“Monkey flowers. They grow all over around here.” Steph bent down and plucked one of the blossoms; it was about the size of the tip of her thumb. “Supposedly they’re called monkey flowers because they look like monkey faces, but I don’t see it.” She offered me the little bloom. “Do you see it?”

I carefully took the flower from her fingertips. I studied the interior of the bloom, the butter-yellow petals soft and pliant, the tiny white-tipped stigma at its deep gold core.

“I don’t see it either,” I said. When I looked up, she was looking at me, and even though I was shielded by my sunglasses I felt a flush come over my face.

Analemma tugged on the leash, and I let her pull me onward. When Steph wasn’t looking, I slipped the flower into my pocket. It was only a little yellow monkey flower, but I felt as if she had given me something much more significant.

—

The trail wound up through groves of trees—Douglas fir, Steph said, like the kind you buy at Christmas, and California bay laurel—and then through grasslands that smelled like hay. Some of the trail was quite steep and rocky, and although Analemma had no trouble, Steph and I had to pay attention. As we climbed, it felt as if time had stopped and we were in a little bubble of forest and hillside.

“Can I ask you something else?” I said. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

“Sure,” she said from behind me.

“When . . . when did you know you’re . . . queer?” The word queer sounded strange to me, like a slur, but Steph had used it so I thought I should, too.

“I’m not sure if there was a light bulb moment,” she said. “In retrospect, it should’ve been obvious. I used to have these really intense friendships with girls. I’d save up all my money to buy them stuffed animals and unicorn stickers in elementary school.”

“Unicorn stickers?” I said, laughing.

“Hey, they loved them. I was really popular.”

“So you’ve always known?”

“No, I mean . . . I knew I didn’t like boys the way the other girls did. But I didn’t know it was possible to like girls. This is kind of embarrassing, but I don’t think I really knew until The L Word.”

“Really? When was that?”

“I was thirteen. It came out the year after my dad died. I used to go online in the middle of the night and torrent the show.”

“I’ve never seen it. It’s not on anymore, is it?”

“No, it ended a few years ago. It wasn’t that great—some of it was offensive—but it . . .” She laughed. “It explained a lot.”