Page 32 of Last First Kiss
“I figured,” she says quietly, her eyes dropping from my face to the ground, and my stomach twists.
I want to reach through time and rewind the moment. Say that I had. That Ido. That it’s complicated and scary. But I can’t, so I stay silent.
“My mom got in my head,” Alejandra says, and my heart starts racing.
“What do you mean?” I blurt out, panic creeping in.
Alejandra tells me what her mom said, whatmymom thought before she passed, and my stomach churns. The room tilts slightly. I never told my mom I was gay. Never even tried. It wasn’t something I’d thought she’d needed to know, because I had been afraid. Afraid it might hurt her, or change the way she looked at me. She was dying, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. I’d thought I was protecting us both. But really, I had been protecting myself.
Hearing Alejandra say that my mom hadknown—that she’dunderstood, maybe evenencouragedit—heals a part of me I hadn’t realized was still bleeding.
Alejandra’s arms tighten around me. For a second, I don’t understand why. Then I hear my sobbing, like it’s coming from somewhere outside of me. Wet streaks trail down my neck as my eyes overflow.
Alejandra holds me like she’s trying to keep all the pieces of me from falling apart. It’s been so long since I’ve cried about my mom that I almost forgot how heavy it feels—the ache, the loss, the regret for things I never got to say.
Gently, Alejandra pulls back enough to see my face. Her hand finds my cheek, and she caresses it softly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I was so caught up in what my mom was saying that I didn’t even stop to think about how hearing Maribel’s feelings about us might hurt you.” Alejandra leans her forehead softly against mine, her eyes warm and gentle.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispers again.
I shake my head and sniffle. “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me.” I kiss the tip of Alejandra’s nose. “There were a lot of times I wondered how she would feel about me being gay, regretting that I never told her, so I’m glad she did know after all. Even if she thought it was because you and I were going to end up together.” I can’t help but chuckle.
Of course my mom saw me so clearly. Of course she knew even before I did. I let out a shaky breath, wiping at my eyes. “It feels ... good, you know? That she knew about me.”
Alejandra’s face softens. “Yeah?”
“I spent so much time hiding it, even from myself, but somehow she still knew. It makes me feel ... seen, I guess.”
She squeezes my hand.
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat rising again. “I think a part of me was scared she wouldn’t be okay with it. But now it seems like she was waiting for me to catch up.”
Silence falls over us again as we hold each other. This is what I love most about my friendship with Alejandra—emotional moments like this feel natural, sweet, and easy.
“Clara?” she says after a few minutes of silence.
“Yeah?” I look up at her.
“Do you think our moms were right? That, what you and I have, isn’t just friendly?”
I let out a sharp breath, blowing raspberries through my lips to hide the sudden rush in my chest. I could tell her about my feelings. I ... probably should.
“What do you think?” I ask instead, trying to figure out how much to say.
Alejandra sits up, her eyes level with mine as she holds my gaze. She runs one hand gently through my hair, and I melt into the touch. My eyes closing as her fingers find thenape of my neck.
She takes a big breath. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it before, but my mom’s like the sixth person to bring it up. I brushed it off easily when Lala brought it up and again when the girls did, but more and more, it feels like there’s something here we’re not seeing, and I can’t ignore it. Can you?”
I’ve spent years wishing she’d notice this thing between us. Even through the fear, I’ve always wondered, always wanted to try. I could tell her I’ve been in love with her for years, or I could lean into this “newfound attraction” and have a shot at something real. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
I stare at her, debating, searching her face for the answer. And then I see it—she’s not saying this because she realized she has feelings; it’s confusion, coming from some sense of obligation to other people, and as much as I want her, I don’t want her like this. I won’t risk it. No matter how deeply I care for her.
“Alejandra,” I breathe out, her name catching in my throat. I’m trying so hard not to give in—to this, to her—as desperately as I want to.
“I don’t think we should do this because it’s what everyone else expects or wants. I need to know you’re doing it because you see something real here, because you see me as someone you could want, long-term. Not as some kind of social experiment.” I pause, stomach clenching. “We mean too much to each other to risk our friendship over something that isn’t real. Or something you’re not sure about.” My voice is trembling despite how hard I’m trying to keep it steady. Saying this out loud hurts so much more than I thought it would.
Her eyes soften. “But Idowant you forever. I want you in my life always. No matter what, no matter where I go, I need you there.” She rests her forehead against mine.
