Make Room for Love

by Darcy Liao

Isabel was taking this seriously. She was taking Mira seriously, maybe more seriously than Mira took herself.

Mira always seemed surprised by the simplest things, like she didn’t expect much out of other people.

“Some things just wear you down, and it never gets easier. The point is, you’re not a coward just because you’re scared.”

She looked like a wilted flower. Isabel was struck by a pang of tenderness so intense it hurt. She wanted to carry Mira to that narrow bed of hers and let her sleep.

Mira was braver and stronger than she knew. Truthfully, she was even braver and stronger than Isabel had known from the start. And Mira had held on to her softness and her sympathy all this time, which made her even more remarkable. But she never should have needed to endure so much in the first place. Isabel wanted to rip the world apart for her.

After what Mira had told her today, it was nice to see her enjoying something, no matter how small. Even if Mira’s happiness wasn’t any of Isabel’s business.

She was so lovely that it hurt to look at her. But Isabel looked, anyway.

Mira had written notes in the margins, and seeing them was somehow more intimate than being in Mira’s bedroom—it was like being inside her mind. Isabel brushed her thumb over a line of Mira’s writing, her hand trembling slightly.

Isabel scooped rice into the rice cooker. It was such a simple pleasure to measure out enough for two people.

Lesbian drama was the one constant of the universe.

Part of her craved more of Mira’s tenderness, and part of her wanted Mira to run away after learning the truth.

It meant admitting that she’d ever wanted anything at all. To have someone see her as both smart and beautiful. To be taken care of, to matter, to be loved.

But some stubborn, reckless part of her couldn’t stop wanting. She had more than enough reason to be cynical. But she still yearned for someone who would sweep her off her feet and take her seriously at the same time. Someone who would laugh with her, cook with her, talk about books with her, share easy, quiet nights with her.

She tried to convey what she couldn’t find the words for yet: She was grateful that Mira had remembered, grateful for Mira’s care, grateful that Mira had seen what Isabel would never admit to needing.

But one question crowded out all others—one she’d never been good at answering, one she’d spent the last two years pushing down until it had gone silent within her. What did it mean to want something for herself?

how many girls wanted a big blue-collar butch to take them home and take charge.

Meeeeeeeeeeee

It was precious to receive Mira’s trust, precious to see her unwound and open, precious to be with her at all.

With Isabel, she could let herself blossom.

“But I don’t want to be a thing that you either deserve or don’t deserve,” Mira continued. “Or a thing you’re either good enough or not good enough for. It makes it sound like if you did enough, you’d earn the right to be with me. I’m not a prize for you to win or lose.”

Maybe this was what freedom felt like. Months ago, at the start, she’d thought that freedom meant being able to cut and run. It was what she’d needed at the time. But now, finally, she felt free enough to stay—free to choose Isabel, to be with her through the good and the bad, to throw herself into the pain and joy of loving someone even if she didn’t know what was on the other side.