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Now Romy is genuinely crying. “Luna…” She puts a hand on my knee. “Please, don’t give up on this. Coming out sucks, but there is joy to this. You were so fucking happy when Valeria was a celebrity crush. You rediscovered your art. You left your shitty job. You had Valeria, and she was making you so happy and so confident and…and I love seeing you so happy. I love seeing you as your true self. I love…”

And then she kisses me.

Her lips are on mine. Her lips are so soft, so gentle, like I’m a piece of rice paper she’s scared to break. Her lips taste like chocolate and salt from her tears. And as she cradles my face between her palms, her kisses are practically speaking to me. They speak of evenings when the two of us critiqued our shitty classmates’ short stories, of walks through campus sharing an umbrella as we cobbled money together for the student store, of starry nights spent under blankets as we learned constellation names, of moving into dorm rooms together and sharing makeup and T-shirts and secrets in the dead of night. When I realize I’m kissing her back, for a second, it feels inevitable.

Then I pull away. My thoughts are racing so fast it feels like time’s frozen.

Romy jolts herself back, touching her lips where mine had been. “Oh my god, Luna, I’m so sorry—”

I mirror her motion, touching my mouth. The spot is still tingling.

“I didn’t mean to— You’re my best friend and I was being irrational. I’m so sorry. It doesn’t mean anything—doesn’t change— Just forget it happened. Please. I can’t lose you. It didn’t—”

I know how she was going to end that sentence, though. It didn’t mean I like you like that. I want to maintain the friendship above all else.

“But what was—?”

“Nothing!” she yelps. “Nothing,” she repeats, calmer, slower. “I shouldn’t have done that. I—I don’t feel that way. You’re my friend. My best friend. That’s it.”

My phone dings.

I dig it out of my bag.

There’s a text from Valeria.

Luna, please, don’t blame yourself for what happened. It’s between my team and me and you were caught in the cross fire. I know I need to explain what’s going on and I should’ve explained it a lot earlier. Could you forgive me? Or at least can you come by my place? I want to explain in person.

I take a deep breath.

Romy can’t even own up to a kiss. A kiss I’ve been daydreaming about since college. I’m realizing now that I’d always intended for Romy to be my first. But now, I can’t even find passion and giddiness in the moment. My throat hurts, my stomach’s in knots, and Romy and I are actually in tears. There was no joy in that kiss. If there is, it’s tangled up and I’m exhausted. God, I’m fucking exhausted, and I just wanted it to be easy. I always thought it’d be easy with Romy, but looking at her has my brain short-circuiting.

I just wanted to have gay sex. Valeria can do that. Valeria says none of this is my fault. Valeria still wants me. Valeria wants my art to go places. Valeria cares about me. Valeria doesn’t know this side of me, all my mixed-up feelings, my desperation. I just need to get past this. I just want it over with. I don’t want the emotion.

I look up at Romy. Her face is blotchy, and she’s leaning forward like she’s preparing for me to slap her.

Maybe I am.

“I need to go over to Valeria’s,” I say.

I don’t look back. I can’t do anything but nudge this kiss behind closed doors.

Still, I wait for her to protest. To tell me she was wrong, that she does want me. To make everything simple again.

“Be safe,” she says.

I tell her I will.

And I leave.

chapter twenty-two

When Valeria opens the door, she’s got Eustace the dog in her arms and a gray cloth robe wrapped around what I assume are pajamas, and she’s already removed her makeup. She forms an almost comical contrast to me in my party dress, lingerie underneath, makeup tear-smeared but still on. She smiles as she shuts the door behind me, leaning over to wipe a smudge under my eye.

“You still look lovely,” she says. “Should we talk?”

She called me “lovely.” She asked me to forgive her. That I’m forgivable. She wants me, she likes me, she’ll fight for me. She doesn’t question me.

I almost don’t care anymore. I take my shoes and jacket off.