The Way You Kiss Me

Part 4

The next morning, I woke to hear my phone ringing. It was Atarah.

"Hi, What's up? If it's about last night, we can forget that ever happened."

"I don't want to forget that happened, Lissa. Kissing you felt more right than I felt in years," she said fervently, "My whole life I have been trying to change and to numb the feelings I have, but kissing you felt so right"

"It felt right for me too."

"Do you want to come over to my place for tea and scones? I think it'd be good if we talked more about thing."

"I agree, and I would love that."

I knock on her door a plate of freshly baked banana nut muffins in my right hand.The kind my mom used to make. I didn't want to show up empty handed. She opens the door.

"Hi, so good to see you."

"Good to see you too," I gave her a warmed armed hug. "Are you parents home? Do I need to be cautious?

"No, they went on a vacation. It's just us."

"That's good for them."

She smiled warmly gestured for me to put the muffins on the coffee table. Then, she went to the kitchen to get a tea pot and assortment of teas and a plate of scones.

"I just boiled the water and you can pick whatever you like. Do you want clotted cream and sugar?"

"Yeah, Both would be nice."

She returned with the cream and sugar and sat on the small loveseat beside me our thighs nearly touching but not quite. Her body language was awake and attentive. Her eyes bright but also solemn and thoughtful. She tilted her head as if in deep thought.

"I am just gonna be honest with you because that is the only way I know to be with you. When I met you, I didn't know how I knew. I knew you liked women. I knew I couldn't lie to you like I have been lying to everyone else for years. Something about your eyes were soul-piercing. Something about you forced me to realize the truth. I am a lesbian. No amount of self-deprecation, lies, or prayer have changed that in the last decade."

Tears started to trickle down her cheek. I set my tea on the table and wrapped my arms around her. The same way she did when I was crying at the altar. I held her close and tight.

"It's ok. You're okay," I kept whispering in her ear.

We let go of each other. She looked into my eyes. I looked back into hers. I had known this woman for a week yet she seem so deeply connected to me and I to her.

"That's not the entire story. When I was 15, I told my parents that I liked girls and didn't like boys. They were disappointed they didn't know why I would choose to be that way. They said that with help I could change, so they sent me to a conversion therapy camp for the entire summer," her voice begins to crack. You can hear the pain of the story she is telling me, "So that summer after sophomore year I went to the camp. They forced us to repeat this every morning and every night. "I am not gay. I am just confused. I am just broken. I am straight and ready to realize that.' They told us how homosexuality was an abomination to God. How we were broken. We needed to change if we ever wanted God to love us. So I came back from camp. I was 'straight'. In reality, I never was. I was still a lesbian only lying about my truth. I dated guys but would always break up with them because they just never fit me. People said I was picky. I pretended that was the case, but I was just gay."

"I am so very sorry that happened to you. You are not broken. You were made perfect."

I held her close. The floral scent of her hair in my nose. She was crying again. I held her wishing I could fix everything, but I am not God. I can't fix it, but I can help her heal.