Page 46 of This Is Who I Am

“Because I’m afraid that as soon as I take off one layer of clothing, you’ll be out of here.”

“Okay.” I rise. “Let me just clean up, then come with me.” I head into the kitchen and wash my hands. I will happily give up the remainder of my burger to make Cass feel better about herself. “Come.” I reach out my hand to her. She takes it. I guide us to the nearest mirror. I stand next to her as we look into it together. “Let me tell you what I see.” I hold on to her hand. “Look into those gorgeous blue eyes,” I say. “I’ve done it a couple of times and the only outcome was that I couldn’t stop kissing you.” I bump my hip lightly against hers. A smile tugs at her lips, but is not ready to break through yet. “And those lips. Phew. Again, can’t stop kissing them.” I let go of her hand and bring mine to the side of her hip. “And guess what? Women have curves. We’ve always had them. Some more than others, but there’s nothing wrong with curves. In fact, I like curves because they’re soft and womanly and who doesn’t like that?”

“You’re very sweet.” She leans into me a fraction. “But I can’t help but wonder whether my physical appearance is even important to you.” Her eyes find mine in the mirror. “I hope that’s not insulting. It’s not my intention, but… it’s another one of those pesky questions running riot in my head.”

“Oh, Cass.” My body and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but even when I couldn’t possibly understand it, I never hated it the way Cass seems to hate hers. I hold her gaze in the mirror. “I think you’re beautiful. I love how tall you are. I love how you march around in your kitchen. I love your whole vibe and the confident way you carry yourself.” Which seems to have totally slipped away for now, but she really is having a terrible day, that much is obvious.

“Thank you.” Her voice is so soft, I can barely make it out. “I do know what I’m doing,” she continues. “I’m pushing you away because I’m scared.”

“Trust me, no one understands that better than me.”

“You do?” We keep standing like that, our eyes glued to each other in the reflection of the mirror.

“Fuck yeah, Cass. I’m aware that I’m ‘conventionally attractive’, whatever that even means. I know what people see when they look at me—a tall Black woman with good cheekbones and great hair. But the number of times I’ve been told I’m beautiful will never make up for all the times I’ve failed at relationships. For all the times I’ve had my heart broken for not being enough. In the end, it doesn’t mean anything, because it has never gotten me what I really wanted.” I lean my head against her shoulder, relishing in how strong it feels.

“Which is?” Cass curves her arm around my waist.

“Pretty much the same as everyone else.” I lean into her embrace. “A loving, respectful, long-term relationship with someone who accepts me for who I am.” I can’t hold her gaze. “Maybe it’s too much to ask of someone else. After all, it took me a few decades to fully understand and accept myself. To ask that of another person might simply be… too much.”

“No, please, don’t lose your faith in love. There’s so much about you to adore.” Her grasp on my waist tightens. “Do you want me to list all the things I like about you or are we getting too cheesy too quickly?” Her body shakes against mine as she laughs. “Fuck, Estelle. You’re so kind and patient and understanding.”

“Not to mention very good at eating burgers.” I turn in her embrace and look Cass in the eye again.

“And I just committed the worst sin a chef can commit. I let your food go cold.” She slants her head. “Let me make you another burger.”

“Why don’t you kiss me instead?” I say, hoping that Cass will let me stay. I’d like the comfort of sleeping in her arms tonight—sometimes it feels like an emotional luxury I can no longer afford.

She closes the distance between us and kisses me deeply.

CHAPTER23

CASS

How come Estelle is still here? I can only conclude that she must really like me. Despite all my antics, and the dreadful day I’ve had in anticipation of this date, it’s exhilarating. There’s still a lot of time to screw things up, as there always is, but there’s also so much promise.

We end up on the couch, just like last night, so close our knees are touching.

She’s telling a story about a co-worker at Berkeley who had an affair with her teaching assistant and I’m listening, although not as attentively as I could. Instead, I’m taking in the exquisiteness of her gestures and how her lips curve when she speaks and the way her voice sometimes dips into a deliciously low register, smooth and warm, like something you want to wrap yourself in. As she speaks, I fall for her more by the second.

How can I not fall for her? By her own admission, she’s far from perfect. I know so well perfection is an invention of capitalism in order to make us buy more stuff we don’t need—also Suzy’s words—but when I look at Estelle like this all I see is perfection. And even though I’m scared, I want her to stay. Whatever ledge I was on regarding that, she talked me off it with her sweet words and boundless patience.

“Please, stay,” I reply, wholly inadequately, when she has finished.

“That story was not meant to turn you on,” she jokes—it must be a joke, but that’s the other thing about Estelle. She’s clearly good-natured and able to see through my dramatic behavior, but she’s also full of surprises, and I don’t know yet whether they’ll end up being good or bad. She says one thing, then contradicts herself with her actions, at least from my perspective. She’s the opposite of boring. She keeps me on my toesandlets me fall apart. Just like anyone else, she’s many things, and I can’t wait to unearth all her secret layers.

“You turn me on,” I say, because her directness has rubbed off on me. And it’s true, because a big part of my anxiety is caused by this new desire bubbling up inside me—a desire caused solely by Estelle Raymond.

No wonder I’ve been so confused, agitated and on edge. I truly don’t know where my head is at. Just as I have no clue how my body will react to her presence in my bed. I can try to predict things all I want, but it’s a waste of energy. The only way to find out is to have her stay the night. The worst that can happen is me suffering a brutal night sweat, like the one I had last night. It had been a while since my sheets were drenched like that.

“I’d love to stay.” She puts a hand on my knee. “You set the pace. You’re in charge, okay?”

“Sure.” In response, I turn fully toward her and kiss her. At first, I’m worried about the kind of message it may send—that I might not respect her boundaries—but then I let my worries go and I fully enjoy the sensation of her lips on mine, of her tongue in my mouth, the pressure of her hands on the back of my neck and, admittedly, the wild pulse in my clit.

* * *

Estelle leans against the doorframe, watching me as I brush my teeth. I’m still clothed but she’s only wearing boy shorts and a tank top and I can’t stop sneaking glances in the mirror. I do hear Suzy’s voice in my ear when I admire Estelle’s perfect physique and compare it to my imperfect one: “It’s the patriarchy, Cass, to reduce women to how they look.” But it’s hard to be righteous when the view is so breathtaking.

Then the moment has come. I can’t slip under the covers in my jeans. I wouldn’t want to either. I want to feel as much of Estelle’s skin against mine as she will let me—because this is also an exercise in exploring boundaries.

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