Chapter 25 #2
And then, against all odds, she smiles at me. A real smile that lights up everything inside of me. “You loved him in the way you could. That’s much better than some of us would have been able to do. Believe me.”
She bumps her shoulder against mine playfully, like it’s no big deal.
It’s a very big deal.
Lily is officially sucked in.
She hasn’t said a word this entire episode, on the edge of her seat to see who he picks during the rose ceremony. But when he sends home her favorite, she is not happy.
“This is all fake,” she complains, pausing the show with only a couple of minutes to go. “Scripted. Half of them are lying, and the other half are stupid enough to believe it.”
“Maybe, but I’ve always liked it.”
Her eyes narrow in disgust.
“These people want love bad enough to embarrass themselves on national television. And sometimes it works out,” I sigh, leaning back against the couch. “I think there’s something beautiful about that. Finding true love in all of the chaos.”
“You’re hopeless.”
Maybe so, but I don’t try to defend myself any longer, because I’ve had a wonderful idea. “Oh! Lily!”
“Whatever is about to come out of your mouth, the answer is no,” she says, pinching the top of her nose, already annoyed enough to have a headache.
“We should sign up!”
“Sign up for what?”
“For the show!” I gesture at the TV. “Think about it! We’re both single and the perfect age! We could both find love again!”
“Absolutely not.”
“I can hear your story now, never been married, finding love for the first time.”
“That’s absurd.”
“You’d be so pretty in the fancy dresses.”
“Diana.”
“It would be like a long vacation.”
“Stop.”
“And we would make so many friends.”
“You’re out of here.”
I smile at that, but I look at her with my most convincing eyes. “Come on, Lily, you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about finding love.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’re only saying—” I start to dismiss that, because I don’t believe her, but she cuts me off.
“I don’t like men.”
She says it so casually. Like she’s commenting on the weather. She can’t mean… “Well,” I recover quickly, waving a hand, “sure, a lot of men are terrible, I’ll give you that. But you just haven’t found the right—”
“No,” she interrupts. “You’re not listening.” No, I am. Suddenly, unconsciously, I’m holding my breath.
“I don’t like men,” she repeats slowly. “As in, I’m a lesbian.”
That word lands between us hard, so much unsaid, so much I never looked at too closely, blown right into the front of my mind with a single word. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Lily watches me, waiting for me to acknowledge what she said, but the realization is still hitting me in waves.
Lily never had a boyfriend back then.
She never even called a boy cute.
“Oh,” then again, in a daze. “Oh.”
I’m staring at her, wide-eyed, as her lips twitch. She tries to keep her face in a neutral, somewhat grumpy state. Evidently, she fails.
Because she bursts out laughing. Actual, genuine laughter I haven’t heard in so long.
“Oh my God,” she chokes out, doubled over, wiping at her eyes. “Are you actually shocked right now?”
“I…well… you never told me!” I sputter out, warmth filling my cheeks.
She laughs harder.
“We, when we were younger, we—” The reminder of what we did makes me flustered in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
“I thought that was practice.”
“Practice, huh?” The way she says it, I know she’s teasing me for some reason, but I can’t figure out why right now.
“We were kids!”
“We were not kids,” she says, still grinning in a way that’s making my stomach flutter.
“You could’ve told me,” I whisper, looking down at my hands.
She laughs again, like I’ve said the funniest thing yet. “Di. I thought it was obvious.”
I swallow hard, looking back up at her, my heart picking up every time I meet her eyes. “So… did you ever… have a… woman?”
And with that question hanging between us, I’m suddenly aware that I really don’t want to know, but it’s already out there now. I can’t take it back.
“What, like a girlfriend?” I force a nod.
“Sure.” She shrugs. “Nothing that lasted, obviously.”
I nod again, trying to appear neutral. Calm. I’m totally fine. Lily is a lesbian. She had girlfriends. My stomach twists in a way I can’t ignore.
Because I thought…
“I thought that was something only we did.”
Her head snaps toward me, one eyebrow raised. “Are you seriously jealous?” She looks angry at first, but her frown quickly shifts back into an amused grin at my expense.
“Of course not!” I respond, but there’s no way I can defend myself.
I am jealous.
She snorts and turns back to face the TV, grabbing the remote to unpause it. “You’re ridiculous, Di.”
I force a laugh along with her, and that’s the end of it. We start talking about the show again, and the room fills with laughter and silly commentary.
I should be grateful.
Lily is talking to me, she’s watching my show, she’s letting me spend time with her, but I can’t even enjoy it. My chest feels like a boulder is sitting on it. My mind spins over her words. She’s had a girlfriend. Probably more than one.
Someone else had Lily. They touched her the way I used to. They felt her skin under their hands, they heard her moans, they held her while she came apart.
My stomach twists violently.
Lily isn’t mine. I don’t have any claim over her. And I’m not even… like that. But my fingers curl around the edge of the blanket she’s thrown over us anyway.
Years of therapy to try to fight these feelings, words drilled into me over countless sessions. These thoughts aren’t facts. They’re not reality. Don’t cling to them. Let it pass.
I repeat those words over and over. It’s not real. It’s not real.
It’s not real. She’s my best friend, nothing else, but I want her.
Not as friends, not even as best friends. I don’t want to see her a few times a week and have stilted conversations under the guise of helping her with a household task.
I want her, in the morning, and at night, and for every second of the rest of our lives, and that realization makes me sick.
I blink hard, forcing the tears to stay put. Lily’s talking about some ridiculous drama on the show, laughing at her own joke, but I can’t pay attention.
I can’t tell her. I won’t. It isn’t her burden to bear. It’s my shame, my selfish desire.
She doesn’t want me like that. She barely even wants to be friends, but she’s giving me a chance despite that, and here I am, ungrateful for what she’s willing to give.
I force the feelings down, hide them behind the walls I’ve built over decades of therapy and self-control.
Lily is here, she’s beside me, she’s laughing, after all these years.
And I have to be okay with that.
“I had fun today,” I say, smiling at her from the front porch.
“Don’t get used to it,” she mutters, low and clipped as she leans against the door frame, but her eyes never lie.
She doesn’t mean that.
I laugh softly, feeling lighter than before, my feelings locked safely away. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“Good. One-time thing. Don’t think you’ve got me hooked on some stupid dating show.”
“Right. One-time thing.”
It’s not a one-time thing.