Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 120326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I still haven’t told Mum about Robert and me being together, because if I did she’d probably hop on a flight to London and drag me home by the scruff of the neck. Being a policewoman, she always thinks she knows what’s best for everyone.
Sometimes when I’m on the phone and she’s giving me yet another lecture about being careful when I’m out alone in the city and to be wary of making new friends, because they could turn out to be psychos, I feel like screaming at her and telling her that you can’t always calculate life in a perfect equation. That sometimes your emotions fill you up to the point of bursting and you have to follow them wherever they want to lead you.
Of course, I never actually say this. Mum is the worst person to argue with because she’s brilliant at staying calm and sober, while I’m the opposite. She has this way of making me erratic and temperamental. I’ll often start crying through my words and getting a blotchy red face.
In the last week of July, the Olympics are in full swing, and the city feels like a crazy place to be. It’s exciting. There are people everywhere from all over the world, and when I go to Hyde Park on my regular visits to Speaker’s Corner, I get to hear even more passionate arguments than before, get to view even more walks of life. There’s a buzz in the air. Or maybe it’s just because I’m so deeply in love with Robert I feel like I’m drowning in my own hormones and bodily chemical reactions. All of a sudden, everything seems colourful and bright.
One afternoon Sasha asks me to sit with her while she Skypes her mum. It’s a monumental occasion. She’s going to come out to her. Liz sits in front of the web cam on the old computer in her kitchen, staring nervously back at the two of us, clearly thinking we’ve got bad news.
I can’t blame her.
Sasha’s got this big serious face on like she’s going to confess to murder. I still have a lot of work to do to show her that she doesn’t need to be ashamed for being who she is.
“Hello, girls, you’re both looking well,” says Liz, moving from side to side anxiously in her seat.
“Thanks, Liz,” I say, trying to sound as cheerful as possible to cancel out Sasha’s dour mood.
“Mum,” Sasha croaks out, “I have something I need to tell you.”
You know Sasha’s really making an effort when she calls her mother “Mum” instead of by her first name.
“What is it?” Liz asks softly, a small bit frantic.
Despite being best friends, Liz and my mother are extremely different. Liz is hare-brained and wears her heart on her sleeve, whereas my mum is what you would call “emotionally stunted.” She talks in a way that’s overly blunt and to the point. I know she loves me, it’s just that she doesn’t have the capacity to show it in the conventional way. Instead of giving me a hug like my grandmother Penny often would, Mum provides me with a stern pats on the shoulder or silent nods of approval.
Sasha lets out a long sigh and then just comes straight out with it. “I’m gay.”
Liz sputters a surprised cough. “What was that, love?”
Sasha starts rambling, fidgeting with the hem of her T-shirt. “I’m trying to be normal and just tell people, so I’m telling you now, Mum. I’m gay, a lesbian, like, I like girls.”
“Oh,” says Liz, wide-eyed, nodding her head. “Right.” Then a tiny smile splits her mouth, and she laughs. “For the love of God, Sash, I thought you were going to tell me you’re being convicted for armed robbery. This is wonderful. I’m happy you told me. To be honest, I always had an inkling that you were.”
Sasha throws her hands out, an exasperated look on her face, and I burst out laughing. “Fucking hell, does everyone already know?!”
“Sasha, less of the fuckings, please,” says Liz, pursing her lips with distaste.
“Oh, come on, you can’t scold me for saying a curse word and then go and say it yourself,” says Sasha with humour. “Adding on an ‘s’ doesn’t suddenly make it all right.”
And just like that, everything is normal again. We chat with Liz for another hour or so. When the subject of telling her dad pops up, I expect Sasha to brush it off, but surprisingly she doesn’t. She sits up straight and informs us that she’s going to tell him next Sunday when she goes to his house for dinner. She also makes me promise that I’ll come along for moral support, and I tell her I’d be glad to.
We say our goodbyes to Liz and then sit back on Sasha’s bed, relaxing.
“So, how do you feel now that you’re out to your mum? I think I should go bake you a cake or something to celebrate.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No cakes, please. It does feel good, though, like I’m being a mature adult at last. Who’d have thought I actually had it in me, eh?” she says, picking up her phone and flicking through her messages.
I nod and smile, happy that she’s happy.
“I have a long way to go yet, though,” she continues, her mood darkening slightly. “There’s this barista girl I like at the place where I get my coffee before work in the mornings. Blonde hair, really pretty, but whenever I try and talk to her, I just feel like this big creepy lesbian, perving on the straight girl.”
“How do you know she’s straight?” I ask, curious.
Sasha tilts her head to me. “Well, she wears these really tight flower-print dresses all the time.”
I slap her on the arm. “Sash! That doesn’t mean she’s straight. Just look at Portia de Rossi. And anyway, you’re the kind of lesbian who could turn even straight girls bi. You’ve got that way about you.”
She smirks and leans a little closer to me, asking breathily, “Oh, really. Are you trying to tell me something, Lana?”