After the discussion on the grounds, there were plenty more discussions elsewhere and everywhere. She was right, you got it, and she got it; you both got it. Conversations were easy, debates were common, and smiles were infinite. But there was one topic that you dared not touch on. Finally, one time in a quiet corner in the library, you asked her about the silver ring on her left middle finger that she never seemed to take off.
"Ahh this thing? It was a gift."
From her parents hopefully?
"Oh," you asked casually, "who from?"
"From… my boyfriend for our two year anniversary."
Her eyes dropped heavily to look at it. You blinked twice. There was a faint ringing in your ears.
"Oh."
Boyfriend. The word remained in your head long after you'd said goodbye (a kiss on each cheek), your face still warm. Boyfriend. You sighed, turning to your side, and pulling the covers up to burrow yourself deeper into the bed.
"Bonjour Cosima!"
You froze for a quick second before whirling around to smile widely, hand thrown out for a casual wave.
"Hey Delphine!"
"I didn't see you in class last week?" her face crumpled, "are you okay?"
"Yeah, I, uh, I had, uhm," you swallowed, "a tummy upset."
She nodded and then grinned, taking a deep breath in relief, while you winced inwardly (of all things, a tummy upset?). Try as hard you could, you could not stop your eyes averting to the bright, shiny, ring on her finger, but quickly looked back at her when she said something.
"What, sorry?"
"Oh, I was just wondering if you'd like to grab some lunch together now? We didn't quite finish our last debate," she reproached, taking your hand in an attempt to persuade. Your skin tingled.
One more time again to the ring.
"Sorry," you plastered an apologetic look on your face, "but I have to finish this essay now. It's due soon."
"Oh." Her mouth froze in a circle, but she reluctantly nodded, releasing her grip on your hand. "Oh, I see. Good luck with it then!"
Dragging yourself away, you were unable to resist the urge, and looked back only to see her still standing where you left her, watching you walk away. Was that sadness on her face?
Over dinner one night later on, Delphine told me that the week I ignored her was tough on her, and she found herself confused and disappointed. She confessed that that week was when she had started to wonder if she thought of me as more than a friend. I had teased her at that confession, insisting that it was hard not to fall for me, and received a slap on the leg for my cheekiness.
What I would give now for that extra week.
"Can you tell me about your boyfriend?"
Like pulling a band aid off, you looked up from your notes to face her, and noticed her raised eyebrows and wide eyes.
"François?"
"Mhmm, I'm surprised I don't know more about him," you shrugged, glancing back down to your notes, eyes running over the sentences (why won't the words focus?).
You waited. The quiet hum of background voices in the library, the shuffling of papers, and the occasional wheeling of the book trolley, was magnified. You peeked to see her hunched over, her brows furrowed, and perplexed expression on her face. Worried that you had discomfited her, you tapped her lightly on her arm.
"Hey, you don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"No, that's okay. I was just wondering what to say."
Silence returned as she chose her words.
"François is a good man. We don't see each other often because he lives in a different country."
With fascination, you noticed her knuckles on the hand holding a pen turn white, and wondered what it was that made that grip tighten. Glancing down, you realised your own pen was creating jagged lines on your paper, which stopped with her next words.
"It's complicated at the moment."
Her tone rang with finality, and you acquiesced, though curious (desperate) to know why it was complicated. She quickly diverted her gaze when you went to meet hers, and you nodded.
"Okay."
This was fun. You watched lazily as she inhaled the vapour into her lungs, her movements so natural it suggested a practiced habit. Releasing the smoke, she replaced the bong on the floor, and lay back against your bed, head angling to give you a small smile. From your comfortable position on the carpet, you shifted to appreciate her beautiful face as she closed her eyes.
You giggled.
Her brown eyes snapped open immediately at once, latching onto yours. You giggled again.
"What?"
She too started to giggle, and before you knew it you were both in fits, and unable to stop.
"Ahh, mmm" was the only thing you could offer, as you tried to swat at her, but your hand seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. She was too far. Why was your arm moving in pieces? Why was she so far away?
"You're too far."
"I'm too far?"
She repeated blankly, blinking slowly, and then another giggle. The fits started again.
"When did you know you liked girls?"
She was leaning above you now, chin in hand, and studying your face intently.
"Hmm," closing your eyes, you tried to remember. "I can't think of a specific time when I realised it. I just did, there was never a difference between liking boys or girls to me. My parents accepted whoever I liked equally, and it just never was like, a big thing, you know?"
She hummed her acknowledgement, but her eyes continued to roam over your face, and you found your throat dry. Even in the haze of slow motion, your heart picked up its pace. Her tongue flicked over her lips, and you were faintly aware of her fluttering eyelids as she lowered to meet you.
Her lips were warm, and when they opened, your pulse somehow still managed to spike. But she pulled away so quickly that all you could do was stare, mouth left wanting, and chest heaving.
"I'm sorry," her hand flew up to her mouth (a barrier). "I don't know what came over me, I'm so sorry. It didn't mean anything, don't worry."
She was flustered, blurting out her words, and her cheeks flaming. Only managing a weak wave at her apology (it didn't mean anything, it didn't mean anything), you shook your head.
"Don't apologise, that was nothing to be sorry about."
"It's the weed. I should go."
"No, no," faint alarm bells started ringing; it was too dangerous to walk home alone late. "You can't leave while you are still high, just stay here like we had agreed on."
"Are you sure?"
Her eyes were wide, her fists were clenched, and all you could do was flop back down onto the floor, sighing.
"Yes, I'm sure."
She realised that she had feelings for me that night. Not during the kiss, how cliché would that have been? But later that night, when we had both collapsed on the bed, body still slow, mind still clouded, and entered the world where nothing mattered. At some point she had woke up, and laid her eyes and hand upon my face, considering, wondering, and pleading. She had stayed there for a while, but ready to move away if I had awakened.
What she did not know was that I woke the moment she laid her bare hand on my face, her soft and warm palm saying more than her words could. Only when she had returned to sleeping did I let myself smile, though.
Things changed after that night.
As the trees slowly shed its leaves, Delphine shed her walls. Bit by bit, she let slip information about her family and her life back in France that you lapped up, storing it in the part of your mind that you reserved specially for the beautiful blonde. While you engaged her in more baking sessions, and wine tasting (you soon realised she knew more about wine than you did), she introduced you to classical music, and brought fresh opinions to your study. Hardly a day went by without time spent with Delphine, and you often found yourself smiling at the ridiculously cute texts she sent during rare times when you were apart.
But the ring remained.
"So what's this I hear about my twin sister and a particular bangin' French woman?"
"What?"
You spat out your drink in surprise, hurriedly picking up a napkin to dab at your mouth. Sarah simply scrutinised your flustered actions, one eyebrow raised.
"If you're talking about Delphine, she's just a friend."
"That's not what I have been hearing, Cos."
"Don't be silly, she's got a boyfriend."
"Exactly. So who's being the silly one?"
After a long night in a pub with raucous students, you were glad to be back in the peace of your townhouse. Your mind was far from peaceful though; it was turbulent with questions Sarah had thrown your way. Clenching your jaw, you rolled your neck, exhaling loudly.
"Are you okay, Cosima?"
Slowly, you turned to look at Delphine, who leaned against the wall dividing the bedroom and the rest of the house. Her fluffy oversized sweater had fallen off one shoulder, and her tousled hair graced that bare shoulder tantalisingly. Everything slowed down as you stepped towards her.
(A huge thump in your chest.)
"Don't you think… it's time we admit what this is really about?"
"What do you mean?"
Her voice came out softer than a whisper, and it was hard to hear over the pounding in your ears. Dangerously close to her now, you raised a hand to cup her face, and pulled her in slowly. She tasted like the schnapps she enjoyed way too much at the bar, and you were hungry for more (more, more, more). But once again, slipping through your fingers, she was quickly out of reach, wide-eyed and breathing heavily.
"No."
Your mind flashed back to the night with a kiss, to later that night with her hand on your face, seemingly promising and encouraging. Shaking your head in frustration, you tossed the word back at her, hands thrown out.
"No?"
"I have a boyfriend."
The words sounded feeble even to her, offered in a shaky voice. She raked a hand through her hair, and then folded her arms (another barrier).
"So this thing between us is just friendship?" your hands were flying, pointing between the two of you. "When you kissed me that night, it meant nothing?"
You hated your voice for quivering. Her eyes closed. You counted.
(One. Two. Three. Four.)
"I-, I don't know."
"Wow, okay."
"I have never been with a woman before. I-," she faltered here. "I don't know how to."
"There's no instruction manual, Delphine. You just be, or do, whatever."
"I don't know. I'm sorry, I'm just going to go."
Anger fought to gain control, but you heard the defeat that seeped through her voice, and your shoulders gave out. You spared her only a glance as she grabbed her coat and left. Only when the door shut did you let out a cry.
When you eventually decided to sleep, you grimaced at the mess you made of your apartment, gingerly stepping over shards of porcelain to reach your bed. You would clean it up tomorrow.
Reason #29347 why I love Delphine: she searched for months to find plates of a similar pattern to those that I had smashed that night. They were my favourite plates, but now I have new favourite ones.