I sighed and bowed my head, a grimace stretching its way across my face. I thought it had been easy with Connie, that final afternoon. I knew, then, what I wanted—I wanted to be with her, and knew the only way would be in casting off the façade and laying the truth bare. I would have done it, for her. I was ready. But perhaps I realized then on some level that it was okay for me to brave, to be daring, when I knew she wasn’t. Coming out now, with Julia—announcing to the world that I was somebody I long fought to hide away, shedding the disguise that I had molded over the years—it felt an impossible feat. It felt like something unnecessary and avoidable when what we had now was sufficient.

But I knew she was right. There was one other lesbian in our school that I knew of and apart from the odd comment, she didn’t have it so bad. Then again—she was a stranger who moved to our school. Everyone knew who I was. Once upon a time, I was even considered popular. To think that gossip thirsty teenage girls would just let that go was unfathomable. But—I had done the secret affair, the hiding and the sneaking, and knew my heart could never take that again. To carry on as we were now, shrouded smiles and concealed touches—that was acceptable in the early stages. We couldn’t continue to dally on like that. Not when this was so different to what I had known before, with Connie. This could be something. Julia was sure of herself, stable and secure. She wasn’t one to be trifled around with.

And I didn’t want to lose her, or terminate this before it had even really begun. She had to be worth it. This had to be worth it.

I nodded, easing my solemn expression into a rather demure smile. I reached across for her hand and squeezed it, slipping our fingers together. The first time I held her hand, properly, I realized. “If you think we’re ready—then yeah—we’re ready. I mean—there’s nothing to lose, is there? Everyone already sorta knows, like you said. And if we just own up to that and show them we don’t care, what can they do?”

* * * *

Claire smiled at me with tiredness crinkling the edges of her eyes. She was humming along to a song on the radio as she finished up putting away the dishes, her hips swaying in time with a bounce. It was rare to see her like that—to catch her off guard in between the many demands of her life and steal a glimpse at what she might have been like if fate had dealt her another card. If her job did not take so much from her. If her husband lived. She was a good-natured woman, relaxed and easy. Long drawn-out shifts and hours upon hours at the beck and call of the greater good had worn away at her over the years but had not yet chipped away at her soul. I often wondered what it must have been like to live one’s life in accordance to such vocation, dedicating so much time to a sense of duty and devotion I had never experienced.