Wherever the Dandelion Falls (29 page)

"She sees," I said.

Justine glanced up at me, and I doubted myself.

"I mean, I think she does."

Justine quietly put away groceries for a minute before she turned back to me, gentle. "Will you do one thing for me?"

Hesitant, I nodded.

"I know you hate confrontation, but you need to get some definition. Talk to her."

"I don't wanna do that," I mumbled.

"I know," Justine said, rolling her reusable grocery bags up into a ball. "But if you don't do it, I will."

Horrified by the thought of Justine confronting Faye about our relationship, I blurted, "Okay, I'll talk to her."

Justine looked up at me with a doubtful expression.

"I will," I assured her. "Just let me wait until after your party"

"Two days," Justine said. "That's it. Then I'm going over there and demanding she state her intentions with my best friend."

Feeling dread sneak up on me from multiple angles, I retreated to my room and cleaned out my closet.

A few days later I took the bus to Faye's house in the Presidio, stopping at a flower stand on the way. As I looked over the buckets of flowers, I didn't know what color to pick. I knew certain color roses meant certain things, but I didn't know which was which.

I glanced at the man running the booth, hoping for guidance.

"What do the different rose colors mean?" I asked.

"Who are they for?"

"They're for
—
um
—
for my date."

The man stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Guys don't care about that stuff," he said with a shrug. "Get whatever color you want."

I debated telling him my date was a woman, but what business did a corner florist have knowing who I was taking out tonight?

I chose an arrangement of white and peach roses, avoiding eye contact with the salesman, and walked to Faye's apartment.

Faye looked exceptionally beautiful tonight. Her hair was perfectly styled and her eyes were extra sparkly. Most breathtakingly, she was wearing a red, satin shirt unbuttoned to show a hint of cleavage as the rest of the garment clung to her waist and shoulders. I almost couldn't breathe. I settled for holding the flowers forward, wishing I'd picked something more exciting than plain roses.

"How sweet!" she said, beaming.

I gave a bashful shrug. "Not as sweet as the flowers you sent me."

Her eyebrows pinched together delicately as she quirked her head. "I didn't send you flowers."

Confused, I bit my lip. I'd thought Faye had just been playing coy when she pretended not to know about the flowers the first time.

"You didn't?"

Faye shook her head. "Should I be worried?" she asked, feigning protectiveness.

"No," I said. "But now I'm wondering who sent them."

Faye looked at the roses I'd given her for a moment before saying, "I'll just have to send something more impressive so everyone knows you're taken."

Blushing, I said, "No, no, you don't need to do that."

Faye smiled and set the flowers down, ushering me into her apartment. She closed the door, and immediately put her hand on the side of my head, bringing me in for a kiss.

And then another.

And another.

Gosh, I loved kissing her so much.

After a minute of playful kissing, I felt my breathing pick up. As though she knew we needed to leave now if we were going to make our dinner reservation, she pulled back and sighed. "Let me put these in water and then we'll head out."

Grinning like a fool, I nodded and waited while she went into her kitchen.

Faye took me to a beautiful restaurant on top of a hotel. The view was amazing out of the panoramic windows. Tables with starched white cloths, candles, and flowers filled the dim space. At first glance, it was a normal, romantic restaurant, but as we waited to be seated, I realized the floor was slowly rotating. I took Faye's hand and gasped, excited. She looked at me with a sneaky, happy smile, and put her hand over mine and squeezed.

"I thought you might like this place," she murmured.

I nodded and looked out the windows in awe as we were led to our seats. I realized I was going to have a hard time paying attention to my food. Between Faye and the beautiful view, I wouldn't know where to look.

The food was delicious, and like usual, Faye picked a nice bottle of wine for us to share. We topped our meal off with a slice of chocolate cake, and I was reluctant to leave. But then I remembered I'd get to kiss her some more at her house and had no trouble getting into the elevator to head back to her car.

Half an hour later we were sprawled on her couch, faces mashed together, limbs clinging to each other. I loved kissing her so much, and I was comfortable with her hands roaming over my body now. I loved exploring her body too. I let my mouth trail down her neck, past the collar of her sexy red shirt, and slid my tongue out to taste the skin between her breasts.

Faye gasped and pushed my head away, a pained smile on her face. She took a deep breath through her nose, biting her lips. She was quivering in frustration.

I realized I'd gone too far and felt guilty. I could almost hear a muffled voice in her chest, begging for sex.

"I'm sorry," I said.

I wasn't sorry that I wasn't ready to sleep with her, but I was sorry I had gotten her worked up with no intention of following through. I was still learning to walk that line.

"It's okay," she muttered, biting her lips and keeping her eyes closed as she winced.

She was trying to tell herself it was okay, even though she was frustrated. She sighed again and her eyes flashed as she opened them. And even though she was frustrated, the voice she spoke with was soft and genuine. "It's just hard to not be intimate with you because you're so sexy and I like you so much."

Sitting up and adjusting myself so I wasn't completely on top of her, I realized that she didn't understand why I didn't want to have sex.

"What makes you think we can't be intimate?" I asked, trying to be playful and soft at the same time.

"Isn't that the point?" she asked, sitting up.

I shook my head slowly back and forth.

Her brow crinkled in confusion, and I realized she didn't differentiate between sex and intimacy.

I shuffled closer to her on the couch and ran my finger over her wrist. "We can be intimate like this," I said, staring into the pit of her, daring her to look away.

She didn't.

She swallowed as I traced my finger over her hand and played with her fingers. I felt her sink into the blissful fear I felt every time I was around her.

"How?"

I gave her a gentle smile to reassure her. We were venturing into this together.

"Tell me something about you. Something I don't already know," I said.

She gave me a soft smile, and I saw her lips were raw from kissing.

"Something about kissing," I added. "Maybe... your first kiss."

She grinned. "It was during a game of Truth or Dare on the playground in fourth grade. His name was Cameron. He used to make me mix tapes."

I leaned my head into the cushion of the couch, relaxing into her story.

"Any good?"

"The kiss or the mix tapes?"

"Both."

"They were
terrible
," she giggled. "He would put a Counting Crows next to Mozart next to Backstreet Boys. And he used way too much tongue. One of many boys whose heart I broke before I got started ladykilling full time."

I let myself imagine a younger, less sure Faye, and felt myself warm.

"When did you start?" I asked.

"Ladykilling?"

I nodded, basking in her glow and the cushions of her overstuffed couch.

"I was nineteen..." She trailed off, and I saw her eyes cloud as she relived something.

"Who was she?" I asked, my lips feeling drawn back to her, wanting to stake their claim.

"My freshman roommate," Faye said. "Andrea. She came home drunk one night and I was standing there folding laundry, and she laid a wet one on me."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I kissed her back."

A little smile passed over her face, and I realized that she was proud of herself. It must have taken all the courage she possessed to kiss Andrea back.

"And then what happened?" I asked.

"Everything," she said. She kept smiling, but more solemnly, as though she knew she was approaching a boundary I had hammered into place.

I was grateful she didn't go into more detail. I didn't want to hear about her in bed with another girl.

But then she started telling me her coming out story, which saddened me and deepened my respect for her.

"Afterwards, I made the mistake of running to my friend Isaiah. I was so freaked out about what had happened, I slept with him. Andrea found out and flipped her shit. She told all my friends I was gay... and then she told my parents."

My eyebrows shot up, imagining the wrath that Faye must have incurred on Andrea for such a vindictive outing.

"Oh my god," I gasped. "What did you do?"

Faye gave a shrug. "There wasn't much I could do. After a year I dropped out and went to journalism school. I wanted to get away from everyone there, and I figured I didn't need to finish my BA when I already knew I wanted to be a journalist. So I applied for every scholarship under the sun and got a full ride to Columbia. It was much easier to figure myself out there. I had my first real relationship with a girl and made great queer friends. After a while I was able to let what happened with Andrea go."

I wanted to pull her into me, to tell her with my kisses how much I respected her. But I settled for giving her a tame kiss, following it with a smile I hoped she knew was fueled by admiration.

By not sleeping with her while I was falling for her, I was discovering the two things didn't have to go together. Hearing her story and watching her heart open like a flower was too beautiful to miss.

She stayed open like that for a moment, studying me with no urgency or pretense. Then one side of her mouth curled up in a smile. "What about you?" she asked. "When did you start ladykilling? That girl in college?"

"Maggie," I said, nodding. "It was just a couple months, though."

"Tell me," she said, warm and inviting.

I took a deep breath. "I was about a year out of a serious relationship," I began.

"With who?" Faye asked.

"My high school boyfriend," I mumbled, trying to avoid talking about him. "I met Maggie in my Evolutionary Neuroscience class."

"Did she make your neurons fire like crazy?" Faye asked with a smug grin.

I giggled at her science joke. "Something like that. She was really pretty."

"Couldn't have been as pretty as you," Faye said. Sometimes the way she flirted with me bordered on aggressive.

I tried to dismiss my blush. She told me I was pretty often and even pointed out when other people noticed I was pretty, like on the bus or in line at the movies.
The guy behind you is totally checking out your ass
, she'd whisper in my ear. I'd burn and smile and she'd throw a smug glance at the guy as her arm slipped around my waist and she planted a kiss on my cheek. At first it had been alarming for her to be so affectionate in public, but I had come to love it. Hugging and brief kisses that claimed me as hers made me feel like I was floating, like Charlie when he drank the floating soda in Willy Wonka.

I realized I had gotten distracted when Faye's eyebrows arched and she smiled, entertained by my moment of dead air.

"Maggie kept asking to borrow a pen every class, and then we started talking, and one night we were studying for our midterm and she asked if I'd ever dated a girl."

"To which you said..."

"That I hadn't, but I'd totally be open to it."

"She must have died of happiness."

I smiled, remembered how Maggie's body had suddenly attuned to mine as she set her book on the floor beside her. "So then she asked if she could kiss me, and I said yes. And that was that."