Chapter 13
Skylar
This week has been so long, and the only thing getting me through it without totally losing my shit is the knowledge I’ll get to spend time with Ava this weekend.
The prospect of being intimate with my best friend again excites me as much as it makes me want to curl into a ball and cry over how hard it’s going to be to end things even though we haven’t really started.
Friday night with her and the kids was…
Eye opening.
I’ve never thought about having kids of my own.
When I realized I’m a lesbian, I put kids in the “when the time comes” column and pushed it out of my brain.
I knew if I wanted biological children, it would be costly with a sperm donor or IVF.
Adoption is an option, but the adoption industry isn’t super ethical, and whoever I ended up with would have to be okay with not having biological children.
But Ava’s kids are incredible. Maybe I’m biased because I’m head over heels for their mom, but I think they’re the kindest, smartest, most amazing tiny humans to ever exist.
I would love being their mom.
But it’s just a pipe dream. I’m their cool Auntie Skylar, and it’ll have to be enough.
Leaving Ava on Friday was more difficult than I care to admit, and for a split second, I was going to kiss her goodbye.
I thought—hoped—she would ask me to stay, and as much as the thought excited me, it scared me, too.
So I left in a hurry and spent the rest of the night kicking myself for ever offering to do this.
I don’t make rash decisions. I think things through. I weigh the pros and cons and make an informed decision based on facts and logic.
Apparently, not when it comes to Ava.
I didn’t even think twice before I made my offer, and now the night has come, and I’m so nervous I’m worried I’m going to sweat through my shirt.
Ava had another therapy session today, but it was during her lunch break so she could pick the kids up and take them to their dad’s after work.
She’s sleeping over at my place tonight, so I’ve been flitting around my apartment making sure everything is clean and perfect. I’m making her favorite dish—steak and creamy pasta—and a bottle of Riesling is chilling in the fridge.
I even lit candles.
Then, I blew them out because this was starting to feel too much like a date. And this isn’t a date. Just two gal pals having a girls’ night—watching shows and gossiping.
Two gal pals who might end up rubbing their pussies together or fucking each other with the brand new strap on I purchased in anticipation of tonight.
Just a normal Friday night.
I roll my shoulders back and try to shake off the anxiety. It’s quite possible nothing could happen anyway, and then I'll have worked myself up into a tizzy for no reason.
Ava could get here, tell me she’s too drained from therapy, we have dinner, and call it a night.
Or she could get here, tell me she thinks this is a bad idea and we should stay friends who don’t fuck, and then we’ll move on and pretend nothing ever happened—like we originally planned.
I really fucking don’t want that to happen.
I can’t pretend nothing happened.
You’re going to have to when she’s moved on with someone else.
I bat the thought away. It’s future Skylar’s problem.
As I’m checking to see if the pasta is cooked, there’s a soft knock on the door, followed by the soft click of the door opening. I can’t help but smile. I’ve told Ava a thousand times she doesn’t have to knock before she comes in, but the stubborn, polite woman refuses to change her ways.
The pasta probably needs two more minutes before I can strain it, so I meet her in the entryway.
She’s changed out of her work slacks and blouse into a pair of black leggings and a cropped University of Utah sweatshirt which shows a strip of skin on her stomach when she shifts her backpack off of her shoulders.
Her eyes are a little red-rimmed and puffy, and I’m immediately on alert. Who made my girl cry?
Not your girl, dumbass.
“Hey, Aves. You okay?”
She blows out a long breath, “Yeah. Therapy was intense, then Gus didn’t want to go with Shea because Alisa was there, so we had to have a talk in the car. I’m okay, though. Just exhausted.”
“We don’t have to hang out tonight if you’d rather—”
“No!” she cuts me off quickly, her cheeks flushing. “No, I want to be here. With you. I want to spend the night with you.”
Butterflies erupt in my stomach at her sure tone. She wants to be with me after a hard day. She wants to spend time with me when she could be at home in peace and quiet, reading a book or soaking in the tub.
Don’t think about your best friend naked in the bathtub... bubbles covering her, flushed from the warm water…
Jesus. I need to get a handle on my lust.
I dip my head, trying to hide my giddy grin.
“All right. I need to drain the pasta and mix it with the sauce. The steak is resting and ready to go, and the wine is chilling. I picked up some chocolate covered strawberries from the chocolate store you like downtown for dessert, and Celebrity Dance Off is queued up and waiting on us,” I prattle off, making my way to the kitchen.
Ava follows quickly, the sound of her sock covered feet padding on the floors shouldn’t affect me, but it does.
She’s rarely ever been here. We usually spend the night at her place in case there’s an emergency with the kids, and whenever she has them, it makes sense to hang out there where all their toys are.
I glance at my small, two-person dining table and picture a larger one in its place. A table big enough to fit the four of us comfortably, passing around food and talking about our days.
Ava groans when she smells the sauce permeating the air. “It smells delicious, Sky, but seriously, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
I pour the pasta into the colander in the sink as I reply, “It’s no trouble, Aves. We both need to eat.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Please, just say ‘thank you’ and accept I wanted to do this.”
Ava sighs. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.” The term of endearment slips out way too easily, so I rush past it, hoping she didn’t notice. “Will you grab the wine from the fridge?”
She definitely noticed because she’s looking at me with a heat I’ve only seen once before, but thankfully, she doesn’t say anything. She grabs the bottle from the fridge while I mix the noodles with the sauce, then slice the steak.
I dish us up equal portions while Ava uncorks the wine and pours us each a glass, and we take our plates to the living room where Celebrity Dance Off lights up the screen.
I watch closely as Ava stabs some noodles and a piece of steak then brings it to her mouth. Her eyelashes flutter, and her head tips back as she moans at the taste, and I internally fist pump.
“Sky, this is seriously the best thing I’ve had in my mouth—well, foodwise—in a really long time,” she praises before she takes another bite.
My own fork pauses halfway to my mouth as I register what she just said. Is she talking about my…?
No, surely not.
Right?
Needing a distraction, I decide to ask her how therapy was today. “You said therapy was intense.”
Ava nods. “She gave me some homework last week, so we were talking about it today. Some heavy stuff, lots of hard realizations. Stuff like that.”
“What was the homework? Obviously, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable sharing,” I rush to add the last part, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable.
“I don’t mind sharing. I know you won’t judge me.
She thinks I’m holding myself back from being happy, so she told me to think about what I wanted my future to look like.
Who I wanted to be in it, where I wanted to go career-wise, how I want my kids to be raised.
Who I want to be. Today, we came up with a few small, short-term goals on how I can achieve some of the things I want.
We’ll work on tackling more of them at my next session in two weeks. ”
Am I part of your future, Ava? Do you want me there?
I want to ask so badly, but it feels needy, and I don’t want to be needy. “That’s great, Aves. Let me know if you need anything from me to help achieve your goals. I want you to be happy. You deserve it.”
Something passes across Ava’s face, but it’s gone before I can read it. “Thanks, Sky. I will.”
We finish our dinner in comfortable silence—something I’m glad Ava and I can do.
When we were teenagers, we’d often find ourselves holed up in one of our rooms reading a book or doing homework for hours without saying a word to each other.
Ava and I have always had a special connection, which is why I’ve never even considered telling her about my feelings.
To lose that would be like losing a piece of myself.
But something inside me shifted after our intimate moments together. Now I’m wondering if our connection could be something more—something deeper than the platonic love we share.
Could there be something romantic lying underneath the surface? Or is it all just wishful thinking on my part?
I’m not brave enough to ask out loud.