Chapter 4: Discovery

The week that followed was the longest of Kate’s life.

True to her ultimatum, she’d stood over Timmy the next morning while he called three different therapists, finally securing an appointment with Dr. Patricia Chen for the following Tuesday. The house became a minefield of tension—Timmy sullen and resentful, Kate exhausted but resolute. They barely spoke except for the essentials. Kate made dinner; Timmy ate in his room. She went to work; he went to his part-time shifts at the game store. They existed in the same space like ghosts haunting different planes.

On Tuesday evening, when Timmy returned from his first therapy session, Kate asked him how it went.

“Fine,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

“Are you going back?”

“Yeah. Next week. Same time.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. Kate nodded and let him retreat to his room.

Alone in her bedroom that night, Kate found herself thinking about Alex’s kiss. About the softness of her lips, the gentleness of her touch. About how natural it had felt, how right.

The memory triggered something deeper, something Kate had buried for decades.

She was sixteen again, at Jenny Caldwell’s slumber party. Six girls in sleeping bags scattered across Jenny’s basement, the air thick with hairspray and teenage perfume. They’d been playing truth or dare, giggling over confessions about boys they liked, dares to prank call crushes.

Kate had been lying next to Melissa Torres, the prettiest girl in their class. Melissa had dark curls and brown eyes and a laugh that made Kate’s stomach flip. They’d been whispering to each other, faces close in the dim light, and Kate had felt something she didn’t have words for—a pull, a want, a need.

When Melissa had fallen asleep, Kate had reached out. Just a touch, her fingers tracing Melissa’s arm, moving toward her hand.

Melissa had woken up. Had jerked away. Had said, loud enough for everyone to hear: “Oh my God, Kate, what are you doing? Are you trying to touch me?”

The other girls had woken up. Had stared. Had laughed—nervous, cruel teenage laughter. Jenny had made a joke about Kate being a lesbian, and everyone had laughed harder. Kate had pretended to laugh too, had said she was just trying to wake Melissa up, had buried the shame so deep she’d almost convinced herself it never happened.

After that, she’d dated boys exclusively. Had married young, partly to prove she was normal. Her ex-husband had been adequate in bed—perfunctory, mechanical, focused on his own pleasure. Kate had never complained, had never asked for what she wanted, because she didn’t know what she wanted. Or rather, she’d known but had been too afraid to acknowledge it.

Now, at forty-two, lying in her bed with the memory of Alex’s kiss still tingling on her lips, Kate finally let herself think it: I’m attracted to women. I always have been.

The realization was terrifying and liberating in equal measure.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Matthew: “How are you holding up?”

Kate smiled and typed back: “Better. Timmy went to his first therapy session.”

“That’s good. Proud of you for holding the line.”

A pause, then another message: “Alex and I would like to take you out. A proper date. This Friday, if you’re free?”

Kate’s heart raced. “Both of you?”

“Both of us. We want to do this right.”

Kate stared at the message for a long moment, then typed: “Yes. I’d like that.”

Friday evening, Kate stood in front of her closet, paralyzed with indecision. What did one wear to a date with two people? She’d finally settled on a simple black dress—fitted but not too tight, hitting just above the knee—and heels she hadn’t worn in years. She’d done her makeup carefully, styled her hair, and now, looking at herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back.