The next day, we sat sipping coffee and exchanging the headlines of our two decades of existence, both of us fascinated by how our cultures merged and diverged.
Mei was unlike anyone I’d ever met. She jiggled with frenetic energy, as if her petite frame couldn’t contain her spirit. Her laughter was contagious, and she had the most chaotic and colourful dress sense of anyone I’d ever seen.
Mei confessed to finding it difficult to make friends — the other foreign students arrived in their cliques, and the British students avoided her, perhaps assuming she spoke poor English. And so, she’d fallen through the social cracks.
For my part, Mei had arrived right when I needed a friend, so we became study-buddies and cappuccino-confidants. Unlike Jeremy and Francesca’s company, Mei’s was uncomplicated. She told me about Malaysia and how this was the farthest she’d ever been from home. Mei’s parents saved hard to give her the chance they’d never had. She was their bright spark, their one big wish for the future. As a result, the heavy pressure weighed her down, as if their hopes were rocks in her pockets.
Something about her wide-eyed curiosity cracked me open. I told her about losing my mum, how my dad had curled into himself ever since, and how at times I felt so alone it was like my own thoughts echoed inside my head.
Weeks passed, and the connection deepened, until oneday I found the words I’d been burning to say taking slow shape in my mouth.
“Mei… would it change your opinion of me if I told you I was gay?”
I carefully watched her reaction, waiting for a recoil, a flinch, or for her to run from the Wimpy café we frequented in town — a place I knew Francesca would never step foot inside.
Mei slurped her strawberry milkshake through the straw and shrugged. “I already knew this about you, Cati.”
“Oh!” I tilted my head, the echo of my words still ringing in my ears. “You, er, you don’t mind?”
Mei giggled. “Why would I? It’s who you are, and I likeyou.”
I nudged my glasses back up my nose. “Right, yes. Okay. Good then.”
Mei leaned forward. “You want to know something about me?”
My eyes snapped back to hers, which were sparkling with a secret.
“I’ve never liked anyone likethat. Not a boy or a girl. Not one person, ever.” She crossed her index fingers in an X.
“Maybe you just haven’t met the right person.”
Mei grinned. “What — like maybe you just haven’t met the right boy?”
I opened my mouth to respond but closed it again because I’d already lost the point.
“See, I’m different. I know I’m different.”Mei shrugged. “I think that’s why we’re friends. We’re both different.”
A slow warmth spread through me. I felt seen and understood for the first time, like another layer had been peeled back and Mei hadn’t been horrified by what lurked underneath.
The only thing I withheld from Mei was my relationship with Francesca. It was bigger than any words I had to explain it. Yet, what was there to tell? I couldn’t find a label that would stick on that tin — a secret affair? A romantic tryst? Or was it just sex?
I wanted more, but settled for all Francesca was prepared to give. Besides, she’d made it clear she didn’t want anyone else to know, which, coupled with her frequent coldness, made it feel like a dirty little secret that was best kept to myself.
Occasionally,Francesca surprised me with unsolicited affection, a subtle brush of skin on skin or a small sway into me as we walked across campus together, our bodies connecting, and sparks jumping with the illicit thrill.
One daring day, she slipped her hand into my pocket and gripped mine. Hope rose inside me at the openness of her gesture, but the bubble burst when a shaven-headed student in a studded leather jacket yelled out to us from across the quad. Francesca yanked her hand back and sprung away from me.
I paused to look around at the small group of students gathered in a clearing between two trees where they’d strung up a handmade flag — three words painted underneath a large pink triangle: Gay Liberation Front.
“Hey girls!” Leather Jacket hollered again as she crossed the quad towards us.
Francesca tugged my arm. “Come on.”
“Shall we see what she wants?” I asked, attempting a casual tone, though my heart pounded in my chest.
“No, we’re not like them,” Francesca hissed. “Stay away from them, or you’ll get a name for yourself.”
As Leather Jacket drew close, Francesca stormed off.
