Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Greta nodded, listening closely.
“I had to teach myself, like, oh, okay, not everyone is the way your mother is, so you can’t treat them like they are. And it was so damn hard, but over the next two years, I really made an effort to interrogate my thoughts every time I fell into that way of thinking. Anyway, you can do it. It just takes work.”
“Can I tell you something true?” Greta asked.
“Always.”
Greta’s heart pounded in her chest, and she felt a trickle of sweat run down the base of her spine. “I want to move here.”
She said it simply and clearly and without explanation.
A slow, delighted smile crept across Carys’ lips. “I want you to too.”
Well, that had gone well. Greta decided to try it again. “I’m scared because I don’t want you to think that I’m only moving because of you and put some weird pressure on our relationship,” Greta said.
“I can see why,” Carys said. “I believe you.”
“Fuck!” Greta exclaimed. “Holy fucking fuck, I really can say what I want.”
Carys winced. “You totally can! Only, if you could just not yell it for, like, twenty-four hours, that would be amazing.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Greta said softly, dropping kisses on Carys’ curls.
“Hey,” Carys said, catching her face in her hands. “I’m really proud of you for wanting to change. And thanks for hearing me out and understanding.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry again about messing up today.”
“Forgiven.”
Greta kissed her softly and tucked her curls behind her ear. “I gotta do something,” Greta said, standing up. “I can’t leave messages on my mom’s phone or text my sisters. That’s what I would’ve done before.”
Before flickered in her mind like a black-and-white high school yearbook photo, demarcated from After, where she stood in the present, in full, glorious, present color.
“I need to go home and tell them. I need to be honest.”
“I really admire your emotional integrity,” Carys said.
“What does that mean?” Greta was very much liking this whole say-what-you-mean thing.
“Um, people talk a lot about being honest, but honesty on its own is just kind of telling the truth about concrete things. But emotions are things you need to be honest about too, and some people can tell the technical truth about what happened or what they said without honoring their feelings. Without having emotional integrity.”
“I think I’ve only had it once in my whole damn life.”
“When was that?”
“Ugh. I was totally in love with my high school best friend, Tabitha.”
Tabitha had been a constant in Greta’s life from elementary through high school. They’d been best friends, confidantes, partners in crime. Tabitha, an only child, loved to sleep over with Greta’s large, chaotic family. When her family made Greta want to scream, she sought out the calm and quiet of Tabitha’s.
Somewhere along the way—she couldn’t be sure exactly when, because it had grown as slowly and naturally as a plant in early spring—Greta realized that her feelings for Tabitha were more. Tabitha knew Greta was queer. Greta was pretty sure that Tabitha was not. So she said nothing. Besides, Tabitha was her person. She couldn’t risk losing her.
But Greta wasn’t secretive by nature, and it tormented her. Yes, she often kept things private from her family, but that was because their lives were all so intertwined that it felt like the only way Greta could have anything for herself was to keep it secret. But Tabitha was always the one she confided in. The one who made her feel more like herself for revealing it.
“Senior year, just before graduation, I couldn’t stand it any longer. It just felt wrong spending all this time with her and being so close in all these ways but her not knowing this one huge secret about me. About us, really. And I was all amped up because of finishing school and knowing I was leaving. Anyway, I told her. I worked myself up to it all evening, while drinking three cups of Martin Wyland’s trash can punch. Then, after I was lurchy but before I was woozy, I told her.”
Carys cringed. “How’d that go?”
“Oh, very badly.” Greta smiled. “I puked on her.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Yeah. I was kinda tipsy, and when I told her, she made this face that was like—” Greta attempted an I’m-horrified-but-trying-to-be-cool-and-just-want-this-conversation-to-be-over expression. “She didn’t even have to say anything. I knew she didn’t feel the same. And then I threw up on her shoes.”
Carys laughed and covered her mouth apologetically. “You’re right. That is totally emotional integrity. Are you still friends?”
“Nah. It ruined everything.”
She had apologized to Tabitha (for the puking) and taken it back (the declaration of love), and Tabitha had accepted both. When they went off to college, they’d tried to stay close, making plans for elaborate movie nights and metal detecting along the beach when they were back on Owl Island for the holidays.