Ship It(52)

I want her to stop.

Tess. Stop.

STOP.

“Stop!”

I say that.

She stops.

She looks back at me and waits.

Absurdly, I think about all the fics I’ve read. I know exactly what to do next. The secret signal I need to give.

I drop my gaze to her lips.

Her lips smile.

I’m still holding the coffeepot. What would happen next in a fic? Claire puts the coffeepot down. I put the coffeepot down. Claire approaches Tess. I put one foot in front of the other.

She drops her backpack and holds her hands out to me, and when I reach her, she slides her hands around my waist and brings me in tight. Claire kisses Tess. And I lean forward and that’s how easy it is, because now we’re kissing.

And my stomach zhooms.

My heartbeat spikes, and I’m tingly from the base of my neck down to my fingertips, and her lips are soft and welcoming, and I just want to burrow in and stay right here in her arms like it’s my hobbit home. I never want to leave.

I start to smile, and she must feel it because she pulls away.

“What?” she asks, smiling, too.

I just shake my head. I don’t know, I don’t know. Kissing Kyle Cunningham was a joke compared to this. Reading fic about kissing is a dim shadow of the real thing.

“It’s never felt like this before,” I whisper. Our faces are still so close together I can hear her breathing. I can see her pulse in that soft part of her neck, and I want to kiss it, too. I want to kiss her nose. I want to kiss her eyes. I want to kiss her again and again. I realize what I’m thinking. I don’t know what this makes me, I can’t think about it right now. My mind is a swirl. And I’m lost looking at her, because she’s still smiling at me, and her smile makes me want to cry it’s so pretty.

“Claire, you are amazing, do you know that?” No, I didn’t. “And you’re very, very cute.”

Glowworm thinks I’m cute. GLOWWORM THINKS I’M CUTE.

The warmth in my belly is overwhelming. Before I know it, the pressure is building behind my eyes, and tears are welling up and I WILL NOT CRY IN FRONT OF TESS but it’s too late, she’s seen them, and her eyes get big with concern and she lets go of me DON’T LET GO OF ME, TESS and she’s giving me space I DON’T WANT SPACE.

“Oh no, what is it? I’m sorry. Too much? It’s too much.” And I’m shaking my head and I can’t speak because I’m afraid it will come out as a sob and now the dumb tears are running down my cheeks and WHY IS THIS HAPPENING? I’M RUINING IT. She’s waving her hands around like she doesn’t know what to do, then she sees a box of Kleenex and grabs it for me and starts handing me tissue after tissue—way too many tissues—saying, “It’sokayit’sokayit’sokay!”

I wipe the tears away with the tissues and then—oh god—I have to blow my nose so I turn my back to do that, but now I’m this gross mucus-y mess and my glasses are fogging up and it’s definitely over. One kiss, that’s it, now it’s over, and she won’t want to kiss again because now I’ll forever remind her of snot because I’m the girl who cried after she kissed her.

When I turn back around, she’s sitting on the bed with her hands clasped in her lap and not showing her disgust outwardly at all because she is a kind person. I’m waiting for her to make an excuse to leave, when she says, “Sorry.”

SHE’S SORRY?

“I know, I always do this,” she says. “I fall for straight girls, and then they get confused, but it’s cool, it’s cool. You’re not queer. We don’t have to do anything. I can go, or I can stay and we can just watch TV or something. Whatever you want. I promise not to stalk you or tell anyone or anything.”

I don’t really hear most of that because I’m stuck on…

She…fell for me?

“Tess,” I say, and my heart is still going sixty-five down the freeway, but I swallow my fear. “That’s not what this is.”

She looks up at me. “No?”

“I’m not crying because I’m straight….” Then, because saying that caught me off guard, I add quickly, “I don’t know what I am. I’m crying because… It’s dumb, but I’m crying because I’m happy.”

She stares at me.

I stare at her.

“This isn’t gay panic?” she asks hopefully.

I shake my head. She bursts out laughing, and runs her hand over the shaved side of her head and behind her neck. “Oh Jesus, Claire, I thought…”

“Tess…” I know what I want to say, but I’m terrified to say it. But this whole night is uncharted territory, so screw it, right? “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes,” she says enthusiastically. “YES.”

So I step forward, and I gently put one knee on the bed on either side of her and kneel so our faces are the same level.

Again, I drop my gaze to her mouth, savoring the moment this time.

Her tongue slips out just a bit to lick her lips.

Slowly, I tip my head forward, and her mouth rises, and just before we meet, I pause again and marvel at the warmth of her, at her openness.

She likes me. And she wants me to kiss her.

So I kiss her.

And I don’t cry.