34. The Confession
A single candle flickers on the table—something I don’t usually bother with.
The apartment smells of garlic and thyme.
I’m not sure what possessed me to cook an authentic meal—maybe it was yesterday’s decision at the pool, somewhere between sunlight and slow, steady flip turns.
Swimming has always cleared the static in my head.
Or maybe I just needed tonight to feel different. Not like me from the past few weeks.
Naomi knocks exactly twice as she lets herself in. “You trying to romance us or get rid of the roaches?” she says when she sees the candle.
“It’s called ambiance.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, kicking off her sandals and leaving them by the door. “Smells good. Are you trying to seduce Mateo?”
“He should be so lucky,” I mutter, wiping my hands on a towel. “Been there, done that.”
“Boy, please,” she replies. “From what I hear, it wasn’t that good. And yet, speak of the devil; here he is with Coke and regrets.”
Mateo walks in carrying a six-pack of Coke and a bag of chips, which he clearly didn’t think through. “Sorry, I panicked,” he says. “This was all they had at the bodega. ”
“You walked past a damn Kroger,” Naomi says flatly.
“I didn’t say it was the nearest bodega.”
We eat at the small round table under the kitchen light—pasta with sautéed mushrooms and way too much black pepper.
Mateo frowns after the first bite, then goes back for seconds.
Naomi doesn’t say anything; she eats and then gets up to grab another bottle of cheap wine from my cabinet as if she lives here.
The jokes taper off after a while, replaced by a silence that feels more like awkward waiting than a pause in conversation.
“I need to tell you both something.” I clear my throat.
Naomi sets her glass down gently. Mateo leans forward, arms crossed on the table like he’s bracing himself.
I haven’t rehearsed what I want to say, and I know it won’t come out perfectly, so I start slow. The truth will be enough for now, though.
“Kevin’s boyfriend, Josh, called me at work last week after the holiday. It was weird. He wasn’t angry; he just asked me when Kevin and I reconnected and how long it had been going on, whatever ‘it’ was. He said he ‘saw me.’ It was kinda a polite warning, I guess.”
They don’t interrupt, which surprises me.
“Then Kevin calls the next day,” I continue. “He freaked out when I told him Josh called me; he said he didn’t know anything about it. I was mad as hell at him. I forced him to agree to meet me on Friday, to explain himself—why he led me on and then wanted nothing to do with me.”
Naomi’s eyes flick to Mateo, sharp with concern. He looks like he’s holding in ten questions at once, but neither of them says a word—they just let me speak like they know this part needs air before anything else .
“Well,” I say, “he never showed.”
Naomi exhales hard as if she’s trying not to say, ‘I told you so,’ but can’t quite hide it. Mateo shakes his head slowly, eyes narrowed—not angry, exactly, just disappointed on my behalf.
I take a deep breath and continue. “Long story short, Kevin and Josh came into B-Side Saturday while I was there. Kevin saw me—I don’t think Josh did.”
Mateo sat up straight. “What the hell were they doing there?” He looked like he’d just witnessed a neighbor that he hated let their dog shit all over his prized zinnias.
“Same thing we do. Look at vinyl.”
“Well, what happened?” Naomi anxiously asked.
“Nothing,” I replied. “I left. Angry. Kevin looked right at me and then turned to put his arm around Josh, leading him away. He might as well have given me the finger.”
“You just left?” Mateo asked.
Naomi put up a hand and told him to “shush.”
“I kept telling myself it was a coincidence—that seeing them didn’t mean anything. That I didn’t feel anything. But I did. I came home and spiraled, as usual, and spent the rest of the weekend sleeping, cleaning, and thinking.”
I pause and contemplate continuing. Where am I going with this? I gaze at Naomi, and her eyes are soft. Mateo’s thumb is tapping against the side of his glass.
“I didn’t tell you everything before. Back then, in Bayview—about the last time I was with Kevin.
It wasn’t just a friendly moment. It was the moment.
We swam. We kissed. We—” I stop. Just say it , I tell myself.
“We had sex, but it was more than just physical. Kevin was my first. It scared the hell out of me when it was over. ”
There it is. The sentence I never let myself say out loud. It hits the air like surfacing after a long dive—quiet but deep. I just let myself breathe.
Naomi lets out a deep breath herself. Mateo shifts slightly, his expression unreadable.
“I blamed him for everything that went wrong after. I built my entire identity around that night and never once took responsibility for what I did. For leaving. For hiding. For turning into someone who doesn’t know how to stay.”
For a second, neither of them moves. Naomi’s hand squeezes her glass, her jaw tight but her eyes warm, like she knows this part cost me something. Mateo glances down, then back up, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it. Not pity, but rather understanding.
I continue. “I don’t know what I want from Kevin anymore,” I say, “but I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to chase a version of him, or myself, that doesn’t exist. I don’t want to keep mistaking longing for direction. I just want to be honest. With him. With myself.”
Naomi tilts her head, studying me. “You’re different tonight,” she says.
Mateo adds, “Sounds like you flipped a switch. Or flipped one off.”
I look down at my plate. There’s still food left, but I’ve lost interest in eating.
Naomi reaches across the table and lays her fingers lightly on mine. “You don’t have to be perfect to be honest, baby. You only have to mean it.”
“Wow,” Mateo nods. “So what now?”
“I’m thinking of writing him a letter. No pressure. No agenda. Just tell him the truth about what happened. Finally. ”
They don’t answer right away. I watch their faces as the thought settles.
“Do it,” Mateo says. “Say what you need to say. Then walk away.”
Naomi leans back. “Closure’s a scam,” she says. “But honesty? That shit will set you free.”
I can’t help but chuckle. It’s a genuine one—small, tired, and grateful. “Are you two always this wise, or am I just finally listening?”
“We’ve been waiting for you to catch up,” Mateo says.
Naomi raises her glass. “To turning points. Even the messy ones.”
We all clink. There are no big speeches—no movie moment—just the candle burning low and the feeling that I’m not carrying this alone.