Female Friends

The bathroom mirror was directly across from the bunk beds. That night I found out why my roommate had moved it without saying a word.

When the scarf covered my eyes I thought it was an innocent game. It wasn’t. Mariela had other plans, and I didn’t want her to stop.

When she sat on my couch with smeared mascara and a trembling voice, I knew a whiskey and a few comforting words wouldn’t be enough.

In the hotel mirror, that bikini did not fit me. Nothing fit me since they decided what kind of body I deserved.

When I took off my bikini top in front of Carolina, her face changed. And then I knew I wasn’t leaving the beach that afternoon as just her friend.

I crossed that door convinced women weren’t my thing. I left two hours later knowing that was the biggest lie I’d ever told myself.

It started as a joke while watching videos in bed. It ended with both of us bent over the mattress, trying something we never thought possible.

The box hidden under the tree wasn’t for me. It was for her, and when she asked me to teach her how to use it, I knew the night would be nothing like we planned.

I hesitated for a couple of seconds, but the drinks had already spoken for me. I took off my dress, sat on the sofa, and let the others settle on the floor to watch.

Her mother saw us playing around in bed and, instead of yelling, smiled at me. That same night I understood that nothing in that house was innocent—and I didn’t want to be innocent either.

I turned off the light, and as I settled in, I felt a lump under the sheets: it was the shorts I had lent her. I brought them to my face without thinking, and my body understood before my mind did.

We’d been talking every day for a year. On that fifth night in Seville, playing on her phone while sitting on her couch, I touched her hand by accident. Neither of us had ever been with a woman.

When everyone else went to sleep, she came to the sofa, looked me straight in the eyes, and said something I never expected to hear from a friend.