Stolen Underwear

I’m just going to say it. Here we go. I stole her bra.

We had been hanging out since school got out for the day. Her mom pulled up in her green minivan and she peaked at me over her shoulder and said, “hey, you want to come to my house?”

I reluctantly agreed. I didn’t want to say no, I wasn’t sure how to not be awkward alone in her bedroom with her. See, what you don’t know is she’s my best friend. Has been since we were 6. But after we hit puberty, I realized I was watching her so much. SO MUCH. Every smile, every laugh, every glance. I felt like a freak. Is it normal to be obsessed with your best friend? Well, last weekend, I turned 17. It was a day of blessings. And curses. My parents revealed that they were going to spend the weekend at my grandparents' house so I could bond with my best friends and would return Sunday night, my actual birthday, for a party.

All was well. Until late Saturday night. She and I were on the roof, having climbed out of my bedroom window to escape the snoring Shelly, sucking air through a straw Margorie, and “I’m not falling asleep, I’m just resting my eyes” Jace. It was a little chilly, early September near the ocean, and we huddled together in our hoodies, sharing a blanket.

“So, tell me,” She whispers, taking a swig of her whiskey mixed with Pepsi, “What are your goals for this next year of your life?”

I chew my bottom lip, considerate. I’m not really a planner, more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-er. Or maybe more accurately, what-the-hell-happened-and-where-was-I-er? “Well, that’s a deep question for 2 o’ clock in the morning polishing off a bottle of whiskey.”

She giggles and bumps her cup into mine. “Cheers, mate.” She does her best British accent. It's terrible, but her eyes light up and I feel warm inside.

“Ok, let’s see.” I rest my head on her shoulder. “Graduate high school, definitely.” I pause for a few minutes, but she doesn’t try to interrupt. “Finish the mural on my bedroom wall.”

“Finish it? Isn’t it already done?” She laughs.

I shake my head. “I wish. I’m a slow painter. And a major procrastinator. And very self-conscious.” I admit.

“Aww,” She nuzzles me. “Poor baby.”

I freeze in her embrace, feeling the heat of her cheek seep into my cheek. When she pulls away to take another drink, I clear my throat. “Get it through Cane’s head that I’m not interested.”

“He’ll never give up. He’s been in love with you for like a decade.”

I stared into her eyes, the moonlight making them bright and opalescent. Does she see the way I feel? “He’s not in love with me. He’s infatuated. He doesn’t know me at all.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is love is like a ‘I can’t imagine my life without you, I want to share everything with you, the good and the bad.’ Infatuation is like ‘I want to copulate with you.’”

She laughs, shaking her head. “So crass.”

“I want to beat my 100-meter dash time.” I continue as if we hadn’t gone off on a tangent. “I want to learn how to make lasagna. And Pad Thai. And my grandma’s peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chip cookie recipe.”

“Oh my god, yes. Those are the best cookies ever. Then you can make them for me all the time.”

Under the blanket, she threads her fingers through mine, our palms press together. My heartrate speeds up.

I drain the last of my drink, heat flooding my face. I’m glad it's dark. “I want to actually learn some French.” She snorts. “Hey, I mean it.” She bobs her head encouragingly. “Seriously.” She grins mischievously at me. “Anyway. Get all my college applications done in a timely manner. Go to 17 concerts.”

“Kiss 17 people?” She offers up, bobbing her eyebrows at me suggestively.

“Well...” I shrug. “I can’t think of 17 people I want to kiss.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “Can we talk about something?”

“What?”

“I want to make sure you know you can tell me anything. I’ll love you no matter what.” Somehow, she even closer to me.

“I know.”

“Ok. I wanted to make sure you knew that, in case there was anything you wanted to talk about.”

I study her face. She’s chews her lip, stares into her empty cup, her fingers nervously steepling the sides. “Is there something YOU want to talk about?”

She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “We’re 17 now. We’ve been friends for 11 years.”

“Yes, thanks for the history lesson.”

“Don’t be an ass.” She swats at my leg. “You dated Ignacio last year and he was the first person you ever really showed any interest in. But once you were together, it was like you weren’t interested anymore. When you told me you guys had broken up, I uh- I went to talk to him. He said that while you said you liked him, you were super distant. Even though you guys were together for almost six months, he said you’d only kissed a handful of times and never gone further than that and even those kisses... he felt like he was forcing himself on you.”

“What’s your point?” I interrupt, frustrated.

“Are you...” Another deep breath, slow exhale. “Are you sexually attracted to- umm...”

“Women? Men? Non-binary? Everyone? No one?” I finish for her.

Her eyes glisten like she might cry or maybe she’s scared to talk to me about this.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Yes to which?”

I scratch my ear. Scrub a hand over my face. Look up at the moon, then back down at the rooftop. “I’m not asexual.”

“Then-”

“When I’m attracted to someone, I’m only attracted to them. No one else.” My heart is pounding fast and hard behind my ribs. “I can’t fake how I feel.”

“So, with Ignacio. You weren’t attracted to him, or you were into someone else?” Her hand has gone cold and clammy in mine. I close my other hand around it, trying to warm it up.

“What is it you want me to say?” I ask instead of answering. “I thought I was into Ignacio. I liked him a lot. Like him a lot. He’s a great guy. But when it came to actually being together, I just... I didn’t want to do stuff that wasn’t friend stuff.”

“Were you into someone else?” She asks again.

I take my hands back from her, pushing up to standing. “It's cold out here. We should probably go to bed.”

She stands up too, her hand fisting into my hoodie. “Why won’t you tell me? We’re best friends. I thought we told each other everything.”

There’s hurt in her eyes, and I wish I could do something about it, but how do I tell her I’ve been in love with her for years? “We are, we do.” I insist.

“Then tell me. Is it someone in our friend group? Is that why you don’t want to say?” She glances at my bedroom window. “It can’t be Jace. Shelly? Margorie?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

It was probably the alcohol that made me throw caution to the wind and lean forward, pressing my lips to hers. Her lips part, a small gasp escaping, but she doesn’t pull away. I trail my hand down the side of her face, her thick hair cascading over my fingers, and deepen the kiss. Her lips are gentle, but firm, cold to the touch. Her body rocks forward into mine and I pull away. Nerves jittery.

“It's cold, let’s go to bed.” I repeat and slip back through the window without daring to see her expression. Curled up in bed, several minutes pass. I start to worry that she’s not going to come in. But then, I hear the window shut and lock and feel her weight settle on the bed. She sits there for a minute, eyes on my face. I hold onto the charade of sleep with both hands. With a sigh, she joins me under the covers, keeping a distance between us that she’s never bothered to before, and her back to me.

I try not to analyze her actions and instead focus on breathing deeply until I fall asleep. It’s a constant back and forth struggle, but I am victorious. Eventually.

When I wake up in the morning, Shelly, Margorie and Jace are in the kitchen. Their conversation and laughter echoing off the walls to me. The sounds of water pressure funneled through the walls to the shower. I drag myself out of bed, the alarm clock telling me its nearly 1 in the afternoon and slip silently into the bathroom.

While I relieve my bladder, I study the pile of clothes left on the counter. The hoodie she was wearing last night is hung up on the back of the door. A t-shirt, leggings, socks, underwear, and a bra are bunched together on the sink. The bra electric blue and lacey. A ping of desire descends down the length of me. If only I could join her in the shower. Instead, I delicately pick up the bra, tracing my fingers over the lace. The shower turns off. Shoving the bra into my pocket, I flee the bathroom as quickly and silently as I can.

I skip back to my room and stuff the bra inside my pillowcase. Classy, I know. I don’t even know why I took it.

The scent of vanilla and maple distributes through the house, summoning all present parties to the kitchen. Heaping stacks of pancakes, some with chocolate chips, engorged, perfectly ripened strawberries and whipped coconut cream. A big green smoothie as crowning jewel.

“You guys...” I begin, but words failed me.

“For our little health nut.” Shelly smiles, ruffling my hair. “Happy birthday!”

Margorie and Jace take turns telling me happy birthday as well and we all sit down at the table to eat. I’m halfway through my pancakes when she joins us. Hair still wet, but already starting to curl. Her nipples obvious under her t-shirt. Although, maybe just obvious to me.

She stops next to me and presses a soft kiss into my cheek, “Happy birthday, Gem.”

And that was two days ago. There was no school Monday, and now, here we are: Tuesday afternoon and alone for the first time since that night.

“Want to go for a walk?” She asks before I can slip out of my shoes.

Quick glance at her mom, a nod, and we retraced our steps back out the door.

She strolls along, hands fidgeting in her pockets while I prattle on and on about the awfulness of the French project I must finish before end of term. A 10-minute speech to write, memorize, and rehearse about an aspect of France I find interesting. For me, there is only one option: the Louvre. She nods along so I know she’s listening, but when I stop speaking, she has nothing to add.

We meander out the gate into the dense forest that occupies the back half of their property. Thickets of blackberry bushes, sticky ferns, and orb spiders rule out here, but over the years we’ve carved a path out leading to the barn.

No one ever meant to let the forest swallow the barn. It happened of its own accord over two generations. Still, the barn is nowhere near forgotten. Her parents regularly turn it into a birthday party spot for their children, entertainment space for adult parties their children aren’t allowed to attend, and long-term storage.

The outside is painted a traditional dark red with white trim. Trees hug in on all sides, the lifeblood of the forest laying claim to this human creation.

“You’re romanticizing this place again, aren’t you?”

Warmth sparks in my cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

“I can see it on your face. Lost in your own little world. There’s no magic, remember? We checked all the places for a door to another world. Multiple times.”

I took in the dirt floor, vertical board walls. Boxes and bins in a singular corner, out of the way for other activities. Old bicycles and scooters from their children using the barn as a mecca for rainy days. Basketballs, footballs, badminton rackets. Up in the rafters, a singular barn owl with its face tucked under its wing. I gesture up at it and we share a moment of overwhelming cuteness.

“We should have a big, group sleepover in here sometime this year. Before we all split up to take on the world as official adults.”

“I need to know something.”

“What?”

She exhales frustratedly. Clears her throat. Takes a large drink from her water bottle. Eyeballs me for a moment, and then takes a second one. “Do you...” She starts and then her voice dies out. “Are you....” rinse and repeat. “Am I...”

“Yes,” I say, not sure what she’s trying to ask. “Definitely.”

“Did you steal my bra?” She finally gets out. “Am I the one you’re....” She gestures at me, then back and forth between us. “Why did you kiss me?”

My mouth falls open, but no words jailbreak. Keeping my focus on the owl, I babble incoherently for several seconds before squeezing out, “I was drunk.” I shrug, my stomach filling with needles. “I-”

“We’ve been drunk together several times and you’ve never kissed me before.” She steps closer, her eyes searching mine for answers I’m scared to give.

“Well, I... Yeah.” I finally say. Admit, really. “I want you.” She mouths, “Oh.“ nodding on subconscious repeat. “But it's fine. It doesn’t mean anything has to change between us.” When she still remains silent, I add, “I’m sorry.” and I’m not really sure why.

“Since when?” She chokes out. “Since Ignacio? Before then?”

“I don’t know exactly when.” I’m talking to the owl, eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of its sleeping body breathing deeply.

“Before Ignacio?”

The words are almost painful to say. I’m wrenching them out of me. “Before Ignacio.”

“Why am I just finding out now? Why haven’t you said something- anything before? Why-” She steadies herself. “I’m, like, scouring my brain for any memory that should’ve tipped me off that I missed.”

“Look,” I finally drop my gaze to her wide eyes. “I never did anything because I’m attracted to,” You dies in my mouth. “I wouldn’t have done anything differently if I wasn’t. Our friendship is real.”

“I know that.” She snaps at me and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do or say.

“Well...” I mutter quietly.

She touches my face with her fingertips. Just a hint, a ghost of her lips over mine before she invades my senses entirely. I lose track of all the details that normally reign supreme over my brain. There is nothing but her, those lips, and the taste of apple on her tongue.

“Maddie!”

Startled, we spring apart. Red descends from her hairline until it disappears beneath the collar of her shirt.

“My mom’s calling me.” The red deepens. I imagine her whole body turning that shade and blink rapidly to clear the fog behind my eyes.

“I stole your bra. It’s in my pillowcase.”

This earns me a smile. One of the real ones that lights up the eyes and dimples the cheeks. Her fingers lace through mine, one last chaste kiss.

“Come on, goober. Let me feed you.”

“Wait.”

She tugs at my hand, attempts to drag me along, gives in. “What?”

“You want me?”

She turns away, hides her face in her sweater. “Why do you always ask questions so bluntly?”

“Do you want me?”

“Yes. Alright? Yes.”

I lead the way back toward the house, swinging our joined hands between us. “I knew it all along. You may feed me now.”

Her chuckle is my oxygen.