Her tone is a lot more alarmed than I expected. We were speaking like in a song, everything leading up to a crescendo, and now it feels like I shut it off. And wait. Did she just imply that she wanted to meet up because she was certain that Trevor and I had broken up? I didn’t want to hope that’s what this was, her wanting to get back together, but of course I desperately wished it. And I may have just trampled over my chance.
“No, no. I did, but only briefly. After we talked, after you left me, I was feeling low, alone. I’d never felt so alone. So when he came back from his trip and seemed interested in wanting to meet up, I didn’t want to pass up the chance at feeling like anyone in the world cared about me. I know, it sounds so bad, but that’s the real reason I went. And when I got there”—oh God, let me find the courage to say it because I know this could ruin everything, but I want to be honest with her—“I did kiss him.”
“Oh,” she says, voice small. Her face shades with disappointment, her lips shrinking into a pucker. Then she’s on the move, as if she doesn’t realize she’s walking.
I keep up after her as we enter a new room, this one hotter and more humid than the last. The plants get bigger, their leaves fan out impressively. The wetness in the air must be making my hair curl, I realize for the first time, and don’t mind it.
I try to catch her eye. “It felt so wrong. You and I were broken up, had been for a week, but I still felt like I was cheating on you somehow.”
An older couple in purple and blue windbreakers approaches us from the opposite direction. Erebuni slows to a stop, and I quiet and give them a polite half smile. As they walk away, my voice stays hushed. “I also weirdly felt like I was cheating on myself, like I was betraying myself. So I broke everything off with him for good, like, immediately after that.”
I can hear her exhale. It doesn’t sound like relief, though, more like thinking.
I step toward her, catching her reluctant stare. “I thought I’d never see you again, but I still cut it off with him.”
Her eyes appear distant. “But you did try to go back to him. Tried him on for size.”
I give an apologetic shrug. I’m not done, I need her to see the full picture. At least she’s listening. I haven’t lost her ear yet. “I mean, in a way, yes. It wasn’t good of me. We had five years together. I had to see him in person no matter what since we ended things so... unclearly. I was in a bad place when I went there. Part of me assumed we’d just reconcile and fall into place. That this was what I should be doing. Like, I thought my mom might want me to be with him.”
“Ah right, your mom.” She doesn’t say it with vitriol or sarcasm. It’s plain, like an immovable object.
That sparks something in me. I, too, thought that was the biggest obstacle. I mean, it was, but it turns out it wasn’t rooted into place forever. I try to hide a smile. “Not anymore. You saw the post. I didn’t just come out to the anonymous world. Before I wrote that, I told my cousin Diana, then my mom. Even my grandma.”
Erebuni stops walking again just as we enter a new room, the most open one we’ve been in so far, with massive lily pads shaped like tart pans dotting a pond like stepping stones.
“You told them? I hoped but I didn’t believe...” Her voice has a desperate edge to it.
“Yes.” I don’t say anything else because I’m too busy enjoying the transformation of her face. There’s a leavening of every feature.
“What did they say?” She’s sounding expectant, hopeful. She wants to believe this will work, and the feeling she’s giving me, I absorb it into my skin like sunshine.
I speak fast. “Diana knew, basically. She was so kind and supportive. And my mom was okay. She’s had some time to digest it, so once I told her outright, it wasn’t such a shock. She understood that this is me.” I smile at her, “It’s going to be okay.” The last part comes out thickly, and when I feel a tear hot on my cheek, I realize I’m saying it as much for me as for her. I haven’t fully admitted it to myself yet. It’s going to be okay, and that’s the baseline. It might be more than okay. Much more.
Then I feel it. Her hand is in mine, a serenity in her touch. I’m tranquilized by it, my whole body rippling and unable, unwilling, to move. The world, perhaps from my wet eyes or the shaking inside me, takes on a grosgrain texture. And the way she’s looking at me is entirely new. Her cheeks have reddened. She’s open, suddenly.
“Nar,” she says.
I wipe the tear with my other hand, not daring to remove the one she’s cradling. I never want us unclasped.
“Yes?” My voice is heavy from the tears I’m trying to hold back.
“You did it.” It’s not a question, but I still answer.
“I did.” It comes out a whisper.
She steps closer. “Can I kiss you?”
I nod, and draw my face toward hers. The downy softness of her cheek rubs against mine, then she kisses me, lips as yielding and strong as rushing water. The smell of her rose perfume mingles with the humidity, turning it so heady I lose myself in it and know that no matter what happens, I will never forget this.
She pulls away gently. There’s a flush to her face, deeper than before, the etching in her irises more distinct. There is nothing hidden, no secret fears. Every line in her face is open. I set to memory her cheekbones, the width of her eyes. But I don’t want to have to only remember it.
I need to tell her that; it’s as important as breathing. “I want to be with you. Really. You’re so special to me, and I want to give you and me a real chance.”
She strums her thumb over the top of my hand. “I’d like that very much.”
I can’t help it, I almost launch myself at her with another kiss, and she takes a couple of steps backward. We land against a wall of plants, without crushing them, and vines curl around our hair like garden snakes.
We laugh at the near fall.
