Hannah glances at me, quick to refocus on the road.
“Maybe it’s a surprise,” she says, her voice quiet like a hum.
“Is it somewhere we talked about?” I’ve never been big on surprises, not because I dislike them but because the suspense makes me obsess.
And Hannah knows this, so when a sly smile slips across her face, I know she’s keeping our destination a secret to torture me.
“Come on,” I plead, “just a hint?”
I turn in my seat enough that my whole body is facing her, even with my seat belt on. I lean on the center armrest with both elbows and prop my pouty face in my hands. Considering how small the inside of a car is, I end up mere inches away from Hannah’s arm.
“Why don’t you just relax?” Hannah reaches over and rests her right hand on my leg. It’s a gesture she used to do whenever we’d drive back to camp after a nightly adventure. I lean back, admiring how seamlessly we’ve slipped into the way we used to be.
Almost thirty minutes later, Hannah turns into a small shopping center and parks at the end of a short strip of storefronts, in front of Heritage Coffee. The front window advertising coffee, tea,andpastries is promising, especially because I’m hungry.
Inside, there’s high-top seating facing the front window. Farther in on the left is the counter, painted white and topped with gray speckled granite. A case full of pastries catches my attention, and I’m impressed when I notice a sign highlighting how the coffee is locally roasted. Along the right wall of the café, there are tables traveling all the way to the back of the building, ending in a cozy nook with a leather couch.
I don’t know if it’s because the café isn’t crowded or knowing that we’re plenty far away from Stow, but I lean into Hannah and weave my hand in hers as we walk toward the counter. The last thing I want to do is waste the opportunity to be myself with her.
We pause at the register to take in the chalkboard menu hanging on the wall.
“What are you going to get?” Hannah asks, her cheek brushing my forehead.
“Hmm…” I browse, jumping from the list of typical lattes and cappuccinos to the signature drinks. A café can always be defined by their house blend and their signature lattes. “I’m torn between the Snickerdoodle Latte and the Cardamom and Cinnamon Latte.”
Hannah squints at the menu, making out the short descriptions for each. “Both are excellent choices.”
I order the Cardamom and Cinnamon Latte, and Hannah, in all her perfection, orders the Snickerdoodle Latte so that we can each try both. We find a table toward the back, and when Hannah sits in the seat next to me instead of across, I welcome her closeness.
“So,” Hannah starts, leaning back to roll up the sleeves of her flannel. “I know you’ve probably been asked this ten million times, but have you decided what colleges you’re applying to?”
I take a second to lick cinnamon-dusted foam from the corners of my lips.
“Oh, you, uh, missed some,” she murmurs.
I lick my lips again, a little self-conscious with her watching me.
“Nope,” she says, smiling, though her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
Before I have a chance to try again, Hannah leans forward, and her hand cups my chin. Her thumb gently slides down my cheek, nearly grazing my lips—but if the foam had been on mylips then I wouldn’t have missed it. I watch her, her eyes focused on my mouth. She licks her own lips, almost to mimic the motion I was doing, and they shimmer in the wake of her tongue, illuminated by the overhead lights, making something in the base of my stomach pinch.
Then she just leans back, quickly licking the foam off her fingertip, as if that wasn’t the sexiest move I’ve ever experienced. I scan around us as discreetly as I can, to see if anyone saw, but I stop short, reminding myself that even if someone did, it doesn’t matter. Not here, at least.
I’m supposed to be talking about colleges.
“I’ve narrowed down my list. But I’ve hit a wall every time I’ve tried to work on an essay,” I admit. “I’ve discovered that it’s impossible to focus when the task at hand is to determine the next four years of my life in only five hundred words. It’s daunting.”
This year’s Common App prompt—the one more than half my schools have subscribed to—has been especially problematic:What’s a meaningful experience that has shaped you?
Before this summer, I might have tried to write about growing up in the church or the experience of having two doctors as parents, but neither topic is really about me.
Now, post Camp Refuge, there’s one too-obvious answer. All the words are there—clean, grammatically correct, easy sentences. They tickle my fingertips, taunting me to confess the truth. I’m gay. And figuring that out made me feel whole, made me realize I could be so much more.
This summer wasn’t just about Hannah and my sexuality. Idiscovered layers to myself that I didn’t even know existed, and I realized I don’t have to fit into the neat, predictable boxes of good daughter, good student, and good Christian if I don’t want to. I grew beyond them; I became shapeless and boundless, infinite.
Until infinity collapsed into a single point of dread.
To write it—actually writeI’m gay, I’m a lesbian, I like girls—would be a risk.