Page 49 of One More Weekend

JENNA

The endof June came faster than I’d expected.

As I stood in front of my mirror, smoothing down the high ponytail I’d spent far too long getting, I wished I could slow time.

Since that night in Metro, Sy and I hadn’t been able to stop ourselves from indulging in each other. We’d been fucking all over the apartment, unable to control the urge when it struck. It was like all the years of waiting had bubbled over and were just spilling over.

And now I wasn’t sure how I’d ever calm them down.

There was a gentle knock on my doorframe as Sy appeared just beyond the threshold. “Hiya, you ready?”

It was early in the morning, her voice still raspy from sleep… or at least what little sleep we managed to get.

Nodding, I checked my rainbow eyeshadow and straightened my tight crop top. “Yep.”

I turned on my heels and smiled at Sy, wearing a mesh top with buttons and a collar that made it impossible to miss the lean abs under her clothes.

Beating me to it, Sy’s eyes wandered down. “Damn. You look amazing.” Every word dripped with desire like each syllable was a different dirty thing she wanted to do to me.

“You’re one to talk.” I crossed the distance and put my hands on her hips, looking down at her chest and the exposed legs peeking out from her shorts.

Planting a kiss on her, my entire body melted. “Are you sure we can’t just stay in and fuck?”

Sy rolled her eyes as she pulled away. “Unfortunately, there’s a lot more to New York than just our beds. Besides, we haven’t gone to Pride in years.”

She was right, we’d stopped going after it got completely swarmed by corporations. Instead, we went to Dyke March the day before and partied all day on Sunday. But this year, Sy decided the Pride March was going to be one of our dates.

“This way, you can compare New York Pride to LA and let me know what the difference is.” Sy had argued.

Besides, there was no harm in partying with that massive crowd on a bright June morning. It felt like church in a way.

Nodding, I let Sy lead me out the door and uptown toward the West Village. It was still early, the city asleep except for anyone willing to get to the parade long before it started to get a spot right up front.

Sy found us a good spot on 18th and 6th Ave right up against the metal barricade. There still wasn’t much of a crowd as Sy pulled out bagels and cream cheese from our favorite spot. We stood there and snacked, talking about our first Pride, how we came out.

They were stories we’d heard before but details we’d forgotten.

Just as Sy ran off to find the bathroom, I pulled out my phone and opened the green banking app. I hadn’t checked my balancein a minute but I knew I was going to spend too much money today and tonight.

But the number still hurt when I saw it on the screen.

I had just over four grand left in savings. It would be enough for July rent and living expenses. But my time had really run up.

It wasn’t until close to 11 am that the streets started to get crowded, my mind still haunted by the terrifyingly low number. And then the parade kicked off just an hour later.

As the sounding music from uptown drifted down, the crowd next to us parted as an older man in a wheelchair made his way to the barricade. He wore a simple white t-shirt and a denim overshirt as he took his place next to us, an oxygen tank tucked neatly into the back of the chair.

Sy smiled at him.

When he smiled back, he introduced himself. “Hi, sweetie. Happy Pride!”

“Happy Pride to you! Are you excited?” Sy leaned toward him.

Nodding, the man beamed at the floats passing by. “I’ve been here every year since 1969.”

Sy’s head tilted. “Really? Were you there?”

“Yes, ma’am. I saw Ms. Marsha throw the brick. I haven’t missed a march ever since.” He flashed a charming smile, one that would have made all the boys weak back in the day. The Stonewall Riot was just over 50 years ago, which would have made him just about 80. And still, he brought himself out here to celebrate, to protest, and to be queer in the great wide open.

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