The Christmas Pic

19. Ava

CHAPTER 19

AVA

The first thing I hear is my phone vibrating like an earthquake on the nightstand next to me. The first thing I feel is my brain pounding against my skull. This is why I don’t drink in excess. Always in control.

Until now, apparently. I so desperately wanted to let go last night and be me for once.

I reach my hand to silence the vibrations when I realize where I am. I squint my aching eyes as the quaint backhouse comes into focus. Jo stirs next to me, arm reaching over my bare chest. Flashes of the night before come flooding back.

Jo and I definitely hooked up.

And, I can’t speak for Jo, but I definitely liked it.

A little projector flickers to life in my mind, displaying images of my childhood bedroom. While other girls my age were swooning over Hanson, I had posters of Sarah Michelle Gellar as Buffy and Liv Tyler from Lord of the Rings plastered all over my walls. I convinced myself I was celebrating girl power as I dreamt of their heroism. But now, I wonder: was it really about admiration? Was there something more to those daydreams?

I put a pin in my sexual awakening as I catch a glimpse of Max’s picture on my home screen. I slip out of Jo’s snuggly embrace and slip on last night’s cardigan before sneaking outside.

“Max?” I say, brushing the sleep from my eyes. “I blame you–”

“Ava. This is bad.”

I become alert. “What? What’s going on?”

“Get to the hotel. Now.”

If Max is acting serious, then this is serious.

Stepping back inside, I throw on my clothes and steal one last glance at Jo. I feel bad for ditching, but look at her–she’s gorgeous. She probably does this all the time. And I’ve got a job to do, which, if Max’s tone is any indicator, I have endangered.

I make my way out to my Uber–of course, it’s George.

“How are you this morning, Ms. Ava?” he asks slyly.

Tech Times news alerts pop up on my phone. Ava Garcia-Greene Wants You to Think She Cares–Here’s Why She Doesn’t.

Fuck. I am unwell, George.

I sit on the edge of the hotel bed next to Max, the article pulled up on their laptop for a full, non-mobile version of my shame. A picture of me and Jo, sweaty, face to face, dancing, tops the headline for the world to see. Just by acknowledging the way my eyes are locked into hers… you know.

I’ve had less than an hour to process my first lesbian encounter and therefore the entire conceptualization of my own sexuality, and here it is for the entire planet to perceive. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but in this case, I think it may be three. Those three words are more powerful than an entire dictionary. Those three words are what so many people fear saying their entire lives. And they were mine to tell whenever I was ready, whenever I felt sure that I was, in fact, queer.

Welcome to my life, I guess.

I’m used to my personal business being blasted, but now I’m also being presented as someone who’s partying on the company dime, not doing what I came here to do. I don’t think my ancient cis-het all-male Board could understand my sexuality, and hopefully they don’t really care, but they do care what the quality of my character appears to be to the rest of the world. And right now, that’s not good .

“I’m so sorry, Ava,” says Max.

“Has the Board seen?”

“It’s only a matter of time.” Max holds my hand. I take a deep breath.

It doesn’t help.