Chapter 8
Candace
Never have I ever experienced something that made me feel so alive.
If this is what drugs feel like, call me an addict because I need this feeling soaring through my veins every second of the day.
My eardrums popped, and Nat warned they might ring for a day or two.
Aside from that, everything is awake. The music infiltrated my nervous system, seeping into my skin and riding my blood cells through my body. I never want this to go away.
We’re driving through the city back to the suburbs, a place I’ve called home for thirty-nine years.
Strange as it is, I've never felt more at home than right now with a woman I barely know. Even though I have no idea what I’m doing, she leaves me in charge of the music.
Bright lights shine over us, skyscrapers are lit up, and it’s as if the night is as alive as I am.
Couples walk hand in hand along the busy downtown streets.
Cars fly by with their music blaring while drivers happily sing along.
The moon is vivid and full, illuminating the dark sky.
Every sense is heightened, the fragrant smell of food trucks, as people grab late-night snacks.
Cigarette smoke still danced on my tongue from the room of smokers, mixing with the peppermint gum Nat handed me once we buckled up.
An unfamiliar melody plays, and on instinct, I turn it up and roll the window down enough for my upper body to fit out.
“What are you doing?” she squeals, laughing while I hang out the window, arms stretched wide, soaking in the night air.
“I’m feeling the music!” I yell. The beat fills my body once again, as I exhale old Candace, inhaling and embracing this newfound freedom.
“Fun fact. The lead singer of this band named his daughter Apple. Imagine introducing yourself in kindergarten and telling people that’s your name amongst a room full of Jessicas.”
Her pop culture trivia makes me chuckle as we continue our drive. I take it all in as if it’s the first time I’m really seeing the world. I hope I’m not embarrassing myself—I just need more nights like this, especially with her.
We bolt out of her car, laughing hysterically at all the insane things rock stars name their children. In our little bubble, it’s not a school night, and we didn’t just pull into my six thousand square foot home. It’s just us.
Unlocking my front door, we burst inside, still panting from running up the driveway. She makes herself at home on my kitchen island while I grab the chocolate chip cookies I baked last night, just for her.
“Oh my gosh, you’re my favorite person on earth. That’s it, I’m moving in with you. Megan will understand once she eats one of these.” Warmth fills my chest at her praise.
“What is this high going through my body?” I shake my arms out above my head. “It feels like I’m drunk, everything's buzzing, and I can’t tell if I should sleep it off or go streaking through the neighborhood.”
“I beg of you, please go streaking,” she says, giving me a wink.
Before I can dissect that comment further, the living room lights snap on. My sister stands there. “Having fun?” she asks, arms crossed, eyeing both of us.
“Oh my gosh, Court!” I gasp. I totally forgot she was staying here tonight. Guilt replaces my buzz. I never once thought about my girls tonight, whether they went to bed, or when. My heart races as I run through the evening and how they managed without me.
“Oh, hey, what’s up? I’m Nat.” She nods from the counter.
“My sister must like you. Normally she rips me a new one if I walk on her carpet with my shoes on, and yet here you sit with your dirty ass pants right on her precious island.” She purses her lips, giving Nat a once-over.
My eyes shoot to her. “Court,” I growl. I’ve never thought twice about Nat sitting on the island, it seems so natural.
We both ignore my sister while Nat hands me a cookie. “How do you make these and not eat like twenty all at once?”
Courtney’s eyes widen in horror as I bite the cookie right out of Nat’s hand, savoring the chocolaty goodness.
Crumbs stick to my face, she reaches over and wipes them away with her thumb, letting it linger.
That’s when I realize Court is still standing off in the corner, watching us like we’re zoo animals.
“Um…it’s kind of late. I should probably go to bed. I’ve got an early meeting with my financial advisor.”
The disappointment on Nat’s face doesn't go unnoticed. It’s my house, but suddenly it feels like I’m sixteen again. My sister’s giving off full-on angry mom energy—like she wants Nat out so she can lecture me.
“That’s cool, but I’m taking these with me,” she says, holding up the bag of cookies and jumping off the counter. My sister rubs her forehead when Nat’s bulky boots slam on the tile, echoing through the kitchen. “I’ll text you later.”
Bypassing Court’s disapproving stare, she lets herself out, leaving an empty feeling behind.
“I’m sorry, but what the hell did I just interrupt? Was this a date?” She narrows her eyes.
Stunned by her outlandish assumption, I turn away, locking my door and turning the porch light on, assuming she’s still staying the night.
“A date? We went to a concert. Can two girls not hang out without being on a date?” I ask, crossing my arms tightly. Every girl I’ve ever met has a best friend they’d kill to spend time with.
“Candace, I don’t know what the hell that was, but it was not two besties hanging out. That girl looks at you like she wants to lock you away in a basement and rub lotion on your skin.”
“Where’s this coming from? Are you mad at me or something?” I tap my chest. “You don’t even know her. You met Nat for ten seconds and are already giving me the third degree.”
“Look at you getting all defensive. I openly hated your deadbeat husband for years, and you never once stood up for him like you are for this girl you met, literally yesterday.” Her tone is harsher than usual.
“I just wanted to make a friend. She makes me feel things that no one ever bothered to. Natalie’s put in more effort to be my friend in just a week than anyone I’ve ever known.” I snap.
“I’m not judging, this isn’t that. If you wanna start batting for team vagina, do it. Good for you. This is me pointing out some flaws in your new friendship. The main one being it’s one-sided. Nat wants to do a lot more than eat your baked goods, if you know what I mean.”
“When did you become the lesbian whisperer? This is insane. Do you not have a best friend?” I know for a fact she’s got a phone full of girlfriends she could call at any time that would drop everything to hop a plane with her.
“I do, and my best friend doesn’t encourage me to go streaking or make moaning noises after she touches my arm. She sure as hell doesn’t look at me like she’s undressing me with her eyes.”
“I’m not batting for team vagina. What I am doing is going to sleep, and you should do the same.” I point to the living room, then turn and head upstairs.
My sister flops down on the couch, reaching for her favorite flannel blanket.
We’re not the hug-it-out type. We’re the sleep-it-off kind.
It’s late, and we’re both exhausted. She didn’t say anything to intentionally hurt my feelings.
What she did do was fill my brain with all these new thoughts.
Instead of popping my sleeping pill, I’ll be up analyzing every move Natalie made tonight, unsure if this is the friendly situation I thought it was.
Question after question keeps me up well past midnight.
When did female relationships evolve into something romantic?
I’m not blind to the happenings in the world, but two women hanging out doesn’t immediately mean they’re gay.
Why would my sister plant that seed. This nagging feeling is keeping me from a much-needed rest.
All I know is Natalie opened a window to this whole new world, and now that I’ve been a part of it, I have no interest in crawling back the other way.
I had more fun tonight than I’ve had in years, experiencing new music, people, and, for crying out loud, I hung out of a moving vehicle.
We’ve both spent our fair share of time touching and overall being drawn to one another.
That’s not explicitly sexual, though. I may not have a flock of friends at my disposal, but I’ve seen how girls interact, and hand touching is a subtle gesture showing they care, not that they’re in love.
When sleep finally takes over, all I can picture are dainty fingers with chipped black polish covering mine as we let music consume us.