Cece hugs her knees to her chest, dislodging Juno from her lap. “I’m not sure when that will be.”
“There’s no time limit. I knew for a couple of months before I told Des. I was super nervous, even though I was pretty sure she’d be okay with it. When she was cool, I told Kat and Bea, and then Gram. You don’t have to tell everybody all at once.”
“But they were all supportive? Your whole family?” Cece asks.
Vi nods, remembering. Des illustrated a quote with dancing rainbows as a coming-out present. Bea did research on how to be a good ally and then printed it out at Gram’s request. Kat joined the GSA for a hot second, till she got too busy with the spring musical and tried to convince Vi to join the drama club instead because it was very gay-friendly.
“You’re lucky,” Cece says. “Abuela Julia…I don’t want her to think I’m going to hell, Vi.”
“You’re not going to hell. That’s ridiculous,” Vi says firmly. “Look, maybe she won’t know what to say right away. Maybe she’ll say the wrong thing at first. But she loves you. I don’t think that will change. If she wants advice, she knows she can ask Gram.”
“You won’t tell her, though, right? Or your sisters?” Cece’s shoulders tense.
“Of course not,” Vi says. “It’s not mine to tell.”
Cece slumps back on her elbows and stares up at the cloudless blue sky. “Thank you. I’m so grateful for you, Vi. I kind of don’t know what I’d do without you anymore.”
“Me too,” Vi says. Only she thinks she means it differently. Is it possible that her feelings aren’t written all over her face? That Cece still doesn’t know Vi is crazy about her? Or if she does know and hasn’t said anything, what does that mean? What if Cece is attracted to girls, but not Vi, and doesn’t want to hurt her feelings by addressing the elephant in the room that is Vi’s crush?
Slow down, Vi reminds herself. This is still really new for Cece. She’s still figuring things out. Maybe she just needs time. It’s not like you’ve told her how you feel.
Vi looks down at her green Chucks, her freckled legs, her cutoff shorts, and her blue Destroy the Patriarchy, Not the Planet T-shirt. She knows she’s kind of weird. Awkward, sometimes. Cece is gorgeous and popular. But they have so much in common. They never run out of things to talk about. And she’s honored that Cece confided in her first. She is happy to be able to help her through the coming-out process, however long that takes. She wants to be Cece’s friend, and she is trying so hard not to be selfish or make any of this about herself.
But she can’t help wondering if maybe, someday soon, Cece might see her as something more than a friend.
Chapter Twenty-One
DES
“I love it,” Des says, staring down at the words freshly inked across her left forearm.
“Let me see!” Paige bounces up from her chair across the room. “Are you sure you don’t want to add a little color? Some flowers or something?”
“It’s perfect exactly the way it is,” Des says firmly. She smiles up at Lola, the pink-haired tattoo artist. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, sweets.” Lola gives her instructions on how to care for a new tattoo as she covers her forearm in plastic wrap. Des can’t stop grinning. She wrote out the quote last night in one of her favorite styles, the letters swooping and curling. Lola traced it and then copied it onto Des’s skin in blue ink. And now it’s there on her forearm. Forever. After the blue hair fades, after Paige goes back to Baltimore in August, the tattoo will still be there. Maybe the thought should daunt her, but it doesn’t.
Des isn’t squeamish, but she didn’t watch the actual tattooing process. There was plenty to look at around the room, which is decorated with strange tchotchkes and pop art and pin-up photos of Lola and her girlfriend, Grace. It’s the perfect aesthetic for Lola, with her pink curls and 1950s-style pineapple-print halter dress.
“It barely even stung, right?” Paige crows. “I told you so. I told you Lola was amazing!”
“She is. This place is incredible.” Des is still a little starstruck as they clatter downstairs.
“Right? Worth getting up early,” Paige hands Grace her credit card.
Grace runs the card through the machine and then tucks her dark, pin-curled hair behind her ear. “Those are really cute earrings,” she says to Des.
Des touches the blue and silver wire tangles. “Thank you. Paige made them, actually.”
“Yeah?” Grace looks at Paige with interest. “Do you sell them? I’d love to buy some.”
“Oh, thank you, but—I just make them for myself. Sometimes for friends,” Paige says. It’s the first time Des has ever seen her flustered. “Mostly I do sculptures. I go to MICA.”
“You should think about selling them.” Grace frowns at the card reader. “I’m sorry, your card was declined.”
Paige cusses, then fumbles in her wallet and hands Grace another card. “Here, try this one.”
“Sure.” There’s an awkward pause. Des stares at the pop art Marilyn Monroe on the wall behind the counter. “That was declined as well,” Grace says, her voice a little chillier.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Paige’s porcelain skin is flushed. “This is really embarrassing. I don’t have any cash on me. I’m, like, dead-ass broke right now.”
Des looks at her, perplexed. How can that be true? Paige has picked up tons of hours at Tia Julia’s over the last few weeks, and yesterday, she was crowing about getting great tips even though she’s new and works mostly weeknights.
Regardless, this is super awkward. They can’t stiff Lola for her work. Des reaches into her bag. “I’ll pay for both of us.”
“You sure?” Grace asks.
“Really? Thank you so much, Desdemona.” Paige hugs her. “You’re the best. Thank you. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get paid on Friday, I promise.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Grace rings them up, and Des tries not to wince when she sees the total. Paige’s tattoo—a gorgeous tangle of skulls and roses, a Day of the Dead design based on something Paige saw at Tia Julia’s—is twice as expensive. It took almost two hours for Lola to ink it on her right shoulder blade.
“Want to get coffee? My treat, if I can scrounge up enough quarters,” Paige jokes as they walk, blinking, back into the bright sunshine of Fell’s Point.
Des checks her phone and groans. She’s supposed to work at four, but it’s already almost three. It will take at least two hours to drive from Baltimore back to Remington Hollow. “I can’t. That took way longer than I estimated. I’m going to be so late. I’ve got to text Gram.”