Late Bloomer

by Mazey Eddings

People don’t like me if I’m not peppy and happy.

It sometimes feels like a curse to be attracted to men, seeing as I don’t generally like them. Now, women? I love women. They are creatures I genuinely want to talk to and also kindly ask to sit on my face.

And that’s my problem. I’m so hungry to connect with someone—anyone—I settle for crumbs and pretend like they’re a full meal.

No one wanted anything to do with me until I had something monetary to give them, and it’s painful to realize how accurate my sisters’ concerns were about people wanting to use me. I know nothing about this will change unless I find the courage to make the next move. But stagnation is comfortable. Making a change takes bravery, a willingness to declare what I want then be swept into the unknown consequences of it. If I never move, nothing ever changes, but if nothing ever changes, I can’t be crushed by the disappointment of it not working out.

“Hell yeah. Know something’s worth and hold your ground,” I say, as if I’ve ever held my ground in my life. I’d give my soul away if someone asked for it nicely enough.

How am I supposed to be assertive when what I’d rather do is kindly ask this beautiful woman to choke me with those endlessly long legs?

While I generally love all flowers, I’ve come to hate roses. I hate their uncomplicated beauty. Their cliché symbolism of love. Their built-in protection. Their delicate scent that becomes pungent and oppressive if enough are shoved into a room. They’re a challenge, Grandma Lou used to say, gently pinching a stem between her fingers before snipping the flower free. The thorns are what really make a rose beautiful. Their blooms are made all the sweeter for the care and tenderness it takes to reach them.

“Sweetheart,” she said quietly, gaze darting up to lock with mine. “You couldn’t be prettier.”

That half smile of hers drains all the laughter out of me, and I’m left wanting nothing more than to press my lips against hers in the vain hope that some of her light will flood into me.

Grief is a strange beast. It can lie dormant for weeks. Months. You can go through the motions of life and truly convince yourself you’re healed and fine and will actually survive the heartache of loss. And then, like the flip of a switch, it rears its head and snaps its jaws, hungry and ready to devour you whole.

The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s frantic and hot, like I can’t get close enough fast enough. Like I’ll die if my lips stop touching the unbearable softness of Opal’s. But there’s something peaceful about it too, like every cell in my body can finally sigh in relief at the touch of her mouth to mine. The return of her kiss. I finally gain a bit more control, taking my time to taste and feel the heat of her, trying to tell her how I could never hate anything she gives me.

She looks at me like she needs me. Like she’ll do anything for another taste of me.

I giggle at the adorable scowl she shoots me. I’m not sure the exact moment we switched roles, but Opal’s grumpiness makes it feel like sunshine is radiating through my veins.

“You’re ridiculous,” she mumbles against my neck. And it’s true. I’m ridiculous and hyper and a fool. All for her. I’d do anything to make her laugh.

“You make me want to hope. And that’s terrifying. Because hope lets you down. Hope hurts you.”

“Hope doesn’t hurt you, Pepper,” she whispers. “People do. Hope lightens you and lifts you and expands more room in your heart than you know what to do with. And sharing that hope with someone that will care for it and tend to it like it deserves only lets it grow more and more.”

“I want your hope, Pepper. I’ll do everything in my power to protect that hope if you let me. Put it all on me.”

I like her so much, it takes everything in me not to jump on her like a koala.

“I love you,” she repeats, voice hoarse, hands shaking. “I love you in the most basic and complicated and overwhelming and simple and inevitable way possible. I would think that’s been obvious for some time now.”

“I love you so much I could burst with it.”

“I love you so much it scares me,” I whisper, placing my hands on top of hers.

And, for once, with no fuss or protest or additional words, I do exactly as she asks. I kiss her until the earth stops spinning, time unspooling around our ankles. I kiss her like it’s our first and our last and the promise of every kiss that will come in between. I kiss her how I love her, deep and steady and a little bit frantic. And she kisses me right back.

As we walk back to our home, I grab her hand. She holds my heart. And nothing is perfect but everything is right, and that’s all that matters.

“You make me the happiest person in the world,” I whisper against her wrist. “Right back atcha, my sweet Pepper,” she says, pressing up to kiss me.

“I love you,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleepiness. I kiss the top of her head. “Love you so much,” I say back.