Chapter One #3
It enveloped me, begging me to sink further into its embrace.
I couldn’t get enough of its dizzying intensity.
As Wrenley led the way to the kitchen, I had assumed that the smell must be from whatever she was baking.
Why else would it be so strong and prevalent?
However, upon reaching the kitchen, I noticed there were no strawberries in sight.
Slowly and helplessly, I realized that it was her scent.
I should have known. So much of her reminded me of strawberries.
The deep red tones of her cloud-like hair.
The freckles dotting her skin were just like the seeds of the fruit.
How sweet she seemed already. She embodied the berry in every way, which inspired my favorite nickname for her: “shortcake.”
Wrenley went back to baking while I stood in the small apartment kitchen trying to take up as little space as possible. When Wrenley smiled at me, I was so disarmed that I knew I was a goner from then on.
As soon as we started talking, we didn’t stop.
When I asked about her jersey, she said she used to be a cheerleader for the Hunters, the supernatural version of the human Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders, only with more pay, respect, and inclusivity.
Football was her family’s life: her father was a championship college football coach, her brother played for the Hunters as their star running back, and her mother was a medic for the league.
As we talked more, I realized she knew more about football than I did, and it was one of the first signs I fell in love with her.
Wrenley told me about meeting Ira in college and reconnecting with her while she was cheering because Ira was known as the best hairstylist. I rolled my eyes, saying I was the one who taught her how to do hair, so I should demand a cut.
That made her laugh. I couldn’t have wished to hear anything more beautiful even if I had a million wishes to try.
Then, as she was putting her cake in the oven, she told me about how she baked when she couldn’t sleep.
She said it so casually, as if it wasn’t the most devastatingly charming thing I had ever heard in all my life.
I had a sweet tooth that would make a dentist set for life from the payout, but it was more than just that.
In that moment, I fully understood the true meaning of having a crush.
My whole body felt like it was being pressed in from all sides by fascination and attraction.
My pulse, nerves, and thoughts all became so erratic with her existence that I felt like I was coming undone and being remade into something that couldn’t be without her.
Honestly, the word “crush” wasn’t strong enough to describe how desperately every part of me wanted everything that she was.
The feeling was heavy, while somehow lifting me higher with the dizzy, dangerous possibility that maybe, just maybe, the feeling was mutual.
Wrenley was so much more than just some hot fantasy.
She was my best friend who I could effortlessly talk to.
Wrenley was car rides full of laughter that made my cheeks hurt.
She was late-night runs to the grocery store for baking ingredients.
She was trading playlists with absurdly specific titles like “Guilt Songs About Future Actions You’re Going to Have to Do for Your Own Good but Refuse to Do Right Now” or “Songs to Fuck to Except You’re Both Crying Because You Just Broke Up and It’s Beautiful but Sad but Really Sexy Nevertheless.
” She was sitting on my worktable, swinging her legs while I was working on my motorcycle.
She was making time fly at my witch doctor appointments every three months to maintain my gender affirming spells.
She was drinking homemade milkshakes while watching Golden Girls for the umpteenth time, but instead of quoting each episode, we bore our hearts to each other as the world narrowed to just us on the couch.
Wrenley was the only person outside of Ira Mae who knew how hard transitioning was for me, but she loved me through every ugly and glorious second of it.
She made me feel seen and beautiful, not like a freak of nature.
She was safety. She was self-love, empathy, and kindness.
She was home in a way I never thought I would get to know outside of blood.
She was both physically and metaphorically where I wanted to lay my head at night and wake up in the morning.
If we were this close and good as friends, imagine what we could be if we added more.
But could I really ruin the friendship over a maybe?
What if I lost everything for being greedy?
What if one reckless decision shattered the best thing that had ever happened to me?
There was no way I would survive that. The spark that I remembered feeling the first time we met could be more than just some static shock.
It could be a fire meant to warm and nurture.
Yet, the odds of that same flame leaving nothing but ash where our friendship used to be weren’t zero. And those odds were just too high.
Fantasies were safe. Anything could happen there without consequences. There, neither of us would wake up and try to sneak out the next morning to avoid a hard, awkward conversation. Our friendship stayed intact forever.
Maybe that was just where all of this needed to stay…
In dreams and imagination.
In stolen glances, lingering touches, and tension hanging over us.
In almosts and maybes.
In secret questions and hopeful guesses.
In the quiet space between what was and what could be.
In my head, my bull mooed mournfully, but I ignored them. Instead, I tightened my grip on the handlebars and sped to work.