Page 30 of Last First Kiss
She stays quiet, only winking at me.
“I just ...” I trail off, struggling to untangle the mess in my chest. “I don’t know what I’m feeling ... about Clara or any of this. Almost every important person in my life has said something similar, and I’m starting to second-guess everything, including myself. If no one had ever said anything, would I even be questioning this at all?”
“It’s okay to be confused. Feelings aren’t always neat. They rarely are.” There’s so much love in her smile it makes my chest ache.
“I think part of me feels guilty, too. Like ... if Idofeel something, what does that say about all the times I insisted it was just friendship? About how many times I told people they were wrong?” I blink quickly, fighting back tears.
She twirls a strand of my hair on her index finger like she used to when I was little. “It says you’re human. That you’re still learning things about yourself, and that’s not something to feel guilty about.”
“I should go,” I murmur, my voice barely holding steady.
I don’t even know where I’m going. I need to get away from this kitchen, from my mom’s understanding eyes. I need to be alone so I can try to unpack everything. I appreciate my mom and her words, but I’m not in the right mindset to fully understand them. This is all too much.
I stand and, thankfully, she doesn’t stop me. She reaches out and gently squeezes my arm as I pass her.
“Please drive safely,” she says.
“I will.” I squeeze her hand where it rests on my arm before she lets her hold fall.
The evening air is cooler than I remembered, hitting me the moment I step onto the porch. I make my way to my car in a haze, unlocking it without really thinking, then slide behind the wheel, where I sit in silence for a few seconds.
This is all so confusing, and the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I’m only confused because people keep telling me I should be.
Clara and I ... we’re just us. We always have been. But now everyone’s looking at us like we’ve been hiding some great love story and we’re the only two who didn’t get the memo. I can’t tell if I’m actually starting to feel something ... or if I’m responding to the story they’ve all already written for us. All their comments have been stacking up, quietly messing with my head, making me second-guess everything, and my mom’s was the one that sent the whole pile crashing down.
The streets blur past—houses I’ve seen a thousand times before now look different. As if the world changed a little, and I’m only now seeing it. I drive aimlessly down backroads, turning onto random streets for hours, replaying my entire friendship with Clara in my head, trying to figure out what I had missed.
Then I think back to my first kiss. If anyone knew we were each other’s first kiss, they’d never let this whole “you guys are meant to be” thing die.
It had happened during our first year in college—one of those late nights where the world felt loose and dreamlike, our minds blurry from the vodka we’d stolen from my mom during spring break. Clara and I had been lying on her bed watching something on her laptop. I can’t even remember what we had been watching, but I do remember her laughter. If I focus enough, I can still hear it—soft and easy. It had made my chest flutter in a way I didn’t quite understand. At the time, I thought it had been the vodka, but now I’m not sure.
I remember brushing my hand against hers, and an electric rush igniting at my fingertips, spreading like wildfire through my whole body. Clara’s laughter stopped mid-breath. Her eyes locked on our hands, my fingers resting on hers. In that moment, my chest filled with a warmth so deep, I couldn’t help but wonder ... if this was what being in love felt like.
Before I could even register it, we were both leaning in, slowly, something invisible drawing us together. The air smelled like her shampoo, mixed with her cologne—that blend that is still so hers. My mind was racing, and I didn’t know whether to pull away or keep going. But when her lips touched mine, everything calmed. Our kiss was slow and careful, both of us experiencing it for the first time.
There weren’t fireworks, and there was no desperation; it wasn’t the way people usually describe a first kiss. But it felt right. It was the closest thing to perfect I’dever experienced. In those few seconds, everything felt suspended, the noise of the world had melted away, and only we were left. In that silence, everything made sense.
When we pulled away, our foreheads rested together, and we couldn’t stop smiling. We never talked about it again. I think both of us quietly chalked it up to a drunken night between friends.
That story I’d told Lala, about when I’d known Clara was the one, hadn’t been entirely untrue. Ihavespent the past few months wishing for someone like Clara. Kind, steady, beautiful, funny.
It never occurred to me—until this exact moment—that maybe what I’ve been wanting all alongisClara.
I exhale slowly and press my forehead against the steering wheel. Clara’s face flashes through my mind. Along with the same question that’s been looping in my mind since I left my mom’s: Is what I feel for Clara more than friendship?
By the time I pull into our driveway, the sky is painted in that late-evening blue. I kill the engine and idle, fingers still curled around the steering wheel. I stay out there like this for who knows how long. When I look up, I catch movement near the bay window of the house, and I see Clara standing there, watching me. She lifts one eyebrow, her hands slowly rising in a silentWhat are you doing?
I can’t stay out here forever, so I get out of my car and enter our home, my footsteps quickening as I speed past Clara. I don’t slow down until I reach my room. But when I open the door, Lala is sleeping in my bed.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I slowly close the door.
I turn toward Clara’s room and bump straight into her, knocking me back slightly. She reaches for me and stabilizes me against her chest. An unrelentingfluttering in my stomach comes to life, sparked by the scent of Clara’s shampoo and the subtle trace of her cologne wrapping around me. It’s easily my favorite smell in the world. On more than one occasion, I’ve wished I could bottle it up and take it with me everywhere I go, but right now it’s heady and confusing. A mix I really don’t need.
“Are you okay?” Clara asks, eyes studying my face.
“What? Yeah, I just need to lie down.”
“Of course,” she murmurs, her touch gentle on my cheek, sparking heat that spreads through me.
