Page 114 of Every Step She Takes
“Sadie,” she says, and a silly bubble of hope rises in my chest at the sound of my name in her mouth. “I’m sorry… if you didn’t find what you were looking for.”
I let myself stare at her then. At her blue mullet and her sexy widow’s peak. At her hazel eyes and her star tattoos and theperfect bow of her mouth. I stare at her mustard-orange fleece and her callused hands, and I try to memorize all of it now that it’s over.
“I think I did find what I was looking for, actually,” I tell her.
Mal opens her mouth, and for a moment, that stupid hope bubble makes me believe she’s going to tell me that she loves me too. That she’s going to admit that none of it was practice. That she’ll kiss me and mean it, right here, in front of this church.
But what she actually says is, “I’m going to miss you, Freckles.” And I realize this is goodbye.
I can’t bring myself to say those words, so I’m quiet when she sweeps me into one last hug. I try to memorize the way it feels when she holds me. Her lean body and her springtime scent.
“Friends?” she asks me before she lets go.
“Friends,” I say into her ear, and even though everything hurts, it’s a promise I want to keep.
It isn’t until I’m taking off my shoes at airport security that afternoon that I realize I’m still wearing Mal’s Hokas.
My flight home includes a layover in Amsterdam, and I buy three packages of stroopwafels to eat on the plane. They’re not nearly as good as nata, but nothing ever will be.
I have the window seat this time, and the man next to me watchesWedding Crasherson his iPad and never takes out his AirPods. There’s light turbulence coming into Seattle, and I clutch my armrest until it settles.
When I pass through the final security doors at Arrivals, I’m ambushed by two redheads and a pair of crutches. I’m sojet-lagged, so supremely exhausted and utterly heartbroken, it takes me several seconds to realize the people hugging me are my mom and sister.
“You’re home!” my mom cries.
“Thank fucking Christ!” Vi screams. “I can’t handle one more day at the store!”
“You really did cut off all your hair,” my mom says, clutching the ends of the short strands. “Your beautiful, beautiful hair.”
“Let me see the tattoo!” Vi grabs my arm and pulls my wrist toward her. “Holy shit. Who the hell even are you?”
“I’m a lesbian,” I answer.
My mom’s hand stills in my hair. “Oh,” she says.
It’s not how I planned on telling them, not remotely the perfect way, but I can’t take the words back now that they’re lingering in the air at SeaTac. And I don’t want to take them back. I will never have the perfect words or the perfect way to be myself, so this is as good as anything.
“What about the Portuguese guy you fell in love with on the Camino?” Vi asks, then catches herself. “Wait. Replaying that conversation. Not a dude. Got it.”
“Not a dude,” I say.
“Huh.” My sister twirls her red hair around her finger. “But you’ve always datedmen.”
“Yeah. Heteronormativity is a bitch.”
“Wait. Did that queer tour turn you gay?”
“Being gay turned me gay.”
“Huh,” Vi says again. “In retrospect, I probably should’ve seen this coming.”
“Probably.” I finally turn to my mom, bracing myself for her unpredictable emotions, preparing myself to have to care for her in this moment. “Are you… disappointed?”
“Disappointed? Honey, I amthrilled.” My mom tackles me in another hug, squeezes me so tight I can barely breathe. “I’mso, so happy for you to start living your truth!” Her words aren’t anxious, aren’t sad. She’s not asking me to take on any emotional labor. She’s just… hugging me. I really need that.
I don’t mind holding up my mom sometimes, but right now, it’s nice to have someone else do the heavy lifting.
“I know so many women I can set you up with!” Vi squeals.
