Deep breaths.
“I do like Jasmine. A little too much. It’s, uh, kind of why I broke up with Chase.”
For the second time in a minute, there’s the familiar sound of plasticware clattering as Shannon drops it and the plates to the floor.
And then it’s silent.
I turn to Kiki. “Uh, is this how it went when you told them you were going to prom with Jasmine?”
“No, but apparently they’d both already assumed I was gay.”
“Aren’t you?” Gia asks, her face screwed up in confusion.
Kiki laughs. Which absolutely does not mean she isn’t. Or that she is.
“Okay, wait, back to Bogdan,” Shannon demands. “So, the Chase obsession is over.”
“Yes.”
“But … Jasmine? When? I’ve never even seen you spend time together.”
I fix my gaze on one of the takeout cartons, opening and closing the little tabs. “It’s, uh, complicated?”
“It’s not that complicated,” Kiki says with a snort. “Jasmine’s dad is Anya’s boss. Jasmine’s the girl Lara lived with all summer. God, do you guys ever listen to my podcast? You would be so much better at detective work if you did.”
“Nicely done, Kiki,” my mom calls from the living room, where she’s apparently been listening to this entire conversation.
“Why, thank you,” Kiki calls back.
Facepalm.
“So, you guys have been a couple this whole time?” Shannon asks.
“Of course not. No. I was very much with Chase until a few hours ago. And I’m not with Jasmine,” I add quickly, partly because I’m not and partly because I don’t know if going to prom on Kiki’s arm counts as outing herself, but I’m certainly not doing it for her. “I just … have feelings. Of the confusing and complicated and definitely shouldn’t be dating someone else while I have them variety.”
Gia nods. “Got it. I think.”
I turn to Shannon. “And you? Still mad? Less mad? More mad?”
She blinks and it seems to take forever, long enough that I’m afraid she’s going to walk right out of my house and leave us with an extra portion of dumplings. Especially when her mouth twists into a frown.
And then she opens her mouth.
“Okay, I feel like I’m falling behind on coolness by not being into girls now. This may have been a very missed opportunity in Paris. I still have time to catch up in college, right?” She looks from me to Kiki, like we’re somehow gurus in the Art of the Gay. “I mean, art girls are all free and into expression and whatever, right? Wasn’t Frida Kahlo bi?”
I gawk at her.
“What?” she asks innocently, gathering the plates and cutlery back up.
“How did this become about you?”
“Isn’t everything?”
“Not this,” I snap. “Jesus, Shannon. Sexuality isn’t something you buy in a Parisian boutique and wear for a season. This is kind of a big deal for me.”
She blinks. Nods. “I’m being an asshole again.”
“Yes,” Kiki, I, and even Gia say at once.
“Points for self-awareness and saying ‘I’m sorry’ way faster this time?” she asks meekly.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. “I’m glad to have you back, Shan,” I murmur.
“God, you are so sappy.” But before we pile into the living room, laden with takeout cartons and soda, she gives me a quick squeeze.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It seems almost cruel that the morning after my own romance ended is the one in which I finally get to meet Clementine Walker face-to-face.
“I’m a huge fan,” I tell her when Beth brings her to the café counter, wiping my hand on my apron before shaking hers. “I’ve read every single one of your books. Repeatedly.”
“Well, that’s always a nice thing to hear!” She has a big smile, bright teeth, and long blond hair that’s clearly out of a bottle, but in a way that looks really cool with dark roots. It somehow makes me even more nervous that she’s extremely nice, and everything else I’d thought to say to her flies out of my head.
I excuse myself to make her a coffee, and she even compliments the half-formed heart drawn in the foam. “It feels more complex that way,” she assures me. “Like this is a heart that has been through some stuff.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter, grateful when Beth calls for me to come get the cart of books for the signing.
The crowd starts trickling in about ten minutes before the event. I guess romance is a hotter genre in the Stratford area than I knew, because soon every seat in the store is full, and Beth’s sending me to get more folding chairs. I barely get back to my spot at the café counter before Beth makes the grand introduction and everyone claps for Clementine.
“Thank you for coming,” Clementine says, and she sounds so professional that it makes me want to be her all the more. She’s pretty, she’s confident, she’s talented, and the huge rock on her left hand suggests she’s got all her romantic shit figured out. I know from her posts on social media that she’s got a hot husband and two adorable kids, and I bet she’s never had her heart twisted up by a girl she’d become too afraid to call.
Thirty-six hours later, I still haven’t spoken to Jasmine. I can’t. I’m back to feeling like it was all in my head, like I’ve gone ahead and come out to my friends, and for what? What if she’s changed her mind since the night of the dance? What if she’s mad I didn’t go after her? What if she thinks I’m still with Chase?
Part of me is so angry we didn’t have this conversation back when we were exchanging heart emojis, letting a tiny little picture in a text thread mask everything we had to say to each other, everything we felt. I wouldn’t have had to hurt Chase; I wouldn’t have had to keep secrets from everyone …
But, if that hadn’t all happened, would I ever have been able to get here?
And where exactly is here, anyway?
I
