Chapter Thirty-Six
Bee
I awoke just as the sun started to rise over the ocean. Pity decision or not, I was glad Nola let me keep the ocean view room when we moved in. I tested my voice—normal—and tried to figure out if I’d hallucinated a helpful ghost last night, or if Nola Young had actually come to check on me.
I’d prefer if it was a hallucination—would love it, actually. It’d sure be better than thinking about the way our relationship was emotionally escalating quicker than I could process.
I had years of practice holding back with Nola. The sooner I snapped out of this haze and realized that she would inevitably switch up on me again, the better.
But it was a ridiculous fear to have. And I knew it was. She apologized—had continued to apologize—so why couldn’t I just let go and believe her?
What if things were only going well now because we’d been glued together in the name of publicity and marketing and content? It didn’t change the fact that once we were no longer roommates we could be back to square one.
What if Nola was opening up to me because she knew she had to for the team, not because she felt anything substantial at all with me?
I was too lost in thought to realize Olive was alone in the living room until I was nearly squeezed to death.
“Oh, thank God, Bee!!”
“I told you I’d be fine, Olive!” I laughed in her arms and squeezed her back. Hugging this teenager was making me miss my own younger twin sisters.
“I know, I know. It’s just good to hear you sounding normal.”
“I’m sorry I scared you.” I rubbed her back.
“I’m sorry I almost killed you.” Her words were muffled by my sweatshirt.
“Once again, I was never close to dying.” I looked around, expecting to see Nola, who, annoyingly, had beaten me to be the first to awake every morning. “Where’s your sister?”
“She’s still sleeping. She stayed up like half the night sitting in your room and checking on you.”
“Huh?”
“She wanted to make sure you were breathing. She was trying to be calm for me, but I could tell she was scared for you.”
“Olive, are you sure?”
“One-hundred percent.”
I had no idea what to do with this information. I really wanted the ghost to win out here, hallucination or not. Because that would mean that Nola Young genuinely cared for me. That our night on the couch wasn’t just me being needy or too much.
She’d meant it when she said she loved us.
Maybe this self doubt was wrong. Maybe I let myself start to believe my darkest thoughts; a desperate attempt of self-preservation. I’d never been in love—had actively run away from it.
I should let myself feel these feelings and believe Nola’s intentions with me were authentic. I wanted more moments with her, no matter where we were, or who we were with. But we should probably let the season start first. And win a few games—many games.
“Have you eaten yet?” I asked, totally deflecting.
Olive shook her head. “Nola usually makes breakfast.”
“And what? You’re incapable of cooking?”
“Nah, I just like pulling the baby sister card whenever I can.” She smiled deviously and batted her lashes with ease. She was the spitting image of her sister when she looked at me like this.
I dapped her up for the manipulation, because I was petty like that. “Good game.”
As a thank you for making sure I breathed through the night, I took it upon myself to cook breakfast. I busied myself making grits, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
The Youngs hadn’t spent much time in the south, so I made pancakes as a backup in case my grandma’s grits didn’t go down well for them.
I’d have to terminate the friendship and find another place to live, too.
At some point, Olive turned on some music and took up washing the pots and pans I used before transferring the food to serving platters. It might just be the three of us, but I still loved hosting like it was a family of seven.
“Can I ask you a totally personal, and maybe inappropriate question? I know we just met, so you don’t have to answer.”
“Shoot.” I took out the bacon from the oven.
“Where are you on the…sexuality of it all?”
“Oh, juicy question, Olive.”
“Sorry, Nola’s so…PG with it all.”
“And you take it I’m not?”
“You don’t really scream sister with boundaries to me.”
“Good observation; you’re correct.” I smiled and hip bumped her. “I am very much the L in LGBTQ+,” I answered.
Olive nodded seriously. “Like my sister.”
I ignored the implication and grabbed plates from the cabinets.
“Sure.”
“And how did you know?”
“Well minus the gay panic I had for years. And the part where I couldn’t stop kissing my friends?” I laughed so Olive could feel the levity I want this conversation to have. Too often, these talks had felt like life or death to me
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” I turned to face Olive and sat on the kitchen island.
“I always knew, but I was suppressing it a lot. I wasn’t honest with myself, which meant I put myself in some weird situations in college.
Only getting with boys for male validation, making my queerness a drunk spectacle.
I wasn’t the first, and definitely won’t be the last. But eventually I got brave.
Which included me realizing I never wanted to emotionally be with a man, ever.
Your Auntie ‘Shida helped me a lot, and so did some of my close friends.”
I could still remember what it felt like walking into the Limp Wrist, a gay bar in Jersey, with Perry and her best friend Val attached at each hip for me.
I’d already admired them from work; the whole familial vibe at the Jaguars wasn’t a facade.
But something about having them guide and support me—even if Val was just the biggest ally ever—had me trying to hide my happy tears in the bathroom.
I watched Olive pick at her nails and nod along as she processed my speech.
“Have you kissed your friends?” I asked with my own devious smile.
She tried to suppress a smile but was so bad at it. “Maybe.” She shrugged.
“And did you like it?”
“Maybe?”
“Then talk about it. See if they felt the same way. You know?”
“Yeah…maybe I will.” Olive replied as she stacked her plate high with food and added some grits to a separate bowl. “Have you ever kissed my sister?”
“O-oh, uh…” I stammered. Damn, so much for not walking into a trap.
“Olive, are you being messy?” A sleepy voice said from behind me.
Nola stood at the bottom step in her silver durag, yet another a cropped tee, and baggy mesh shorts. Her toned arms made me want to bite and cuddle them, the tee revealing her chiseled abs when she lifted her arms up to stretch.
I turned away to not get caught staring, but while the older Young seemed oblivious to my fascination, the little one had caught me red-handed.