"Minimal PDA," Evan offers, shrugging.
I tut. "Not sure about that one. You know me, I'm a very touchy, tactile person. It would seem suspicious."
Evan nods, looking off to the side as a party of people filter into the restaurant loudly. "That's true. Okay, um, just no kissing then? That's the only rule?"
"I mean…" I laugh and Evan rolls her eyes. "A little peck here and there might help sell it." I grin mischievously.
"I'm having flashbacks to college." Evan shudders. "Are you experimenting with me, Teens?"
Wow, it's been a very long time since anyone called me that other than my parents. Teens, short for Teeny for obvious reasons. It brings up a melancholy, nostalgic feeling that somehow falters into a contented smile. "I wouldn't use you like that, Evan." The words come out far more serious than I intended, but I do want her to know that.
I pour both of us more water as the waiter begins walking towards us with our main courses. "But who knows maybe I'm a late bloomer." I wink, adding the levity I was briefly missing.
Then, once our food is settled in front of us, a question forms I can’t seem to shake off. “Howdidyou know?”
"That I like women?" Evan clarifies, I nod. "Um... I guess I just heard friends talk about boys in the way I realised I only felt about girls. And it was a slow realisation, obviously. I didn't even know lesbians existed until I was twelve and watchedEllenafter school. The only thing I knew about gay people was from church—and it was ugly. But honestly, I thought that was just men.”
I nod. “I thought that too. I remember seeing two women together at a grocery store once with my mom when I was like… eleven? And being really confused.”
Evan nods, smiling softly. “Did you ask Maggie about them?”
“Yeah.” I laugh, take a quick sip and roll my eyes with affection. “She told me they were in love, to mind my business, and go fetch a three pound bag of russets.”
I watch Evan’s expression turn from amused to distracted, eyes glazed over and lips tugging downward. I want to ask more questions about her coming out experience, but I don’t want to pry. She’s not a closed-off person. More like a cavern that you can only explore on low tide.
“Can I ask you something?” Evan blinks, coming back into the room from whatever memory she followed.
“Of course,” I answer.
“When did you first think that maybe I was different?”
I bite down a smile. “You used to make my Barbies kiss.”
“No I did not!” Evan bursts, her cheeks turning as red as her lips.
“You did. Plus, you noticed things I never really did. I remember you saying, we were probably like thirteen, that kissing a man would be awful because of facial hair. It made me think,well then you should just kiss girls. And I remember it sort of being an unspoken thing after that. Until—”
“My eighteenth birthday."
“Yeah,” I agree.
Evan came out to her very religiousparents on her eighteenth birthday. We’ve only talked about it once, the same day it occurred, when she came to my house. My mom answered the door, and she immediately broke down crying on our front porch. It was just a week after Christmas and she was literally thrown out in the cold by them.
I had never seen her cry before. Never really even seen her get close in the nine years up till that point. Not at church—when everyone else would be crying, supposedly moved by the holy spirit—not when her beloved dog passed away, or when her older sister got into a bad car accident. But she cried then. And, though I wish I could say differently, it freaked me out. I sat on the bottom step of our kitchen stairs as my mom sat her down at the table, got her some tea, and had her explain what happened.
It only took my mom thirty seconds to say she could stay with us. Not many more to send my dad with his truck over there to pick up her things—which had already been tossed into a snow mound.
I watch as Evan unwraps her cutlery and twirls it between her thumb and finger, then sets it down beside her plate, her expression far more serious than I’ve seen tonight. "Natalie really blindsided me…" She looks up hesitantly, softly finding my eyeline. "Is it bad that I want her to hurt like I did? Just a little?"
I ponder the question because I don't have to lie to Evan—never have. "I don't think so,” I sigh, reflecting some more. “I think that's only human. What she did was really, really wrong."
"And you don't mind being a part of that?"
I shake my head, our eye contact fusing across the table. Her dark brown and my blue, holding space for each other silently. "No," I answer plainly. Something rises in my chest like protectiveness, over my kind friend who’s been through so much already. Too much. "No, I'd key her car if you asked. I'd go full Carrie Underwood. A Louisville slugger to both headlights."
"Not the full Carrie,” Evan mutters, digging into her risotto and smiling to herself.
"I'd make Carrie look tame for you, Ev." I wink, shovelling in a forkful of lasagna into my mouth.
