh, wiping my face.
Jamila grins. "Besides, I'm not gonna lie—the sex is probably going to be amazing."
I freeze.
"What?"
"Two partners completely focused on you? The variety? The—"
"Oh my God." My brain short-circuits. "Oh my God. I didn't—that didn't even—"
"You didn't think about the sex?" Jamila's eyebrows shoot up. "At all?"
"I was focused on the emotional apocalypse!"
"Well." She stands, heading for the liquor cabinet. "We're definitely going to need the tequila."
I crawl under the coffee table and press my cheek to the floor.
"Laine—"
"No. I'm staying here. Forever."