“Oh, juicy question, Olive.”
“Sorry, Nola’s so…PG with it all.”
“And you take it I’m not?”
“You don’t really scream sister with boundaries to me.”
“Good observation; you’re correct.” I smiled and hip bumped her. “I am very much the L in LGBTQ+,” I answered.
Olive nodded seriously. “Like my sister.”
I ignored the implication and grabbed plates from the cabinets.
“Sure.”
“And how did you know?”
“Well minus the gay panic I had foryears.And the part where I couldn’t stop kissing my friends?” I laughed so Olive could feel the levity I want this conversation to have. Too often, these talks had felt like life or death to me
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” I turned to face Olive and sat on the kitchen island. “I always knew, but I was suppressing it a lot. I wasn’t honest with myself, which meant I put myself in some weird situations in college. Only getting with boys for male validation, making my queerness a drunk spectacle. I wasn’t the first, and definitely won’t be the last. But eventually I got brave. Which included me realizing I never wanted to emotionally be with a man,ever. Your Auntie ‘Shida helped mea lot, and so did some of my close friends.”
I could still remember what it felt like walking into the Limp Wrist, a gay bar in Jersey, with Perry and her best friend Val attached at each hip for me. I’d already admired them from work; the whole familial vibe at the Jaguars wasn’t a facade. But something about having them guide and support me—even if Val was just the biggest ally ever—had me trying to hide my happy tears in the bathroom.
I watched Olive pick at her nails and nod along as she processed my speech.
“Have you kissed your friends?” I asked with my own devious smile.
She tried to suppress a smile but was so bad at it. “Maybe.” She shrugged.
“And did you like it?”
“Maybe?”
“Then talk about it. See if they felt the same way. You know?”
“Yeah…maybe I will.” Olive replied as she stacked her plate high with food and added some grits to a separate bowl. “Have you ever kissed my sister?”
“O-oh, uh…” I stammered.Damn, so much for not walking into a trap.
“Olive, are you being messy?” A sleepy voice said from behind me.
Nola stood at the bottom step in her silver durag, yet another a cropped tee, and baggy mesh shorts. Her toned arms made me want to bite and cuddle them, the tee revealing her chiseled abs when she lifted her arms up to stretch.
I turned away to not get caught staring, but while the older Young seemed oblivious to my fascination, the little one had caught me red-handed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Nola
It was time to be honest with myself.
I was falling for Brittney Lee.
I was way past the point of no return before we’d confided a sliver of our feelings on the couch. I was glad she didn’t ask why I was still up, because the truth was more embarrassing than coming up with a lie: I’d waited up for her to come home.
I wanted to make sure she got home safe. I also wanted to see if she was brave enough to bring someone home. I needed to shake the desire to watch her when she wasn’t looking.
