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Her lack of experience always made her feel like a bit of a freak—an imposter for even wanting to claim a particular queer label in the first place—as she faded into the background each time a discussion veered into friends’ sexual and romantic trials and tribulations. Julie loved giving advice, listening, ever the Supportive Friend.
And years later, she hadn’t figured out what her thing was at all.
Their friendship had been solidified outside the court, but it had been born on it. There had never been anyone Elle loved playing with more, no one she had ever been so in sync with. Even though their relationship had always been platonic, Elle was pretty certain she had never been as deeply in love with anyone as she had been with Mara Daniels.
“I try to stay out of their personal lives,” Julie said with a shake of her head. “But sometimes they just…” She shivered. “Tell me things.” “They trust you,” Elle said.
She tried not to dwell on it, but a bittersweet ache often settled in her bones these days, a subtle but ever-present awareness that she was no longer as needed by the people she loved most. That London had Dahlia now, as Ben had Alexei.
She wasn’t sure if it was jealousy, exactly, as much as a quiet acceptance. That Dahlia was who London ran to first, with their problems or their triumphs. Alexei, whom Ben first sought comfort from, who first heard about his day. Julie was no longer the recipient of the first tellings of stories.
“And you didn’t need to, because it’s true. If you like someone, it doesn’t matter what did or didn’t happen in their past. Unless, you know, said previous sluttiness resulted in some slight emotional trauma”
“But I haven’t figured out my shit,” Julie cried, embarrassment hitting her cheeks at the unplanned rise in the volume of her voice.
She rubbed her thumb against Julie’s forefinger, and she thought about how underrated holding hands was. How intimate it was. How lovely and important. Everyone was always hyping up sex, but Elle, at that moment, would take a hundred ballads about the feeling of Julie Parker’s fingers inside hers.
“Have you…” Elle cleared her throat. “Not wanted to be with anyone? Because that’s okay.”
I feel like… everyone I know has been able to just jump into the big game. And I…” She trailed off, her hands turning to fists. “You’re not ready for the game,” Elle supplied. “Yeah. Maybe.” Julie licked her lips, voice reedy. “Or maybe I am. But I know most people joined the game when they were like, twelve, so it feels like the more time goes on, the more impossible it’ll be to even walk onto the court without everyone laughing at me.”
But that when it came to identity, when it came to queerness, the whole point was that there were no tryouts. If you were even thinking about it, you were already on the team. That labels weren’t meant to confine, only to bring comfort to those for whom they were useful.
“They’re playing the Cranberries. I’m a lesbian. It’s required for me to cry.
“Comparison,” Charlotte continued after a moment, “is as dangerous in parenting as it is in all other facets of life. And maybe you’re not her mom. But you are parenting right now. You can give yourself credit for that, Elle.”
“Want to come over and watch the Duke-UNC game with me? I know it might not sound like much, but coming from a lesbian, it’s definitely a date.”
“You’re not behind on anything. There’s nothing for you to be behind on. There’s nothing, and no one, you have to track your own life by.”
“I feel safe, with you.” Julie probably didn’t need to keep talking. But she wanted Elle to know she wasn’t regretting it. Didn’t want Elle looking at her in concern, like Julie was something she had to fix. This was Julie’s thing to figure out. “I liked watching you.” Elle’s smile returned, even gentler this time. “I liked you watching me.” And then, “Will you stay? You can stay down here, if you’re not comfortable moving to my bed. I just…” She trailed off before meeting Julie’s eyes. “I want to make you pancakes.”
the last eight years had been about stability: a reliable life of antidepressants and the resulting low libido. Which hadn’t overly bothered her much, until Julie Parker. Julie Parker had awakened things, and even though Elle knew, because she knew herself and her body by now, that it wouldn’t be a forever sustainable kind of awakening, she was still filled with wonder that it was happening at all.
You can be happy and still feel like you don’t really know what the fuck you’re doing.”
period
“Well, I know the straights sometimes have their own weird rules about this, but in my book, if someone comes—or comes close to coming, if orgasm is hard for them—that counts as sex.”
“Yeah.” Julie nodded. “I do. I think… I might be demi? I don’t know. Every single label I research still feels weird.”
“I think I’m always going to be a little sad,” Elle whispered. “It’s just the way my brain works.” “Okay,” Julie said, voice quieting. “That’s okay.”
“You can’t be a lesbian and be allergic to cats,” she eventually said, voice strained. “There should be a rule about that.”
Elle gave her a puzzled look. She was right; they would. But Elle couldn’t remember ever talking about her bio degree with Julie. “Oh, right.” Julie’s smile grew. “Did you forget I’ve been obsessed with you my whole life? Because yeah, that’s still a thing.”
“There’s no one I’d rather FAFSA with.”
Because even if what happened afterward wasn’t how I envisioned it, that was still an important stage of my life, and I can still be proud of it.
