The Feeling of Home (The Taste of My Chapstick on Her Lips - Part 2)

The Feeling of Home (The Taste of My Chapstick on Her Lips - Part 2) A No-Nudity WLW University Story by Faerie Realm Hiya! My name is Allison, but my friends call me Allie, and my BFF growing up was Katrina. She and I were inseparable from Year 6 onward, and for our last year and a half of secondary school, even more so. And by more so, I mean we were something more than just friends even if we weren't quite girlfriend-girlfriend in the fully romantic sense. For more on our early years in secondary school: https://budgetpixel.com/blog/the-taste-of-my-chapstick-on-her-lips For those new to our story, here's a quick recap of the six years prior to the momentous phone call during our final year of university, a moment that would finally bring us back home. I was much more outgoing and yes, touchy-feely, than Katrina, but she didn't seem to mind. (Me and Katrina, age 16, during our Duke of Edinburgh expedition.) England is tolerant enough, we didn't feel we had to hide our affection. (Me and Katrina, age 17, at Wycombe Abbey, an all-girl prep school near London.) Like most high school students, we went to different universities after graduating. I headed north to Glasgow University and, since she was much smarter and way more studious than me, Katrina stayed in London to attend Imperial College. We kept in close contact for the first few months, calling each other every day at first, then every other day, then every week, then every other week. And then came the fateful phone call just before Christimas break. "I can't wait to see you again!" I gushed into the phone. Her hesitation, however, immediately told me something had changed. "You are coming back, aren't you?" I asked. "Yes, but... I have to tell you something." "Of course, you can tell me anything," I exclaimed. "I... I have a boyfriend." Luckily, Katrina couldn't see my face when she gave me the news — she'd met a guy. (Me, age 18, in my dorm room in Glasgow, close to Christmas.) Some part of me had expected that day to come, but because we had never really talked about boys during our time at Wycombe Abbey or on our phone calls since, it still caught me by surprise. I of course told her that I was happy for her, and that I wanted to meet the lucky guy, and we did indeed get together right after Christmas. His name was Richard, and he was oh so very handsome and came from a posh family, just like Katrina. Needless to say, I didn't enjoy the meeting at all because that's when I experienced jealousy for the very first time in my life, and not in the way I should have. I wasn't jealous of Katrina for landing such a cute guy—I was jealous of Richard for stealing my BFF! But I put on a brave face and kept telling myself, this is how it's supposed to be. This was always how it was supposed to be. I repeated it, like a mantra, until I believed it. That's me, in the background, feeling like a third wheel... and a miserable one at that. (Katrina and me, age 19, and Richard, age 21, in London.) When school resumed, I resolved to get a boyfriend as well. I missed Katrina, after all, and since she clearly wasn't missing me, I decided it would be better for our friendship if that imbalance were eliminated. Because I still wanted to be her friend. I adored her, and if I couldn't be her special BFF, I did still very much want to be her friend. I wasn't as pretty as Katrina, but what I lacked in looks, I made up for with my bubbly personality. I picked out a quiet guy in one of my art classes and soon I had a boyfriend as well. I still called and texted Katrina regularly, but my texts and voicemails often went unanswered, and we spoke less and less frequently as time wore on. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit it, but I would sometimes call her phone just to listen to her voice in her greeting message. Listening to her greeting message: sad and pathetic on my part. (Me, age 20, in my dorm room, having finally discovered makeup and hair styling.) Katrina and I did get together a few times over the summers, but one or both of our boyfriends were always with us except for once. And during that one lunch outing when it was just us, we reminisced about old times, but didn't hold hands; and we certainly didn't kiss or even talk about how we had kissed during our time at Wycombe. I'd resigned myself to the distance between us at this point. (Katrina and me, age 21, in London. And yes, I'd started dying my hair various shades of blonde.) Our level of contact had become extremely sporadic by the time our fourth year of university rolled around. Imagine my surprise, then, when I suddenly received an all-caps text from her just before Christmas break: "I NEED TO SEE YOU. PLEASE." And this is where this story really begins. At this point, it had been well over a month since we'd last spoken, but I immediately turned off the stove (I'd been cooking) and called her. "Can I see you?" she asked almost immediately, and even though we barely spoke at that point, I could still sense her mood from the tone of her voice: She was upset. You're all up to date now: This is Katrina and me, almost age 22, at the time this story really begins. "Yes, of course. Let me check train times and—" "No, I'll come to you." "But I'm at the easier school, so—" "Dammit, why do you always have to be so nice?" she practically barked at me over the phone. "Huh?" I asked, confused at her outburst and wondering why my being nice was a bad thing. "I'm the one calling out of the blue, so I should be the one to make the trip." "Yeah okay sure," I said with a shrug. "It's good timing, because my roommate is gone this weekend." "By roommate, you mean your boyfriend, right?" "No, I'm between guys at the moment." "Oh. I'm sorry it didn't work out with... what was his name again?" "Meh, it doesn't matter. It's easier living with a girl, anyway. So what's going on, Kat?" "I'll tell you when I get there." I almost couldn't believe it when Katrina actually stepped off the Avanti West Coast at Glasgow Central. Like a giddy teenager, I ran up to her and flung my arms around her. Because she had become more and more standoffish over the years, I wasn't prepared for her reaction: Far from being reserved, she wrapped her arms around me and gripped me in an embrace that was almost desperate in its intensity. "So, do you want to go shopping?" I asked when she finally stepped back. She looked prettier than ever, but she also looked troubled, and I wanted to distract her from whatever she was worrying about. "Since when do you like to shop?" she asked me. "I don't, but I remember you like to." She stared at me for a moment and then, to my surprise, suddenly covered her face with her hands and started crying. "Whoa, what's wrong, Kat?" I said, putting my arms around her again and patting her heaving shoulders. "You're always so nice to me!" There it was again: Her confusing statement that sounded more like an accusation. "I don't understand," I said. "You know how I am." "Yes, and that's the problem!" she managed between sobs. "Why is it a problem?" I asked, utterly confused at this point. "Kat, what's bothering you?" She wiped her eyes, then looked at me. "Can we go for a walk?" she asked. "Sure, whatever you'd like. You want me to show you around Glasgow?" "Glasgow is depressing," she said, still wiping her cheeks. "I didn't come here to see the city." "Yeah, it's a bit drab downtown," I said with a chuckle. "But the university's nice. How about there?" She nodded and attempted a smile. I showed her around the stately buildings of the University of Glasgow, interjecting irreverent or silly observations as was my style, and it wasn't long before I had her smiling again. "And this is where, in 1892, a bunch of old dudes finally decided to let girls study here as well," I said as I led her through the stately archway of the Gilbert Scott Building. She laughed and touched my arm, and I couldn't help but notice that she let it linger there. "I've really missed your silly faces," she said. "Well you're welcome to come see them whenever you like," I said, sticking my tongue out at her. She laughed again, and then, to my great surprise—which my heart registered by beating a little faster—she let go of my arm and let her hand fall next to mine, her palm grazing my knuckles. I instinctively wanted to take her hand, but I knew she had a boyfriend, and we weren't teenagers any more. So instead I did a little twirl in front of her and finished with an overdramatic curtsy. "And this concludes my campus tour," I said. "That'll be twenty pounds, please!" She laughed at my silliness, and I felt fulfilled. I suggested a nearby ramen place, but she wanted to go back to my place, which was fine with me since I'd restocked the fridge in the five hours she'd been on the train from London. I changed into pajamas and set to work making dinner. "Richard expects me to cook for him," Katrina said, out of the blue, as she put on an apron and started washing the vegetables. "He never helps." "Well, I'm sure he helps with other things," I replied, unsure where she was going with that statement. "No, not really." "But doesn't his uncle know Rishi Sunak or something? I'm sure he'll make lots of money, and maybe even become an MP, like your family always wanted." "Yeah probably," she said with a heavy sigh. "You gonna tell me what's going on, Kat?" "Yes, but first, you have any wine or beer or, better yet, hard liqour?" "Check that cabinet there. My last boyfriend was a bartender on the weekends." "Oh yeah?" Katrina asked, opening the cabinet and taking several bottles from it. "Doesn't seem like your type." "Tell me about it. I chose my first two boyfriends, but I let the last one choose me. Big mistake!" "What happened?" "He was a player. Turns out I wasn't his only girlfriend!" "I'm so sorry, Allie." "Meh, I'm fine. Learned my lesson." "Don't date bartenders?" "No, next time, I'm the one who chooses. I don't let myself be chosen." Katrina nodded, took a carton of milk from the fridge, and poured two tumblers half full, then topped them off with Kahlúa and vodka. "White Russian?" she asked, offering me one of the tumblers. "I don't think a White Russian is half alcohol, Kat," I said even as I accepted the tumbler and clinked it against hers. "I need it strong to say what I have to say tonight." "Well that sounds both ominous and intriguing," I said, then drank her quadruple-strength concoction. TLDR: We got flat-out plastered by the time we finished our home cooked dinner. We left the dishes in the sink and barely made it to the living room before collapsing onto the couch. We were also giggling about every silly memory I could bring up from our Godstowe and Wycombe days. She finally put a hand on my arm and shushed me until I quit laughing and looked at her, trying to focus my eyes on her beautiful face. I assumed she was going to finally tell me what had happened with Richard, but then she surprised me again by taking my hand. "Do you remember we used to hold hands?" she slurred gently, pulling my hand towards her gingerly, as if unsure if I would pull it back. I did not. "Yes, of course I do," I said, trying to sound casual even as my heart beat quicker. "Can we pretend we're back at Wycombe?" she whispered, spreading my hand and intertwining her fingers with mine, just as we had done years before. My chest started pounding at this point. Part of me wanted to say, yes! Yes, of course! But then, I also knew she had a boyfriend, a boyfriend of roughly three years. And I didn't want to be the 'other woman' in their relationship. "Don't you have something to tell me, Kat?" I forced myself to say. "Something about Richard?" "Yes. Yes, I suppose I do." She paused and took a deep breath. "So, Richard asked me to marry him." A sharp stab pierced my heart, but I smiled through it and even managed to utter a tepid, "Congratulations." "But I could have told you that without getting drunk," Katrina said, then downed another shot of whiskey. I just stared at her, my heart torn between despair and the remote hope that maybe, just maybe, she had declined his offer of engagement? "So what did you tell him?" I asked, the suspense killing me. "I told him I needed to think about it." Disappointment washed over me, but I nodded. She just wanted my approval, as her BFF, that's all. How could I possibly compete with a handsome guy from a posh family? I resurrected my old mantra: This was always how it was going to be. How it's supposed to be! "That's why I came up here," she continued. "That's why it was so urgent. I need to ask you—" "I think you should say yes!" I blurted out, causing her to look up in alarm. "You do?" "Well, I mean he's gorgeous and rich, and... isn't that what you were going to ask me?" Katrina shook her head, and refilled the shot glass on the table in front of us. (We'd finished the Kahlúa and vodka, and had moved on to tequila and whiskey.) "No, what I wanted to ask you is..." She paused, drained the entire shot glass in one motion, and then took a deep breath. "This is crazy, and I'll understand if you don't want to answer, but what I really wanted to ask is... what flavor chapstick are you wearing?" My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. My attempts to dissuade myself (she has a boyfriend! almost a fiance!) suddenly faltered, and all I saw was the girl I so adored in high school, sitting on the couch in front of me, asking me for a kiss in the oblique, roundabout way she used to do before. I knew I should respect her relationship with Richard, who would surely provide for her very well, but I'd had so much to drink at this point, it all seemed like a dream and if it was a dream, well, I wanted to enjoy it, too! So, instead of persuading her to say yes to Richard's offer, I smiled dreamily and answered as I had so many times before at Wycombe: "I'm not sure, Kat... can you help me figure it out?" As giddiness washed over me, Katrina smiled and leaned towards me. It felt so easy, so natural, our lips meeting after four years of dought, as if no time at all had passed. It felt absolutely dreamy and sublime, but it also felt different, because instead of pulling back after a few seconds, she pressed closer this time. I put my arms around her shoulders and soon her lips parted, slightly at first, as if tentative, and then, when I reciprocated, wider and wider until soon our tongues were dancing with each other, pushing, probing, and exploring each other in a way we hadn't been able (or more accurately, willing) to do in high school. To be clear, this was not my first time French kissing someone. I'd had three boyfriends by this point, after all. But this felt very different from before. This was my Katrina, my beautiful Katrina, my high school love—and yes, I could finally admit that she was not just my BFF, but my high school love as well—and as our tongues mingled, I felt like I had finally found my way home. I don't even know when I climbed on top of her, but when I finally broke the kiss for want of air, I lay on top of her, pressing her down into the sofa. "I missed you, Allie," she whispered up at me. "I missed you more," I replied breathlessly, "but I thought you didn't want— I mean, you didn't return so many of my calls and texts!" "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice breaking. "I was trying so hard to do what was expected of me." And just like that, I forgave her for all the unreturned messages. In fact, my heart broke for her, and for myself as well for the long drought we had endured because of society's expectations. "So what can I do, Kat? How can I help?" To my astonishment, she began sobbing again. "What's wrong? What did I say wrong?" I asked, panicked and confused. But she shook her head, wiped her face and smiled through the tears. "You didn't do anything wrong. But this is the problem, you see?" "No, not at all!" "If I'd never met you, Allie, or never known you, then maybe I could just accept becoming Richard's trophy wife." "Don't call yourself that. You shouldn't be anyone's trophy wife, Kat. You should be someone's kindred spirit." "See, this is why I had to visit you! To remind myself that people like you still exist. That I shouldn't have to settle for someone like Richard, who treats me like I'm invisible sometimes." "He doesn't see you, huh?" "Only when I dress up! Or when he wants to fuck me. And he doesn't make me laugh like you do. No one does." I beamed at her, grateful that she appreciated my silly nature. I may have gotten terrible grades and my university study area (Scottish literature) pretty much guaranteed me a mediocre salary in retail once I graduated, but I could still make Katrina laugh, and that meant the world to me. I got up briefly to turn off the lights and grab a blanket from a cabinet. Then I resumed my spot next to her and pulled the blanket over both of us so she wouldn't feel chilly in her tank top. "And I love that you always take care of me," she whispered as I tucked the blanket around her shoulders. "Being with you feels like... like..." "Like home?" I asked. "Yes! Like home. This is what home feels like, even more than my own home!" "Well, I like you, too!" I said, wrinkling my nose at her. "So again, what can I do?" "Choose me, Allie! You said you wanted to choose your next boyfriend. Choose me instead." I made a funny face at her. "You silly girl, Kat. Don't you know I chose you at Wycombe?" She inhaled loudly and bit her lip. "I'm so sorry for not seeing that." "It's okay," I said in a reassuring voice. "People have to find their own way, and the important thing is you found your way back to me. But I actually meant, in a very real sense, what can I do to help you through this right now?" "Right, of course," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "Well, I need a place to stay. My folks will be furious when I turn Richard down. His family knows Rishi Sunak." "You can stay here," I said with a smile. "And for the record, Rishi's a pompous prick." Katrina laughed again, then cupped my face in her hands, which I relished. "And you forgive me for being a clueless twit all these years?" she asked. "Of course! You're my BFF. And well, maybe a little bit more." "Speaking of which," she said with a mischievous look. "I'm still not sure what flavor chapstick you're wearing." I grinned and batted my eye lashes at her flirtatiously. "Take as much time as you need to figure it out!" And then I leaned down and pressed her into the couch again. We made it to second base that night (by the American definition, not the British, who have somehow managed to screw up a perfectly good American baseball analogy), but no further because, again, I didn't want to be the 'other woman' while she was still technically in a relationship with Richard. I was willing to cheat and steal second, but going to third base would have made me the other woman in my mind. But rest assured, it wouldn't be long before we advanced further. But that, along with my efforts to extricate her from the clutches of her controlling, upper-class family, is a story for another day. For now, on that cold December day in Glasgow, we reveled in the warmth and joy of each other's presence. Katrina had finally found her way back to me, and I welcomed her home with all my heart. THE END (for now)