Chapter Twenty
Movie night? Annie looked to Lola, who was smiling back hopefully, fireflies drifting around her like a living constellation.
Annie hadn’t intended on staying this late.
Of course she wanted to reconnect with her ex.
Smooth over their messy past, maybe even end up as friends.
They were queer after all—being friends with your ex was de rigueur.
But there seemed to be more than just friendship growing between them.
They’d definitely had a moment at her apartment at the end of their dual lesbian confessional, until canine interruptus, aka Socks, cut it short.
Annie flushed, reminding herself that falling for Lola again, only to bid her farewell as she jetted off, again, was an incredibly dangerous idea. She wiggled her toes in the grass. “It’s late…”
“Yeah, but we’re only young once,” Lola said.
“Are we young?” Annie asked. “I thought we were old.”
Lola shook her head with a smile. “Forever young,” she said. “It’s a mindset.”
· · ·
The TV room was past the kitchen. There, a long paisley-print sofa slouched between two armchairs—one velvet, one scuffed leather—all facing a boxy TV.
The coffee table was already set up with dessert.
Vanilla ice cream, a bowl of maraschino cherries, a can of whipped cream, some chopped nuts…
. Annie frowned. Wait. Was all this for—
“Banana splits. We hear you’re a fan,” Lola said warmly, as she and Vicky set down four bowls, each with a peeled banana sliced down the middle. “And, of course…”
“Fudge,” Annie finished, abashed, as Dylan placed a bottle of it down with a flourish.
The trio grinned at her, their expressions expectant and hopeful.
Annie’s table read debacle replayed in her mind—I love banana splits but I haven’t had one in years.
The memory still made her cringe. Made her want to sink into the paisley couch and vanish.
She almost did. Almost. But then she remembered what she and Lola had talked about—wanting more.
A bigger, bolder life wasn’t always easy.
It came with risk. With red cheeks. So, she could flee… or she could laugh.
So she laughed. A full, unfiltered belly laugh. “At last!” she declared, grinning.
Relieved, the trio exchanged the smiles of successful co-conspirators. “I knew you’d love it,” Lola said, giving Annie’s arm a squeeze.
Dylan winked at Vicky. Annie had watched the whole flirty circus at the mini-mingle—shared drinks, whispered jokes. They’d both vanished mid conga line and reappeared looking suspiciously…tousled. Equally cute, scandalous, and envy-inducing.
“So, what are we watching?” Dylan asked, making up their bowl. “Something scary? For old time’s sake?”
Annie remembered horror movie marathons in Dylan’s parents’ home theater.
Vicky and Dylan were obsessed with scary movies while she and Lola endured them, shrieking as the others shushed them.
The Blair Witch Project, Scream, A Nightmare on Elm Street…
Annie recalled the brushed velvet of the seats sliding back and forth against her bare thighs as she clung to Lola in a way that made her feel giddy.
“I haven’t seen the new Scream yet,” Vicky bounced with excitement. “Or we could do the first one!”
“Is that okay for your blood pressure?” Dylan asked Vicky, sliding to the floor to lean against the leather armchair.
“You’re asking the person whose comfort watch is Twin Peaks,” Vicky said scornfully. “I can handle a mid-nineties slasher.”
“If you’re cool with it then, yeah, a throwback!” Dylan nodded with enthusiasm. They dropped their voice into a creepy rasp, “Do you like scary movies?”
“Yes!” Vicky squealed as Lola and Annie chorused, “No!”
“We don’t,” Annie said, shaking the can of whipped cream. “I like movies where the scariest thing is the prospect of someone not falling in love with their fated mate but always doing exactly that.”
“Seconded,” Lola said, reaching for the fudge.
“Rom-coms.” Vicky groaned performatively, plopping onto the leather armchair with her bowl. “Nooo.”
“Rom-coms are great—right up until the credits roll,” Dylan said. “Then it’s just reservations for one and unresolved emotional trauma.”
“Cynical much?” Vicky gave Dylan a look before adding, “My beef is you always know how they’re going to end.”
“Same with horror movies,” Lola pointed out. “The final girl is basically the grand gesture.”
“Interesting,” Dylan mused. “Is the first murder the meet-cute?”
“I’ll explore this basement alone is pretty much let’s fuck to get it out of our systems,” Lola said. “A fool’s errand.”
Annie chuckled, feeling warm at hearing Lola mention fucking.
Extremely tempting to imagine it. “Rom-coms aren’t about the ending, they’re about the journey,” she said to Vicky, popping a sticky red cherry atop her perfect split.
“Just like in the play!” The idea arrived as she spoke it aloud.
“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are fated to die—it’s right there in the title—but what’s interesting is the twists and turns along the way.
The banter, the big ideas. The rest of the cast! Their story is also about the journey.”
“Not just a pretty face over here.” Dylan leaned over to tap their wineglass to Annie’s, who blushed, pleased. She’d never been the “smart one.” But things had changed since high school. Things were changing all the time.
Annie hopped up onto the paisley sofa next to Lola, their thighs touching. She tried to ignore how nice it felt. Familiar. Dangerous.
“We could do an indie,” Lola suggested, licking whipped cream off her spoon. “There’s this brilliant new French film about sex workers, filmed on location in a housing estate. It’s three hours long and subtitled and I think it’s pretty heavy but—”
“Pass.” Vicky chomped a piece of banana. “Sorry, Lols, I know you like all that underground stuff, but I’d seriously rather have a lobotomy.”
Annie swallowed a laugh, secretly relieved. She made up her first bite of banana split, with a careful ratio of banana-to-ice-cream-to-whipped-cream-to-fudge-to-nuts. Soft, sweet heaven on a spoon. Annie let out a satisfied groan. “This is perfect.”
The others all agreed. Vicky’s bowl was notably less decadent than everyone else’s. Annie understood why.
In the past, the line between private and public, what’s mine and yours, felt less defined.
Back then, Annie liked that it didn’t matter whose house she might sleep at.
Now they were adults, and that meant having boundaries, even if these three people made her want to dissolve the ones around her. Sleep in the same bed every night.
Or, more accurately, sleep in Lola’s bed, with her. Naked. After hours of making each other—
“What about a lezzie throwback,” Annie spoke quickly. “From our youth?”
“D.E.B.S.,” Dylan listed. “High Art, Imagine Me Dylvee—could be a new line of sex toys; or my personal favorite, Dicky.”
“Dicky?” Vicky cackled.
Dylan blushed. “What can I say? Mouthy lawyers in seersucker does it for me.” They grabbed Vicky’s hand, tugging her away. “And I’d put money on you two hooking up first!”
The pair hurried out, leaving Annie and Lola alone, Dylan’s parting shot vibrating between them.
For a long moment, neither woman moved. Spoke.
The air in the room felt so bracingly alive it practically had a pulse. Annie was overly aware of her body and its proximity to Lola’s.
“I haven’t seen But I’m a Cheerleader in years.” Lola’s hazel eyes were the color of firelight. Her voice was low. Unguarded. “I still love it, though.”
Annie’s breath caught in her throat. Her chest felt tight with the force of it—the wanting, the ache. She wanted to tell Lola everything. Give her everything. Not lose her a second time.
Why was she fighting this? It was time to lay down arms. There was simply no way she couldn’t.
“Same,” Annie whispered back. “I still love it, too.”