18. And They Were Roommates [Part 1]

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HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!!! I meant to type a whole inspiring message but finishing this part took longer than expected and I need to get to bed, soooo, let me just say you're all valid, labeled or unlabeled or questioning, out or not out, no matter your age or country or relationship status. Let's celebrate ourselves this month, and stand up for the community all around the world.

*whee whee whee* gay panic alert! This chapter is not as edited as I'd like, but I promised, so, hope it's still good!


"Do you have to go?"

It was common knowledge having kids stalled your romantic life. What nobody had ever told me, though, was that they didn't even have to be yours to have that effect.

Ari was sitting on top of my dresser, swinging their legs back and forth, asking the same question for the millionth time. Their older sister was rifling through my closet, her brows furrowed in concentration. Next time I was going to go out, I'd make sure they had no idea and were in bed by the time I'd have to start preparing. Both of them were exhausting: Ari because of their attempts to make me cancel, and Manon because of her insistence on giving me relationship advice. Who knew a nine-year-old had so much to say about what not to do on a first date.

"Jessie, there's a hole in that shirt," Manon commented, poking at the seam of the tight black top I was wearing. "You can't wear that."

I rubbed my face. This night was going to be a disaster. Why the hell did I think it'd be a good idea to listen to the fashion opinions of a couple of elementary schoolers? They'd already made me change twice!

This was a pretty big hole, though. I turned my back to the mirror, checking it out over my shoulder. The size of an olive, to be exact. "You're right." I sighed. Part of me wanted to plummet into bed and just wait till the evening was over, but I couldn't. I had to do this. This was good for me.

"Why don't you pick one of your flannel shirts?" Manon offered. "Mom likes those."

I laughed. Maybe Elizabeth did like them — she certainly always noticed when I wore one, especially in combination with my boots and my beanie — but most of the time, she'd roll her eyes and mutter something about me perpetuating harmful stereotypes. I didn't exactly have a better idea, though. "Fine. You decide."

Manon stuck her nose in the air, inspecting the flannel I owned like she was getting paid for it, and I began hauling the shirt back over my head. Again.

Ari, apparently, thought that was a perfect moment to resume their whining: "Why didn't you just ask mom?"

I lost my balance, shirt stuck halfway up my arms, and crashed headlong into my mattress, Ari snickering at me. "Ouch," I mumbled. To my right, Manon let out a long breath, and small hands started to yank at the fabric, helping to free me.

From downstairs, a faint ring traveled through the hallway. I snuck a glance at my alarm clock—shit, shit, double shit. Of course. Could I for once get myself ready in time for a date? "Manon, would you maybe—"

"I'll go!" Ari interrupted, and before I had a chance to protest, they'd jumped to the floor and raced out of my room.

"Ari!" But they'd already gone. Oh no. Ever since the incident in the tent, Ari had teased me about being in love with their mom non-stop, something that was worsened by the fact Elizabeth was... well... kind of an intense best friend. She'd left me a blubbering mess on more than one occasion now, and she seemed to enjoy it too. In fact, she did it so well my brain tried to convince me she was flirting half of the time, with the way she'd initiated a freaking whipped cream fight on National Brownie Day and with all those seemingly casual shoulder and elbow touches that lingered just long enough to make me highly aware of them. Or yesterday, when she'd been immersed in a novel featuring two beautiful half-naked women in a passionate embrace on the cover, right in front of me, her eyebrows too expressive to be healthy for any onlookers. She'd detected me gaping at her, and instead of blushing, she'd suggested reading it out loud to me, if I was so interested in the story. Considering she was in one of her satin robes, her smooth legs entangled on the couch, I'd run out of there before I could blurt out any of the thoughts that were plaguing me.

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