Chloe
Irene was upset, but I wasn’t sure who or what she was upset with. I took my time going through my nightly routine in the shared bathroom, applying moisturizer and brushing my teeth, trying to figure out what part of this weird evening upset her.

I didn’t get what our moms were going on about. Of course, I knew they were talking about us being girlfriends, but we were just us, nothing had changed. I still felt the same way I had for over twenty years and I didn’t understand the need to mark it with a label.

Was Irene mad at our parents for butting into our business? Or was she mad about me not correcting our moms about our relationship? I didn’t get it.

I sighed. Humans really were so complicated.

I walked out of the bathroom to see Irene standing in front of the doors to the back porch, a serious expression on her face.

I wasn’t going to like this conversation, was I?

“Chloe,” she started.

‘Oh no, I really don’t like this,’ I thought.

“Are we girlfriends?” she asked me.

I was fine with that. “Yeah sure, I’m fine with that.”

She gave me a long, sharp stare, “Are you taking this seriously?”

She started pacing anxiously when I didn’t immediately respond, taking a moment to gather my thoughts.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Irene. I love you and I always have, if you want to call us girlfriends, if that's what you want to tell people, tell our parents, then that’s perfectly okay with me.” I stood next to where she was pacing, wishing she would stop and we could go to bed together.

She looked at me, pausing her pacing for a moment before resuming, at a faster pace, “Are you gay then?” she asked, desperately.

I hesitated, “No… I don’t think so?”

“Well are you straight?”

“Definitely not,” I responded more confidently. I was starting to feel irritated, a rare feeling for me, especially when it came to Irene.

“Well then what the fuck are you?” She stopped moving and looked at me with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” I yelled, not sure why it mattered, “I love you Irene, if that’s not enough I don’t know what more I can give you.”

Tears started falling down her face, “I just want answers, I want to know where we stand, and I want to be able to have feelings for you without feeling guilty about it.”

I sighed, feeling terrible and frustrated and overwhelmed. I walked closer to her, stopping her in front of me. I pulled her face by the chin to face me. “Irene, I love you. I’ve been telling you that for years. Tell me what you need to know.”

She looked at me sadly. “Is that a romantic love or a platonic one,” she asked, confused.

I turned around, walking across the room so I had room to vent my frustrations into swinging my arms around, “How am I supposed to know?!” I yelled frustratedly. I just didn’t understand her fixation on meticulously analyzing everything, giving everything a label, putting everything into a box.

I calmed myself, trying to figure out how to explain it to her. I wanted her to understand, and I’d thought my words and actions up until this point had been pretty clear. I told her I loved her, I was physically affectionate with her, I’d had sex with her, how much clearer could I be?

“Irene, I love you,” I started.

I started slowly pacing, mostly facing away from her, trying to focus. “I also love my mom, but my love for her is different from my love for you. That doesn’t mean it’s not love.”

“I also love sweets, and that's a whole different kind of love too. There are many different ways to love, and I would doubt that even my love for my mom is the same as your love for yours, and that’s okay.” I took a deep breath, turning around and walking over to stand before her again.

I continued, looking down, “My love for you is not the same as your love for me, but that’s to be expected, we’re different people and we like different things about each other, and we feel things in a different way.”

I stole a glance at her, seeing her intently listening, trying to understand. I resumed, “I’ve never felt like this about anyone else so I can’t say for sure if this is called romantic love, but I know my love for you is irreplaceable. If I could spend the rest of my life with you as your wife I would be happy with that. If you’d rather be friends I’d accept that too. I’ve always given you whatever you’ve been willing to take from me, all you have to do is ask.”

I came closer to her, placing a finger on her lips so she would give me the time to finish, “I’m not sure I experience sexual attraction the same way you do either, and I don’t know where I land on that spectrum or if there’s a label that fits me, and if that makes me your friend instead of your wife, I’ll accept that,” I finished. I looked at the floor, feeling tears forming in my eyes.

We stood in silence for a long moment, the sound of the waves rhythmically breaking that silence.

I stayed looking at the floor, trying to collect myself, afraid to look up to see her reaction.

She instead dropped to her knees below me and looked up into my eyes, gaze full of serenity.
“I’m so sorry honey,” she started, taking one of my hands in both of hers.

“I always thought you just didn’t understand how much I felt for you, and I held myself back out of guilt and fear because I thought you felt differently. I love you too, and I’d love to be your wife, if you’ll have me.”

I started giggling uncontrollably, “Irene, was that supposed to be a proposal? I mean yes, I say yes of course, but where’s my ring,” I teased.

She laughed, a thoughtful expression forming on her face, “I think…” She stood and walked over to where she put the pants she wore for dinner and she shuffled them in her hands, looking through the pockets.

My mouth dropped to hang open.

She walked back, box in hand to drop on one knee properly this time.

“Sugar, will you marry me?”

I giggled again, “Yes, as long as you never call me that again, that was definitely the worst one so far.”

She grimaced, agreeing, before opening the box to reveal two simple gold bands. She looked at them with wonder, “They’re our fathers’,” she explained, “Vivica gave them to me after dinner, I guess she heard what you said at dinner as a plea for me to ask.”

I laughed, feeling like I was floating.

She joined in, “Well, it might be a bit early for a proper engagement, especially given these won’t even fit us without being resized,” She smiled lovingly at me, “But maybe we can use these when the time comes.”

I nod enthusiastically at her, happy we can be closer. She stood and we embraced tightly. The rings might not fit yet, but there was always room for improvement. I sighed, enjoying the contact I’d been missing. Maybe labels weren’t too bad if they were ‘wife’ and ‘wife’.

END

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