Page 43 of This Is Who I Am

ESTELLE

I lie next to Cass, our legs tangled, my body still, but thrumming underneath. It’s not a high. It’s definitely not arousal. It’s not even pride. It’s something gentler and more grounded.

Cass is silent beside me. Her fingers draw slow, meandering lines on my arm. I don’t want her to stop. But this is always the most precarious part—after. When I’m wide open in ways others don’t always understand.

I don’t feel desire the way she does. Not physically.

But I feel something else. A pull in my chest so strong it threatens to tear me in two.

I want to give this to her. Not to prove something, but because I’m in love with her.

Because as far as love and romance are concerned, we are very much alike.

She turns toward me, her eyes a little glassy. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

I nod. “Absolutely fine.” I close my eyes for a few moments, because I don’t feel the need to look for signs of what she wants and I can’t give. Not today, and hopefully not ever again—although that’s the kind of wishful thinking only a hungover, lazy brain can truly believe in.

But it’s different today. Her unspoken excitement doesn’t radiate off her any longer.

Cass tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “Thank you for that,” she says, grinning from ear to ear.

“My pleasure.” I turn fully toward her so I can see her gorgeous face.

“Can I ask you one of my annoying questions?”

“I told you,” I say with a smile in my voice. “There’s no such thing as an annoying question when it comes to this.” Because I know what the subject of her question will be. I always know and it’s okay.

“Wait until I’ve asked it.” She traces the edge of my ear.

“Be my guest.” I’ve never had an issue talking about being ace, only with dealing with other people’s expectations.

“What it’s like for you when you, um, lick me. When you make me come. What do you feel?”

“It makes me feel connected to you,” I say.

“But physically,” she asks. “There’s nothing?”

“No,” I say truthfully—a dangerous admission, but if I can’t say it now, our reunion won’t stand much chance.

Her face doesn’t change, but I’ve learned not to guess what the other person’s thinking. I continue before her thoughts can run away with her.

“I used to think I had to fake it,” I say. “That no one would stay with me if I didn’t act all lustful in return and let them touch me.”

“That’s terrible,” Cass says.

“I went off that pretty quickly, because it is terrible and, for me, not doable, although I’m sure a lot of women—asexual or not—do it often enough.”

“Promise me you’ll never fake anything for me.”

“You have my word because it’s impossible.” I manage a grin, but it’s not as though all my insecurities have miraculously dissolved. “Can I ask you an annoying question?”

“Always.” Her hand glides to my shoulder and settles there.

“You said that it didn’t mean anything with Bijou. That it was soulless and I get that, but… what did it feel like in your body? To touch her like that?”

Cass makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a scoff “You’re right. That is a very annoying question.”

“You never have to sugarcoat for me, babe.”

“It’s not a matter of sugarcoating anything.” Is that a hint of exasperation in her voice? She did say my question was annoying—and it is. “I’m just not a hundred percent sure of what you’re asking me with that question. What it is you really want to know.”

“Is it something that you think you’ll want again? To be with another woman in that way?”

“What?” Cass shakes her head. “Babe, you’re doing it again.”

“Yeah. I am.” Fuck. I know I am. I’m projecting my insecurities onto her again.

“Okay. Look.” Cass takes a breath. “To answer your question painfully honestly.” She’s regained her calm and speaks softly.

“Yes. I will want that again, but that’s okay.

I don’t need to have every single thing I want.

For instance, I’d very much like to be able to lose weight from eating burgers at The Bay.

Can I have that? No, I can’t. I can have the burger, but I can’t lose weight by eating it.

I know that and it’s perfectly fine.” She slides her hand down and grabs mine.

“I can have you which is, just to be clear, a million times better than having a burger at The Bay…” She pauses.

“Although watching you eat one truly is a feast and does make me feel like I’m getting everything I’ve ever wanted in life.

” She throws in a chuckle. “But I’m getting off track. ”

“You really are.” I hold on tightly to her fingers. “What were we talking about again? Did you just pull off the greatest distraction of all time?”

“And I didn’t even have to cook you a meal for it.” She catches my leg between hers. “By the way, I’m making you the best grilled cheese of your life later.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get a burger at The Bay instead?” I ask.

“How dare you prefer someone else’s food over mine.” Her eyes narrow. I still have no idea what she’s thinking and that, too, is something I have to accept.

“Are we good?” I ask, my voice much more serious than what our conversation evolved into, because my question isn’t about burgers or grilled cheese sandwiches anymore.

Cass smiles, then her expression softens.

“Before you left, I kept saying I’d get used to it, like I could will myself into being okay with it all.

But I was still looking for a loophole. Now I’m just here.

With you. No workarounds. No pretending.

” Her smile turns into a grin. “So, yes, I think we’re very good.

” She tilts her head. “Although I can only speak for myself, but you’ve been back for almost twenty-four hours and I haven’t had a hot flash yet. ”

“Only an orgasm,” I joke, but inside, I’m smiling—because of what she just said.

“I’m sure that somewhere among the countless scientific studies on menopause, someone has investigated the effect of orgasms on hot flashes and concluded they provide significant relief, so...”

“So?” This is how I know for sure we’re good. Cass doesn’t tiptoe around me being asexual. It doesn’t stop her from asking what she wants—and from referencing a joke we shared at the beginning of our relationship.

“So, how about we conduct our very own case study on the impact of two orgasms within the span of an hour on the frequency of hot flashes in a fifty-three-year-old woman over the next twenty-four hours?” Cass continues.

“That’s an awfully complicated way for you to ask me to fuck you again.”

“Just doing my bit for science,” Cass says, but she can’t keep a smile from lighting up her face.

“Where do you keep your lube again?” I reply. “We’re going to need it this time around.”