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She pulls her phone over to me. Heads into her Instagram, then into the archives.

It’s filled with pictures of her with another woman: lying together in parks, kissing while climbing boulders (the Yosemite mystery is solved), even one of them holding Eustace as a puppy.

“I’m not still into her,” she says. “It’s just…sometimes I miss being able to show off someone I like, you know? I don’t want these secrets. When I’m with you, when I was behind your camera, all I wanted was to capture us together. I wanted to scream it to the world.”

Tears slip down her cheeks.

“Why don’t you?” I ask. “Why don’t you leave them? I’m sure there are plenty of agents and managers who’d let you be who you are.”

She pets Eustace. His bug eyes shut in bliss. “I need enough faith and guts to make that plunge. It never gets easier.” She looks at me. “Something I’m sure you can relate to.”

I join the Eustace petting party. “What happens to us?”

She raises a brow. “What do you want to happen?”

“I…I want something easy. I want peace. I want to grow.”

Our fingers touch as we pet Eustace. Neither of us flinches.

“I’m not very peaceful or easy. I think we can both agree on that. I’d never forgive myself if the fucking National Enquirer runs a story that accidentally outs you to your family before you’re ready.” She looks me right in the eye. “But I need you to know that nothing between us happened because I wanted sex. I really think you’ve got so much potential. I guess I do think the best version of our relationship is…” She exhales.

“Professional,” I finish. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Brendan couldn’t get me the job.”

Her expression softens. “Luna…”

It stings, but not as much as I thought it would.

I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud. I can’t believe being in a relationship with Val is what I wanted, what I was so sure I’d get, just this morning. “It’s okay. I’m not saying that because I want you to do anything. But I also don’t want to destroy the opportunity to work with you in the future.” I look her in the eye. “I care about you, so much, but filmmaking…I could never ask you to help me with that if we were dating. I think it’s best for us both to keep a long-term friendship.”

Valeria smiles. “If anything, consider me your stupid older queer mentor. You’re definitely not shaking me.”

I take her hand. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t. But fair warning: my advice is always to act on your lizard brain and then leave your frontal lobe to clean up the mess like science intended.”

I finally lean over and wipe the tear stains on her face.

“I want to collaborate with you. When you’re a cinematographer,” she says. “One day.” She smiles. Holds out her hand to shake. “Professional collaborators?”

I smile back. Shake her hand. “Professional collaborators.”

She pauses. “Tomorrow, could you take a picture of me for a coming-out post?”

My heart leaps. “Really?”

“Really. I have a long track of disaster lesbian to fix.”

“Of course.” I pause, give her hand a squeeze, and pull away. “Is there a disaster lesbian?” I ask.

She smiles. “There’s a disaster everything.” She puts Eustace’s face to hers. “Aw, you don’t think I’m a disaster, do you?”

Eustace, Chihuahua hell mix that he is, proceeds to bite at her face. She yanks her face away like he does this every day. “Fuckin’ A, Eustace, homophobic prick!”

chapter twenty-three

I wake up in a plush bed next to Valeria and the mouth-breathing Chihuahua lying on her neck, and it takes a minute for me to remember what happened and snap back to reality. I take a moment to drink Valeria in: her perfect skin, her long eyelashes lying against her cheeks. Her ethereal beauty is set off by the fact that she’s wearing her dog like a scarf. I feel a pang in my chest knowing I can’t perfectly capture this image, knowing I’ll never see her like this again.

I step out of bed and make my way down to the kitchen. No one asked and I know I can’t expect a kiss for it, but I still find myself searching through her fridge and cabinets for breakfast supplies. I settle for a scramble with the Whole Foods produce and eggs I uncover. With each crack of the egg against the bowl, more of last night seeps into my memory.