Lisa

Lots of people cry when they first come out. I didn't—I was too drunk, and my college roommate was too supportive—but I've had plenty of practice with other people. It comes in handy now, as Jennie sits on the sofa with her face in her hands, sobbing while I rub her back.

I kind of want to cry, too. It's heartbreaking. She's spent so long in denial, and now she's got so much to lose. I want to tell her it'll be worth it, that life will be much better when she doesn't have to hide, but I don't think that would console her. Right now, all she can feel is fear and loss.

After a few more moments, she reaches for a tissue on the table by the sofa. Her eyes are red. "I'm sorry. I—" She squeezes her eyes shut too late to stop another tear from streaking free. "I'm—I'm—"

"Yeah?" I keep my hand on her back.

"Gay," she gasps, and the second round of weeping begins.

My heart is in my throat and I feel too many things all at once: pity, anxiety, joy. Pride that she's trusting me with this moment, which might be the most vulnerable she's ever been.

"God," she chokes into the tissue. "You're going to be insufferable about this, aren't you? Being right."

I firm up my touch on her back. "I am not. I'm going to listen to whatever you want to say."

"What is there to say? I just said it. Do you want me to say it again? Shout it from the rooftops?"

"Are you sure you're not bi?" It doesn't seem likely to me, but surely it's occurred to Jennie.

She shakes her head. "I remember when you asked me that before. I knew at once it was wrong, although I was looking at it from the other side. No, Lisa, I am not bisexual. I'm…"

Instead of finishing, she throws the wadded-up tissue as hard as she can across the room. Being tissue, it doesn't make it too far and floats anticlimactically to rest on the coffee table.

"Do you, um, want something to drink?" I ask. "Like…a drink?"

She glares at me. "I recently learned I make poor decisions if I drink when I'm upset. Do you want one?"

Its sounds more like an accusation than an invitation. "Um, no thanks. How about water, then?"

Jennie takes a deep breath and lets it go. "Tea."

It turns out she means green tea, which comes in little sachets I find in the cupboard. I prepare two cups and bring them into the living room. In the meantime, Jennie has composed herself. She takes her cup with a steady hand. "Thank you."

I sit and watch her close her eyes while she takes a sip. This isn't the moment, but right now joy overtakes me. Jennie might not be able to feel it for herself, but I'm just so damn happy for her, even in the midst of this.

"Hey," I say. "I know this'll sound weird, but—congratulations."

Jennie snorts and doesn't bother looking at me.

"Really," I insist. "I know this situation is crazy, but in the long run, it's so much better to be who you are and not have to pretend. Isn't pretending exhausting?"

"You have no idea." She gives me a hooded glance. "You really have no idea, do you? You've always known."

I nod. "I stayed closeted until I was in college, but yeah. I've always known."

"Pretending to yourself is the most exhausting thing of all." Jennie leans back against the sofa and looks up at the ceiling. "I've never felt so tired. All of this seems like a bad dream."

"Doesn't have to be bad," I say quickly. "You're in a place where you can start figuring things out now. Yes, the circumstances are more complicated than usual…"

Jennie rolls her eyes.

"But there doesn't have to be any more hiding. From anybody, including yourself. And—" I gather my courage and touch her shoulder. "I'm here for you."

Jennie doesn't shrug my hand off as I'd expected. Instead, she turns to look at it, and a blush blooms in her cheeks. My heart warms and starts to get soft, as it's done all too often lately. I can't even bother to hide it right now.

I rub my thumb against her shoulder and tell myself it's not seductive.

A shiver runs through Jennie's slender frame. She clutches her teacup tighter.

"You want to talk about it?" I whisper.

Jennie blinks at me, her eyes a little glazed. "Talk about…?"

"What it was like growing up. Or getting married. Or anything else you want to get off your chest." Not the right moment to think about her chest.

"I don't know what to say." She looks down at her teacup. "I grew up thinking it was normal to look at pretty girls. I thought everyone did."

"So did I."

"And then I was told that it wasn't. Girls were supposed to look at boys and fall in love with them and marry them. I heard the word 'homosexual' in church, and my parents saying that they prayed for the sinners, but…" She puts a hand over her mouth. "Oh God, my parents."

I pat her back again. "Think they'll come around?"

"When they hear this? Not just that I'm—but I've been—with you." She gestures at me. "Like this. They'll be so ashamed."

Her face is ashen. It's weird—I'd always thought by the time you hit Jennie's age, you stopped caring what your parents thought. Apparently not. And for a second, I feel an acid surge of anger when I think about how Jennie's asshole ex is basically forcing her to come out to people she loves but who won't support her. Nobody should be in that position.

"I don't mean it like that," she adds, surprising me. "Not that you're shameful as a person. You're…remarkable, really. But that won't matter to them."

"I get it," I assure her. I blush, too. She thinks I'm remarkable, even after all this? Wow. "I never came out to my dad. I'll always wonder how he would have taken it."

She blinks at me. "And your mother?"

"Uh…" I shift uncomfortably on the couch. The leather creaks beneath me. "She left when I was in seventh grade. Some guy she worked with. It was just Dad and me after that."

Jennie's gaze softens. "You haven't spoken to her since?"

I can't think of a way to explain to Jennie what it was like back then. How I'd been consumed with rage, gave up on school for a while, acted out in class, figured out my sexuality, told myself I was glad Mom left so she couldn't hurt me with it—and then realized the only way out of Zebulon, Georgia was to get my shit together.

Since I can't explain any of that right now, I say, "Nope. Her loss."

"It is." Jennie looks at me for a long moment. "You dealt with things no child should have to. You're still standing."

"So are you. You'll keep standing, Jennie." I touch her cheek and trace the track of a dried tear. "No matter what they do. And I never had to deal with marrying the wrong person."

"God, marriage," she blurts out. "Both my husbands were handsome. I told myself…"

She trails off. I prompt her, "Go on."

She does. Jennie talks like she's been waiting her whole life to say this, holding a raging river behind a dam. She tells me about trying to be attracted to men because she knew being a single woman could hurt her career. She looked for men who said they'd be understanding about said career, of how she couldn't devote herself completely to them.

"That's normal," I reassure her. "I've known a lot of queer women who threw themselves into school and work so they could tell everyone they were 'too busy' to have boyfriends."

"Or children, I suppose." Jennie rubs her hands over her face. "Although I've known several gay couples with them."

"And straight couples without them." I shrug. "Not everybody's got the parent instinct, no matter how you swing. I sure don't." It's not that I don't like kids. I just like being able to give them back to their parents when they get difficult.

"You're young. You might change your mind." Jennie blows her nose again.

"I don't think so. I know myself pretty well. I'm not prone to…" I cut myself off as I realize what I'm about to say.

Jennie gives me an arch look. "Self-deception?"

I hunch my shoulders sheepishly. I definitely would have agreed with that not so long ago. Then I met Jennie and became a real pro at hiding my head in the sand.

Just an arrangement. Just sex. Yeah, right.

"Maybe a little prone," I confess.

Her lips quirk. For the first time tonight, the darkness leaves her eyes. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. This situation might be awful, but maybe, in the long run, it can be good too. Good for Jennie, who can start living her truth. Good for me, in…a way I'm sure I'll work out in a second.

Okay, it definitely seems I'm getting the raw end of this deal. But I'll take that any day before I submit to assholes who want to hold our sexuality over our heads like a guillotine.

I squeeze Jennie's hand. "Feeling better?"

She looks down at my hand on hers. Then she looks up, and the warmth in her dark eyes has grown much hotter.

Heat sweeps through me too. I gulp. "Oh. Uh, do you want to keep talking? Process some more?"

"I'm not a natural processor," Jennie says. "Are you?"

I know that look in her eyes. An ache starts between my legs, so sudden and profound it takes my breath away.

"I might be a natural at something else," Jennie continues. "If you're willing."

"Are you willing?" I whisper instead of grabbing her hand and putting it where I want it most. I know what I need her to say. "Jennie, do you want me?" My face flames. I'd meant to say it. Not me. "I mean—"

"I want you. Yes." Jennie's gaze lights on my mouth. "But I'd rather show you than tell you."

Mood-wise, this seems like a one-eighty, but I can see where it's coming from. When life falls down around you, sometimes you just need a good hard fuck. Besides, now that Jennie's finally admitted who—and what—she is, she's not the type to waste time at anything. A lesbian she is; lesbian sex she's going to have. With me.

Because she wants me. She said so.

"That bed's pretty comfortable," I say hoarsely.

"I think so myself."

We stand up and look into each other's eyes. By now, I'm burning from head to toe. Jennie's going to touch me. I'm finally going to feel those perfect fingers and that sharp mouth on my skin.

"I hope you're ready, Lisa," Jennie whispers. "I certainly am."