“I feel like an idiot for assuming you were straight,” she said, as plainly as she could. “I’m sorry.”
“To be honest, I didn’t know how you’d react,” Honey said. “I’m still a little cautious about letting new people in.”
“You can let me in,” Savannah said. “Honestly, I’m really interested.”
Honey said she knew she was gay as soon as she knew what being gay was. “I didn’t want to be. I spent years shoving it down, hoping it’d go away. I was so ashamed. So alone. I didn’t know anyone who was gay, apart from, like, celebrities who lived in a completely different world to me. Completely.”
“What do you mean?”
Honey etched her fingernail into the dark wood paneling of the restaurant walls. “My family is super religious. I grew up in a part of Alabama where you wear a purity ring and sex before marriage is worse than drowning puppies. You wouldn’t even recognize me back then. Long hair, makeup. Dresses, always.”
“No tattoos?” Savannah guessed.
“Ha. No. I never planned on telling my parents about who I really was.”
But they found out.
“I’d been talking to a girl I met online,” Honey continued. “She lived in the UK; we’d message each other now and then. She was queer too, in a similar situation.” Honey drew a long breath. “I forgot to log out.”
“What happened?”
“My mom was hysterical. Told me I’d broken her heart. My dad told me I was disgusting, I was going to hell, all that stuff. They took me to church.” Honey shook her head at the memory. “Had me exorcized.”
“Are you joking?”
“I wish. Our pastor, who I’d literally known since I was a baby, told me I’d never find happiness, never find love. It broke me. I packed up my car, and left. My parent’s last words were don’t come back.”
“Oh my gosh, Honey.” How could anyone be so cruel to someone so warm and wonderful? Her own parents were so loving and accepting. Savannah couldn’t imagine them turning anyone away.
But she’d never thought about what would happen if she brought another woman home. She couldn’t imagine Terry and Sherry being relaxed and easy in that circumstance. It was just so outside what her parents expected of her. What she’d led them to believe about herself.
Honey sipped her whiskey. “That was three years ago. I moved to New York, found other queer people, worked a bunch of different restaurant jobs until I ended up here. Dated Ro, but I think we’ve outgrown each other. I really want that, though,” she added, without quite looking at Savannah. “A girlfriend. A real relationship.”
Savannah could tell she meant it. “What about your family—have you spoken since?”
“A few months ago, I got a voice mail from my dad, asking me to call.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know. Three years is a long time to feel totally rejected by your own parents—” Her words caught in her throat, almost a sob.
Savannah squeezed her hand as hard as she could, wanting to say so many things at once: I care about you. I will never reject you. I’m here for you.
Honey drew in a breath, regaining control. “I don’t know if I trust my parents. I have to protect myself.” She met Savannah’s eyes, sad but resolute. “Maybe that’s why I lied to you.”
“What do you mean?”
Honey drew in a long, slow breath. “I don’t want to get my heart broken by a straight girl.”
It took a moment to land. “Me?” Savannah asked. “I’m the straight girl?” It almost sounded as if she was asking if she was, indeed, heterosexual, so she rephrased it, as a statement. “I am a straight girl.”
“Right.” Honey let out a mild, amused laugh. “It’s just… we spend a lot of time together.”
And when they weren’t together, Honey was never far from Savannah’s thoughts. She’d become the lens through which Savannah viewed the city. “Because you’re my friend,” Savannah shot back. “We’re friends.”
“And that means a lot to me,” Honey said. “I’m just trying to point out that what we have isn’t that different from…”
A relationship. Savannah’s heart was beating so fast she was almost panting. She wanted to play dumb or laugh it off. But that would be childish.
“It’s different,” she said, “because I don’t date girls. I never have. I’m not into that—I wouldn’t even know—that’s just not me—”
“Okay, okay.” Honey held up a placating hand. “I don’t want to freak you out.” Her eyes shifted out the window. The street was empty, the moon kidnapped by clouds. Nothing lighting the way. “Let me put it this way. When I lived in Alabama, I was a huge football fan. I mean, we all are. Roll Tide, all that. I went to all the games, knew every player’s name. But after I finished high school, something changed. I couldn’t get into it. Then one day, we beat Tennessee in this epic game, nineteen to fourteen. My whole town was going nuts, and I felt… nothing. I suddenly realized I didn’t actually care about football. I only liked it because everyone else did. Liking football was what I did to fit in.” She leaned forward across the table, her brown eyes bright. “I liked it because I hadn’t been given the option not to.”
A faint ringing, like a distant alarm bell, went off in Savannah’s chest.
Honey’s words were soft in the quiet, empty restaurant. “I think life is just about figuring out what you like and what works for you, regardless of what everyone else is doing.”
Savannah’s breath had turned shallow. She felt like she was stark naked. She wanted so badly to push the chair out from underneath her, mutter an excuse, and scurry home, refusing to think about what Honey was implying. But instead, she picked up the whiskey bottle and poured herself another drink, determined not to run away.
43
Zia untied Clay’s wrists from the slats on his headboard, still slick with sweat and breathing hard. “Is it just me,” she panted, “or does that get better every time?”
“It’s not just you.” Clay rubbed his reddened wrists, then wrapped her in his arms, nipping at her neck. She giggled, squealing. They rolled over, kissing, laughing, completely lost in each other. Their experiments with power play were a revelation for Zia. As a man, Clay was respectful but inherently powerful. As a lover, Zia was in charge. She settled in the crook of his arm, warm, solid muscle secure around her. She’d never felt so safe. So comfortable. Clay had been in LA the past few weeks, and she’d missed him. Her fingers found the gold necklace resting in the dip of her throat. The Japanese symbol for light. She never took it off.
Outside, the sun was setting, and the city looked like a giant glowing picnic basket. So many different things would be happening that evening. A thousand different adventures, just waiting to be had.
“Let’s go out,” Zia said.
“Bed. Must stay in bed.”
“We’ve been in bed all day. It’s a miracle our muscles haven’t atrophied.”