Twenty-one
Liem
Why did I let Bri leave with my suitcase?
I saw the sticker the second she was two steps away. I could have stopped her or caught up to her and switched them back, but I didn’t. She ran to catch her flight, and I . . . watched.
Last night was everything. Thrilling, frightening, life-altering. Sex with Bri changed me.
I haven’t felt this confused since my budding relationship days with Natalie. Those early times when you are still figuring each other out, walking the fence line, looking to see if the grass on the other side is forever-colored or the turf of impending heartbreak.
I couldn’t see over the fence with Bri before—I thought it better not to glance—but last night, I took a peek. I let her walk away with my suitcase because I can’t bear for this to be our goodbye. I’m unsure how I’d survive going home thinking I might never see her again.
But how often have I done this? Fawn over anyone who pays attention to me or allows me to have any level of intimacy with them.
While I don’t understand casual sex, I understand what it means to Bri.
I’ve never felt fully accepted by anyone before.
She makes it so easy to love her. I’m struggling to understand what kind of love that can be.
Not five minutes later, my phone rings. It’s her.
“Hey.”
“Liem, I grabbed your suitcase instead of mine!”
“Oh, shit. You did?” That didn’t sound convincing, but she’s too frazzled to notice.
“The ring is in here. What do I do? Should I get off the plane? I should get off the plane.”
“No, don’t. I won’t need it right away. I can get it from you later.”
“Okay. I’ll bring it back or mail it to you or something. Ugh! I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Everything is good on my end.” Better than good. “Do I have anything important that you need?”
“Um.” She exhales heavily to calm herself. “It’s clothes and a charger. I have my laptop. Everything else was checked. I’m good.”
“Good.” I can hear the flight attendant scolding her in the background. “You need to go. Have a safe flight, okay?”
“You too, babe.” Her voice is as sweet as the kiss still lingering on my lips. “I miss you already.”
My hand goes to my chest, attempting to keep my heart from tumbling out into my palm and running to her. “Me too.”
We end the call, and our goodbye feels less final than before. A glimmer of hope is all I need to hang on.
~
The mountain was out during my ride home. It’s still sunny, the summer not quite over yet. At least I’m coming back before the gray sets in.
Back in Tacoma at my parents’, I walk in through the restaurant entrance and watch May transform from welcoming server to my apathetic little sister.
“Look who it is,” she says, crossing her arms. There are only three people dining, giving her plenty of space to give me shit. “You’re back.”
“Missed you too.”
While we split the difference between Mom and Dad’s genes, May’s skin and hair is closer to Mom’s—more bronze than brown, wavy than curly—and she has mom’s dark eyes while I got Dad’s hazel.
I always thought I looked odd, and before my twenty-something glow-up, I did.
Now that Bri has stroked my ego, I can see how I won the best combination of our parents’ features.
Another reason for May to be annoyed by me.
I move past her, going into the kitchen. My dad stands at the cooktop, too focused to notice me. “Hey, Dad.”
He looks at me over his shoulder and lifts his chin in greeting. Short of saying hello, but a greeting nonetheless.
~
After a shower and a snack, I lie in my bed, waiting for the sounds of the kitchen to quiet down enough to sleep.
I don’t want to keep looking at my phone six thousand times, waiting for Bri to call me.
Her flight got in later than mine. Logically, if her friends are more affectionate than my family, she’ll want time to chill with them and get settled into her new space.
Still, I can’t help wondering if something has changed between us.
Movement in my doorway grabs my attention. I catch a white tail disappearing at the side of my bed. “You found me,” I greet my furry sibling.
Bean Sprout, my mom’s nineteen-year-old cat, is the only sentient creature who doesn’t judge me in this house.
Mom found her as a kitten, chasing a mouse in the storage room, ruining a box of bean sprouts that had shipped earlier in the day.
She’s the same dingy white color as a bean sprout too, and still mouses better than a feline half her age.
She gives me a slow blink, and I lean back to invite her onto my chest. Taking her position, she tucks in her front paws and closes her eyes, purring while she accepts my pets.
“Natalie left me. Do you feel bad for me, Bean?”
Her ears twitch a noncommittal sure. I hold her head and brush my thumbs over her eyes and cheeks the way she likes. Her soft face and rumbling purrs calm me.
“I met someone named Bri. You would like her. She’s pretty and likes animals.” Bean’s eyes peek open. “Not that you’re an animal. I’m saying animals only trust good people, so she must be pretty amazing.”
Bean isn’t a vocal cat. In the rare moments she does meow, her voice sounds like she’s been chain-smoking for forty years.
She’s the only one in the house who seems happy about my return.
In their defense, I only told everyone I was going to New York two days before I left.
Traveling with minimal warning isn’t unusual for our family, and returns are often as casual.
But with my mom away, I want someone who will talk back to me.
“I miss her, Bean. Should I call her? Is it too soon?” Only purrs. “Speak if I shouldn’t call her.”
A raspy squeak leaves her villainous mouth.
My jaw drops. “I thought we were family!”
“Are you talking to the cat again?” My sister stands in my doorway, looking as ready to sass me as before, dressed in pajamas this time.
I don’t answer her leading question. Bean leaves my chest, desiring to be in May’s presence as much as I do.
When my silence stretches too long, May nudges my mattress with her knee. “Yes?” I ask.
“So, Natalie dumped you last week or what?”
In their defense, I only told everyone I was going to New York two days before I left. Only May knew about Natalie. It was easy to hide her when she never wanted to be seen together. Our loving, romantic, committed relationship. I’m such an idiot.
“That’s not exactly what happened. Yes, we broke up, but I didn’t stay there for her.”
“Uh-huh. So, what? You had some kind of hot rebound?” My silence answers her question. “No fucking way. You did?”
“Try to sound a little less surprised.”
“You don’t have zero game. You have negative game.” An insult, but not a lie. “What, was it some forty-year-old with two kids?”
“No.”
“A fifty-year-old with four kids?”
“No. Stop. She’s my age, childless, and she’s fine as hell.”
“Liar.”
“Not lying.”
“Then prove it.”
Bet. I pull up my text messages and go to the selfie she sent me the night I should have spent with her rather than celebrating with her ex.
“Oh, damn,” she says. I slide to another picture of her hanging from me—one of her in those short shorts that causes movement in my shorts. “Oh, damn!”
“See?”
“Then why aren’t you still there with her?”
Good question. “It’s complicated.”
“Did she let you fuck her at least?”
“May,” I scold.
“You can’t be a virgin forever.”
“I am not—ugh! You’re so annoying. Get out.”
“Glad to see New York didn’t change you, big brother.” Finally, she leaves.
I close my eyes and roll over, imagining the pillow beside me is Bri.
We had sex. It’s still hard to believe. It was an unstoppable event, an undeniable pull to be with her, but it was as I feared.
All I can think about is the high it gave me, the comfort of her body on mine, and the fear of how deep in love with her I could fall if she ever slipped up and gave me a chance.
I’ll let her call me first. If she ever does.