Her eyebrows shot up immediately as the words left my mouth. “What do you mean?”
I shifted slightly, propping my head on my arm.
“I was sixteen, and I’d never been interested in boys. Like, never. While all my friends were giggling and obsessing over crushes and first kisses, I was… completely indifferent. I knew I liked girls, had known for years, but I also knew I wanted to understand my own body before I was intimate with anyone else.”
She was listening intently, her eyes never leaving my face.
“So one afternoon, when my parents were out, I used the handle of my hair comb,” I said matter-of-factly. “It was just… practical. I wanted to know what it felt like, wanted to be in control of that experience.”
“Did it hurt?” she asked softly.
“A little, but not as much as I expected. Mostly it was just awkward.” I smiled at the memory. “Very German of me, really. We approach everything with the detachment of a science experiment.”
That made her laugh. “That’s so you.”
“I’ve never been with a man,” I continued, wanting her to understand completely. “Never wanted to be. The whole idea just… doesn’t appeal to me at all. I figured that out pretty early.”
“How early?”
“Eight, maybe nine? I remember having this massive crush on my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Weber. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.” I grinned. “I used to bring her flowers from my mum’s garden every day until my parents figured out why.”
“You were down bad at nine?”
“Hopeless,” I admitted. “My parents figured it out before I even did.”
Her eyes lit up. “How did they react when you came out?”
I chuckled, remembering that day clearly. “They were ridiculously cool with it. I’d been agonising over how to tell them for months. I finally worked up the courage one evening after dinner, and I gave this whole prepared speech about how I was attracted to women and I hoped they could accept me.”
“And?”
“My mum just looked at my dad, and my dad looked at my mum, and then they both burst out laughing. Not mean laughing, just… amused laughing. Then they both hugged me, and my dad said, ‘We already knew, sweetheart. You’ve been obvious about it since you were six and refused to wear that frilly pink dress to your cousin’s wedding because you said it made you look like a cupcake.’ Apparently, that was the first clue.”
Kelechi burst out laughing, covering her mouth to stifle the sound. “They said that?”
“Word for word.” I grinned. “My mum said she’d been waiting for me to figure it out and tell them officially.”
“You’re so lucky to have parents like that,” Kelechi said, but something shifted in her expression as she said it. A shadow crossed her face, and her smile became strained.
I noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, but I could see the way her shoulders tensed.
“K.” I brushed my fingers over her cheek. “What just happened? You looked sad all of a sudden.”
“It’s nothing, really. I just…” She sighed, not meeting my eyes. “I was just thinking about how different our experiences have been, that’s all.”
I could tell there was more to it, but I didn’t want to push. Instead, I shifted the conversation gently. “Tell me about something else then. What’s your favourite memory from when you were little?”
She seemed grateful for the subject change. “Mmmm... uhmm... There was this mango tree in our backyard. I used to climb it every afternoon after school and sit in the branches reading. My mother would call for me to come help with dinner, and I’d pretend I couldn’t hear her.”
“Awww… you were a rebel,” I teased, and was relieved to see her smile return.
“I was terrible. I’d stay up there until it got dark, and then I’d sneak down and act as if I’d been inside studying the whole time.”
“Did she ever catch you?”
“Oh, she knew. Mothers always know. But she let me have my hiding spot.” Kelechi’s expression grew fond. “She’d leave a plate of food on the kitchen counter and pretend to be surprised when it disappeared.”
