Page 29 of Last First Kiss
“Do you have feelings for Clara?” Mom asks bluntly.
I blink, then scoff. “No.” Clara and I have spent so much time insisting we’re just friends—clarifying, correcting—that the denial comes out without thinking. “Why?”
“You and Clara have this way of looking at each other like the other person is the most important in the room. Maybe in the universe. Have you ever noticed that?”
Have I noticed? Yeah. My mom is far from the first person to say this. But it’s just because we’reeach other’s favorite person. She’s the one I text first when something funny happens. The one who knows what I’m thinking with a look. The one I trust with the messy, unfiltered parts of myself. So ... yeah. I’ve noticed. But what does that have to do with anything?
I laugh awkwardly, scratching the back of my neck. “Yeah, I guess, I have. But it’s because we are just ... comfortable.” The word is too small to encompass what I mean, but it’s the best I can come up with.
“You seriously don’t see it?” Mom asks, her voice gentler now.
I shake my head because not only do I not see it, but I also have no idea what she’s talking about.
“You know, when Lala told me you two were dating, I took her at her word. It made so much sense. There’s always been something between you. But the more I sat with it, the less I believed it. Not because you’re not compatible—God, you are. That’s exactly why I did at first. But it wasn’t you or Clara who’d told me. It was your grandma. That was the only explanation I had for why it couldn’t be real. Isn’t that something?”
“That’s theonlyreason?” I mutter with a dry look.
Her eyes narrow slightly, and her lips twitch, almost amused by my reaction. “I’ve always thought you and Clara had feelings for each other, that one or both of you were too scared to act on it,” she says so casually it takes me a second to register the words.
“But why? Why is it that everyone we’ve told has said something similar? What are we missing?” I ask, almost defeated. I want to understand it so badly. “Clara’s been in my life forever. She’s part of my normal. I guess I’ve never really let myself think past that. We’re close, yeah. She knows me better than anyone else. She gets me in this waythat ... no one else really does, but that doesn’t mean there are feelings.”
Mom gives me a small, warm smile. “Sounds a lot like feelings to me.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I close it again, not really sure what to say. But I’d know. I’d know if I had feelings for my best friend. But even as I think that, the answer isn’t as simple as it once did.
Have I always thought Clara was ridiculously attractive? Yes, but also, anyone who sees her thinks that.
“Why have you never brought it up before? Why are you bringing this up now?” I ask, a little out of breath.
She doesn’t say anything right away, then shrugs. “I figured you’d realize it on your own. I didn’t think I’d ever need to bring it up.”
I stare down at my hands, playing with a loose thread on my sleeve, trying to piece all of this together. Has everyone in our lives been ... waiting?
“As you girls got older, your friendship grew with you. Then you started dating other people, and for a while, I thought maybe Maribel and I had gotten it wrong.” She pauses, watching me carefully. “But as your parent, I can’t stay silent about something Ireallythink you both need to talk about.”
“So what?” I snap. “Because Clara and I are freakishly close, that means wemustwant to be together? We can’t only be best friends?”
“Honey,” she says gently, “you know that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then whatareyou saying? That because we’re both lesbians and close, wehaveto have feelings for each other? God, I’m so tired of people assuming there’s some ulteriormotive. Why can’t our friendship just exist without being questioned?”
As soon as I say it, I hear how intense I sound. I’m getting way more worked up than I should. I rub my hands over my face, trying to cool down. Why am I so defensive? It was a comment, not an attack, but her words hit a nerve. I hate that I’m reacting this way.
Mia’s face flashes through my mind, and I hate that it’s her I see, because every fight we had over Clara crashes into my brain—a loop of endless arguments and tears.
“Honey,” Mom says quietly, “I’m not saying that because you’re both lesbians and close, youmustbe in love. I’m saying that sometimes ... the heart recognizes something before the head does. Andmaybethat’s what’s happening here.”
I shake my head, frustration knotting tighter in my chest. “You don’t think we’ve had this conversation before? About how people always assume we’re secretly together? We laugh about it and joke about being constantly mistaken for a couple.I’mconstantlyfighting with partners, defending my friendship with Clara. It’s annoying. Exhausting, even, that everyone refuses to believe we’re just best friends.”
Mom nods slowly. “I know. And Idobelieve in your deep, beautiful friendship. I’m not trying to invalidate that. But what I’m seeing ... it doesn’t look likejustfriendship. Not from the outside.” She wraps her hands around mine. “Maybe I’m wrong and I’ve misread everything. But you didn’t shut it down, not completely. You didn’t say ‘never,’ like you might have if someone had suggested it about anyone else. You got defensive.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again because she’s right.
“Maribel and I talked about it before she passed. She saw it, too. She made me promise that if the time ever came when you decided to explore more than a friendship, I’d help guide you girls through it. She didn’t want you to lose what you had, not by ignoring your feelings, and not by mishandling them.” She takes a steadying breath. “This is me honoring that promise. You don’t live under my roof anymore, so I can’t watch over how you handle this. But even if you won’t admit it yet, I see it. I see how you look at each other. There’s more there than friendship between you, and I think right now it’s the perfect time to figure it out.”
I stare at her in disbelief, unsure how to process what she’s saying. I nod, barely, because I don’t know what else to do.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, avoiding her eyes. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
