Ship It(87)

I have. No idea. What I’m going to say to her.

I start with, “Hey, Tess.”

She spins around, and her expression is this weird mixture of things I can’t pin down. “Claire,” she says. “Hi.” She stares at me like I look different, or something. I’m pretty sure I look the same as always. So does she: amazing. She got a haircut since the last time I saw her, the shaved fade on the sides of her head perfectly fresh.

“You look great,” I say. That yellow dress pops against her deep brown skin. It comes in nicely at the waist and then flares out, but it’s not until I’m looking at it up close that I notice the tiny pattern. “Are those… battle-axes?”

“They are!” She smiles softly and juts her hip a little. “I had to special order the fabric, and I made the dress myself. Don’t they look just like Smokey’s?”

“They do,” I say, impressed. She made this herself? And she’s wearing fandom gear in public? It’s subtle, but still… “I can’t believe you made this, and you’re wearing it.”

“It took some convincing, believe me,” the other girl says, and Tess steps aside to show she’s been standing with one of her friends from the sushi restaurant. I tense up at the very sight of her.

“Claire, you remember Jillian, right?” Tess says, and Jillian smiles at me.

“Yeah, hi.” I’m looking back and forth between them, waiting for an explanation. I can’t believe it—two months ago, she was afraid to even talk about nerd stuff with her friends, and now she’s here with one of them at Comic-Con.

Tess rubs the toe of her red Mary Janes into the carpet. “You remember that sleepover I went to? Well, Harper basically had a meltdown.”

“Completely,” Jillian agrees.

“She told me that it’s fine if I want to do nerd stuff, but it meant that she didn’t really ever know me at all, and basically put our friendship on the line. But it turned out the other girls were cool about it, so she didn’t have a lot of backup. And then she just kind of…caved.”

“Yeah, she’s all talk, no action,” Jillian says.

“Anyway, later, Jillian asked to see some of my art, and I showed her, and I’ve just been a little better about talking about it since then.”

“That’s great,” I say, a warm feeling taking over. But I try not to notice the way Jillian is standing so close to Tess, try not to focus on the easy way they talk over each other.

“Tell her about the store!” Jillian says excitedly, nudging her. My eyes linger on the skin of Tess’s long, open arms where Jillian’s fingers touched her.

“Oh, well, I set up an online store to sell some of my art,” Tess says. “They put it on shirts and mugs and stickers and stuff. Someone in Paris bought a shower curtain with my SmokeHeart art on it!”

“Wow, that’s amazing!” I say. “I’m really proud of you. Really.”

“Thank you. I would have told you sooner, but…” She trails off.

“I’m sorry,” I say, looking away. “I should’ve texted you back.”

Tess shrugs. “Yeah. That would’ve been nice.”

I cross one arm over my stomach and grab my other elbow, not sure what to say next. I look at Jillian, who’s watching me carefully. Is she being protective because Tess is her friend or…

I try not to think about it. I want Tess to be happy, and it is my fault I didn’t text her back. If she moved on, that’s totally fair.

But I really hope she hasn’t.

I have to ask. I don’t know how, but I know I have to. I bury my hands in my pockets. “So, um, are you guys, like…” I look between them meaningfully.

Jillian doesn’t get it, just stares at me. But Tess’s eyes go wide right away. “Me and Jillian?” She starts laughing. “Oh god, no. No, no. Sorry, Jillian, but no.” She reaches over and touches Jillian’s shoulder, and Jillian catches on and starts laughing, too. My cheeks are burning up. I look away.

“Oh, okay, yeah, I was just wondering,” I mumble.

Tess steps a little closer to me, and she must give Jillian a look or something, because she kind of turns her back and opens her phone to at least pretend like she’s not listening to us anymore.

“I know I told you over text, but I wanted to say again,” Tess says, “I’m sorry. I should never have pressured you to come out, I should never have outed you to your mom. You should be able to do it on your own terms, whenever you feel like you’re ready.”

I nod. I want to say thank you, but I’m afraid my voice will crack, so I stay quiet.

“Have you…” she starts, then lowers her voice. “On that front, have you… thought any more about it?”

“I’ve thought a lot about it,” I whisper. “I’ve thought a lot about…you.”

“You have?”

“I’m sorry I was dumb. I couldn’t see that what you face is different than what I face. For me, it’s just about whether I’m queer or not. Which is stressful enough.” I laugh. “But for you, you have this whole other thing to deal with, too.” She nods solemnly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get that. That I still don’t really get it. But I want to.”