Out From Under

Simone zipped up her bag. Lela lingered in the doorway, watching her with tired eyes. “You don’t have to go just yet,” Lela said. Simone hesitated. “I know the job’s finished, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.” Lela nodded once, then looked away. “He didn’t like who I am for a long time,” she said. “But before the dementia got bad, he tried. It wore him out pretending he didn’t see through it. So I stopped bringing anyone home. Easier that way.” Simone’s hands stilled on the strap. “I get it. I’m gay too. Kept it quiet the whole time I worked here.” Their eyes met. A pause stretched between them. Neither had guessed before. Now it sat there, plain. Lela gave a soft, tired laugh. “All those months and we could’ve used someone real to talk to.” Simone stepped closer. “Still can.” Lela met the step. Their mouths touched—slow, careful, careful until the hunger underneath rose quick and warm. Lela’s lips parted; Simone’s hand slid beneath the hem of Lela’s shirt, palm flat against bare skin that had been waiting for exactly this. They kissed again, deeper, tasting what had been missed.