17. Hunter

Playlist: II Most Wanted | Beyonce, Miley Cyrus

Jo is silent the entire subway ride back to the apartment.

We survived the rest of the shower with minimal awkwardness. The brides finished the games with no more incidents, smiling fake smiles the entire time. The silence echoed as we cleaned and packed up after everyone had left.

Jo hasn’t spoken since.

But she’s clinging to my hand, and it gives me hope that she sees me as grounding. Comforting.

When we get off at our stop, she freezes in front of a liquor store.

“Yeah, I need some moscato, too,” I say, and she cracks a teeny, tiny smile.

We’re in and out of the store in minutes, still hand-in-hand while I hold the paper bag with our wines.

“Ugh,” I say as Jo unlocks the door to the apartment. “I really need a shower to wash off that nastiness.”

“Go shower,” she insists, breaking her silence. “I’ll feed Dolly.”

She goes right to the terrarium and I go to the bathroom, stripping and stepping into a scalding hot shower. When I’m finished, I join Jo in the living room, dressed in a nightgown and robe, my hair in a microfiber towel. She’s reclined on the couch, Taylor Swift’s Red album playing at full volume as she brings the bottle of merlot to her lips. She’s holding Dolly on her chest, and our eyes meet as she swallows.

“I couldn’t be bothered with a glass,” she tells me, motioning to the coffee table with the bottle. “But I got you one, in case you wanted that vibe.”

I raise the uncorked bottle of moscato. “If drinking from the bottle is the vibe tonight, I’m game.” Maybe it’s silly, but knowing that Jo uncorked my wine when she very well could have just opened her own and left the corkscrew on the table for me.

I tap Jo’s feet with my free hand. “Scooch.”

She obliges, surprising me when she places her feet in my lap. I take an extra long swig of wine.

“You okay?” I ask, lowering the bottle from my mouth.

“Yeah,” Jo says, as she brings the wine to her mouth. “Actually, can I be honest?”

“Of course, Giovanna.”

She exhales and shakes her head, picking at the label on the wine bottle. “No. I’m not okay.”

“I know.” I cup her ankle with my free hand. “And that’s okay.”

“I hate how much Kelsey’s still able to get under my skin. I didn’t even realize what was going on at first. I didn’t realize she was thinking of me . That she was listing my favorite movie, my favorite dessert. And that should be good because I barely think about her unless I have to for work.” She inhales shakily and tips her head back, resting it on the back of the couch. “She really is just a client to me now. She has been, but there was still a lot of pain when they initially asked. It’s still not great, but it’s more of a dull, throbbing ache than the sharp stabbing feeling I’d been feeling.

“But in the end, it doesn’t matter, because she’s still able to shove her way into my life. Still able to hurt me.”

“It does matter,” I insist empathically. Jo lifts her head and meets my eyes. “Because at the end of the day, your healing is about you. Not Kelsey. And yeah, she sucks and I’m pissed she’s able to get to you, but it doesn’t undo the progress you’ve made.”

“I’m happy you moved in, Hunter,” Jo says quietly. “Not only because you agreed to an outrageous scheme to help me out. But because you’re kind and you make me want to be kind, too. Because you adopted our little monster, and brightened up the kitchen with your tacky-ass magnets, and the apartment isn’t quiet anymore, because you’re always singing along to music.”

I force myself to continue her massage and not kiss her. Because not kissing her after saying that to me is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

“Thank you,” I force out, refusing to look up at her. “I’m just glad I’m not making your life any harder.”

“Shut up.” I see Jo pointing her bottle of merlot menacingly at me out of the corner of my eye. “Stop being self-deprecating.”

“Thanks, you fixed me,” I say flatly, reaching for my moscato.

“You deserve people that are kind to you, including yourself.”

My mouth is dry and my throat scratchy as I force myself to swallow the wine. “Look who’s talking.”

“God, you and Alena would get along so well,” she groans.

I furrow my brow. “Alena?”

“My therapist.”

“When did you start going to therapy?” I ask casually. She’s mentioned therapy a few times, and I hope it’s okay to ask about her experience.

“Oh. Um, the fall after that summer, actually. The therapist I saw then was the one who encouraged me to come out,” Jo tells me.

“What was that like for you? Coming out?” I immediately regret asking about such a personal topic, my shoulders hunching over as I try to withdraw into myself. “Fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Terrifying,” Jo whispers, and I force myself to look at her. She’s staring at the spinning vinyl when she continues. “I was so scared. But I couldn’t pretend anymore, and I was so afraid my dad would say something. Telling my mom was the hardest thing I’d ever done. She just stared at me, and asked if I was sure. Or if I wanted to talk to our priest about it…and I cried myself to sleep that night. She wasn’t trying to be hurtful…”

“But she hurt you,” I finish, tears stinging at the back of my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs, still looking down. “She got over it pretty quickly. I don’t think my dad ever told her that he knew before, but he did a lot of the, “ What would Jesus really do?” shit with her. She ended up praying about it apparently and realized that Jesus would love their damn kid.

“It sucked, but she got there. As hard as it was, I’m kind of glad it was, because it paved the way for my sisters to feel safe when they came out. Like Nic just called my mom and dropped it on her one day last summer, and Mom reacted well.”

“But she was only able to react that way to your sisters because you had to hurt first,” I say, heart breaking for the girl I once loved, for the woman in front of me.

She finally meets my eyes. “Yeah. Something like that. And I’ve forgiven her, you know? She really does the work to unlearn the homophobia she was raised with, but sometimes it feels like I’m a teenager wondering if my mom’s still going to love me. If I’m about to find out that her love is conditional upon me liking men.”

“I think all of that can be true, you know?” I say slowly. “She can have hurt you, and be someone who is learning and doing better. That doesn’t erase the harm caused. But I think, maybe, that’s what makes it love—the desire to do better. To be better for those you love.”

“What was it like for you?” she asks, taking another swig of Merlot.

I follow her lead and take a long swig of moscato before speaking. “My family disowned me. Kicked me out of the will, told me I’m no longer family…the whole shebang.”

I hear Jo’s sharp inhalation of breath. “What?”

“Oh yeah. My dad called Yale to yell at them for turning me gay, because his going didn’t turn him gay, so the liberals must have ruined the school.” I roll my eyes and scoff. “My family calls every once in a while to leave a voicemail quoting the bible and reminding me that it’s not too late for me to turn from sin. I need to change my number—they’re buying burner phones since I blocked them.

“But I knew that’s what was going to happen, you know? That’s just them. I stayed in the closet until I had saved enough money to move up here. Then I packed up my car, dropped it on them at PawPaw’s birthday dinner, and drove all night. I haven’t seen or talked to them directly since.”

“Oh my god, Hun.” Giovanna’s voice is husky. “Why the fuck did you let me complain about my mom when you dealt with that?”

“Because what you went through still fucking sucks! And my experience doesn’t negate that.” I feel hot stinging tears at the corner of my eyes and angrily brush at them. “Just because my parents are terrible people doesn’t make your pain not real. My therapist and I talk about that a lot, that so many things can cause pain and they’re all valid. My experience doesn’t lessen yours, and yours doesn’t make mine worse. Our pain is independent of each other, and can co-exist.”

“Did this happen recently?” she asks quietly.

I nod. “A month before Tyler’s wedding.”

She inhales sharply. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah.” My voice breaks as I shakily bring the bottle to my mouth. I take a swig and as I’m lowering the bottle, Jo shifts and her arms are around my shoulders. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s because of the topic of conversation. Maybe it’s because Jo is initiating this embrace. Whatever the reason, I’m crumbling into her, sobbing into her chest.

“You deserve better,” she says, cradling my head to her as I weep. “I’m so sorry they didn’t love you right.”

“No, that’s what I say to you. I tell you that you deserve better,” I tell her through my tears.

Giovanna breaks our embrace and cups my face in her hands. I want to scream, because my eyes are bloodshot and puffy and snot is dripping and her face is so damn close to mine. “If you get to tell me I deserve to be treated well, I get to tell you that, too. Because I hate your family for hurting you, but you’re so fucking brave, Hun. You’re so strong, and you shouldn’t have been required to be. You should have been loved and celebrated and you know what? We’re going to do that.” She leans into me and presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth.

When she pulls away, she taps her phone for a few quiet moments before the opening notes of “I’m Coming Out” by Diana Ross start playing from her phone speaker. I laugh shakily and wipe at my tears with the back of my hand.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say.

“No, but I want to. I’m not letting you go another second without knowing how fucking beautiful it is that you’re you.” She grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “Go get dressed. Fanciest outfit you own.”

I bite my lip. There’s some part of me that desperately wants to keep fighting her on this, because this isn’t worth celebrating. I’m not worth celebrating.

Giovanna senses this and points menacingly at me. “Tell your brain to shut the hell up. Why is it so easy for us to be dickheads to ourselves, but so compassionate to each other? This is me being a dickhead to you, for you. Go put on whatever ridiculous, flouncy gown I know you have in your closet. We’re fucking it up tonight.”

I can’t help it, I grin through my tears. “I don’t know which dress to pick.”

“Oh my god,” Jo rolls her eyes and I giggle. “I can’t believe I was naive enough to assume you don’t have multiple ridiculous, flouncy gowns. Go.” She playfully pushes me towards my room.

After some deliberation, I choose a pink, sequined, floor length gown that I wore to a charity gala a few years ago. It’s fitted and I look hotter than hell. Seems like the perfect choice for a forced, but welcome, celebration of my bisexuality.

There’s a knock at my bedroom door as I’m putting on my favorite boots. When I open it, Giovanna’s standing at my door, donning a white dress suit. The jacket is tossed over her arm and she’s holding the corset top up to her chest with her other hand. “Hi. Can you fasten the back?”

I nod, speechless, and she turns around. My hands shake as I fumble with the ribbons, and she gathers her hair up to make it easier.

“Your fanciest outfit isn’t black?” I force myself to break the silence.

She shakes her head, a strand of hair escaping from her grip. “Nope. I bought this for the wedding.”

“What wedding?”

“My wedding. And since I’ll never get to wear it…” she shrugs. She’s not wearing a bra, and each time my finger brushes her bare back, I am inexplicably filled with even more desire. I want to run my finger along each back roll, to kiss up her spine and whisper everything I’m feeling–if I could even manage that. I feel drunker from the sight of her than the moscato, so weightless I could float away and take her with me.

“You won’t wear it if you get married someday?” It’s a struggle to keep my voice even, and even more so to stay on task and not linger on her bare skin.

Corset. She asked for help with the corset .

She barks out a laugh. “I wish, I fucking love this suit. But I doubt my hypothetical future wife would be thrilled if I wore an outfit I bought for a previous engagement.”

I would! I want to scream. I’d be honored if you wore this to marry me because you’re so fucking beautiful and you love it so I love it and I don’t care that it was originally for your wedding to someone else because it’s you.

“Oh,” is what I say instead, tying a bow at the bottom of the corset. Because saying any of that out loud would be absurd. “Done.”

She turns to face me and throws the jacket on, completing the ensemble. I reach out to fix it when it gets caught on her CGM, and I notice her omnipod outlined beneath the tight corset. God, she’s so pretty I want to cry.

“You’re like…a pink disco ball,” she says, running a single finger down my side.

“Thank you.” I choose to see her words as a compliment. “You’re like…really pretty.”

She lifts her eyes to mine and tucks a strand of wayward hair behind her ear. How is every move she makes the absolute hottest ever? It’s like she wants to make a mess of me.

“Thank you.”

I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s breathtaking, mesmerizing, and I don’t want to forget how comfortable and confident she looks in this moment. After the bridal shower from hell and telling me about her mom, she still wants and chooses to celebrate me.

She’s a goddamn miracle.

Giovanna takes my hand in hers and squeezes gently. “Come on, Hun. We have twelve years of celebrating to make up for, and we can’t leave Dolly out.”

Celebrate we do–scream singing along to Jo’s “praise hayley kiyoko that i’m gay” playlist on Spotify. She spins me, and we both dance with Dolly. We drink our wine from the bottles, and she wows me by somehow not spilling a drop of merlot on her suit.

A goddamn miracle.

I have no idea how much time passes. All I know is I’m dizzy from spinning, the bottles are empty, and a slow song is playing. Her face is flushed pink, and she goofily bows and offers me her hand. “May I have this dance?”

I giggle and curtsy, immediately losing balance and stumbling into her. “Oof. Sorry.”

“You okay?” Her voice is serious as she pats down my sides, like she’s checking for damage.

I can’t speak with her hands still on my hips, fingers molding to my curves.

Her eyes meet mine. “You’re so pretty, Hun.”

“No, you,” I manage to wheeze out.

Her eyes drop to my mouth, and my heart is beating so fast I’m afraid of the gore it’ll create when it inevitably beats out of my chest. “Do you want to kiss me, Hunter?”

“Depends on if you want me to kiss you.”

“And if I told you I did?” She raises her eyes back to mine, so warm and comforting. “What would you tell me if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

“I’d tell you I do, too,” I whisper.

“Thank God.”

My back arches as I press myself to my toes and kiss her, long and hard, wrapping my arms around her. She moans into my mouth and it’s the greatest feeling of my life.

For the first time, I was celebrated for simply being me out loud. For the first time, I feel like I’ve gained something after coming out. I got Jo back, got to hear her share the parts of her life I missed after that summer. We kiss while Taylor Swift plays in the background like a literal dream .

This is the best night of my life.