More Than Friends

Leena Moss didn't see this coming.

And she's always been very perceptive.

She knew she had cancer at seven, despite her parents trying to dance around the word. She knew her parents were getting a divorce before they even separated, and she was only nine. She knew her grandfather was dying even when no one would tell her.

Maybe her perceptiveness only applies to negative things…

Because when Maisie Lockwood stood before her with a burgundy notebook and fearful eyes, she assumed the worst.

"We need to talk," Maisie said, pulling something out of her bag. She'd looked utterly terrified.

They were in Leena's dorm. Maisie had asked if she could come over after their usual late-night dinner with friends in the dining hall on Fridays. Leena couldn't find a reason to say no.

See, she didn't not want to hang out with Maisie, not at all. She loves Maisie. She just… she gets this weird feeling in her gut when they hang out alone together. Sometimes it happens when they're in a group of people, too. When they catch eyes across the lecture hall. When they laugh in sync.

She's never had this kind of feeling before, never felt this tingling in her spine. She tells herself it's just the chills, goosebumps from the cold, a shiver at most. But it's different.

Her heart plummets, though, when Maisie says this. With her usually lit-ablaze dark brown eyes worrisome and nervous.

"Is everything okay? Are you alright?" Leena asks immediately, the tingle dissipating, dissolving to make way for anxiety. Maybe she's never been perceptive, maybe she's just pessimistic. Her mind is racing through all the terrible things Maisie could tell her.

I don't want to be your friend anymore.

You make me uncomfortable when you look at me too long.

I'm dying a horrible, slow death.

I hate it when you laugh too loud.

Your parents called me and told me to tell you your cancer is back.

My mom died.

This book is a list of reasons I don't like you.

I know about—

"Everything's fine, I just…" Maisie looks down at the book in her hands. She doesn't say anything more when she looks back up, and Leena needs to fill the silence before the voice in her head starts up again.

"What's that?"

"A book." Maisie smiles nervously.

The small attempt at humor warms Leena's heart, brings back that tingle, and calms her at the same time. She rolls her eyes playfully. "Alright, what kind of book?"

Maisie takes a deep breath. "A scrapbook. It's, um, it's filled with pictures and memories of you and me. Over the past two years, I've—God, I sound like a creep, I know that. I just… You mean a lot to me, Lee."

Leena's heart rate picks up. She's not sure why. "You mean a lot to me, too," She replies with a smile.

"No, Leena, I mean…" Maisie tucks her chin down, fiddling with the edge of the notebook. She sighs before looking at Leena again. "I like you. A lot. Like, more than friends."

And… Oh?

That's…

Leena isn't…

She's not…

Is she?

"Sorry," Maisie says, clearly cringing at herself.

"Maisie, I—I don't know what to say…"

"Sorry, I didn't—Here. I know you don't—Just, keep this. Please." She pushes the scrapbook into Leena's hands. It's a soft pleather, clearly not a cheap scrapbook from the dollar store. And it's heavy, filled to the brim with their memories. Leena really doesn't know what to say.

"Maisie…"

"Sorry, I'll go." Maisie excuses herself, leaving Leena in a daze.

She paces for what feels like hours, but the clock tells her it's been less than thirty minutes.

She's not… gay. She's never been into women before.

She's read stories where people look back on their lives and talk about all the signs they've missed, but this isn't like that. She's wracking her brain for anything she might've not picked up on, but truly, there's nothing.

No boys she didn't really love, no secret feelings for girls, no ignored stereotypes. Besides the short nails, but that's really just a bad habit of biting them down.

But then she thinks about Maisie…

Maisie Lockwood, whose laugh sounds smooth and sweet as honey, who has a smile harvested from the Sun itself, whose deep brown eyes feel like drowning in chocolate when you look at them in the light.

Maisie Lockwood, who builds Leena up when she feels down, who makes Leena laugh with just a look shot from across the room, who welcomed Leena into her home when Leena felt a little too homesick.

Maisie, who took the time to put together a scrapbook full of their memories.

Leena stops pacing, finally, and sets down the book. She'd been clutching it to her chest as she paced, thumbing at the spine.

She sits at her desk and opens the scrapbook.

She remembers that Maisie once mentioned scrap-booking with her mom as a kid. She knew Maisie was crafty, but this is… beautiful.

The first page is a picture of the two of them at freshman orientation. They'd been sitting next to each other just by chance, and two years later, they were still best friends.

More than friends.

She turned the page and was greeted with lace borders on photos from their first semester, with cutesy stickers all around, and elegant letters that read "Fast Friends."

The next spread of pages included a receipt from the first bar they went to, clippings of their names from a copy of their matriculation register, pressed flowers, and more photos of them together or just of Leena.

Every photo of Leena looked like it was taken with a magical camera. One that captures the pure essence of happiness. Leena looked so happy.

And she remembers the moments, she remembers being happy, there with Maisie.

Each page is more detailed than the last, moving in chronological order of their friendship. Old receipts and notes passed in classes. Tickets to a concert and candy wrappers. Dried up leaves and flowers preserved forever.

Leena isn't sure she's ever gotten a gift like this.

When she was younger, in the cancer ward, she'd get cards all the time, of course. But they were signed hastily by adults who only pitied her, or covered in hand-turkeys drawn by kids from her class who didn't understand what she was going through.

Everyone cared, of course they did, but no one really cared. You lose a lot of friends when you spend that much time in the hospital at such a young age.

But Maisie cares. Maisie so clearly cares.

Maisie cares with every ounce of her being. And she shows it so beautifully.

She shows it in inside jokes. In long, thoughtful voice messages past midnight. In little gestures like "This flower reminded me of you" or "I ordered your favorite drink while you were in the bathroom." And in big gestures too. "I got us tickets to see your favorite band" or "I know you can't fly home for Thanksgiving, so let's spend it together."

In the things she does, and the things she says.

"You're my favorite person."

"Your freckles are so cute."

"Your laughter is so freeing."

"You mean a lot to me, Lee."

Leena gasps softly.

Maisie doesn't like her.

Maisie Lockwood loves her.

And Leena?

Leena loves her too.

She has to tell her. She's gotta leave.

Maisie will be home by now; her parents' house is only a ten-minute walk from campus.

Leena should drive, stay out of the cold snow. She should fix her hair. Should she do some nice makeup? Should she change her clothes? It's pretty late; should she wait until tomorrow? She should probably—

No.

No, she needs to go now.

This really can't wait.

Not when Maisie had left Leena's dorm looking so upset.

Leena has to fix this. She grabs her coat and her keys and lets the door slam closed behind her.

=====

Maisie should feel lighter without that book bouncing around in her bag on her walk home. That stupid book, bound in burgundy pleather, soft and worn. It should feel like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

Somehow her steps felt heavier.

It was so stupid of her to even bother. She'd spent weeks ignoring her coursework, pouring herself into this scrapbook. Weeks she'll never get back.

"Maisie, I—I don't know what to say…"

She doesn't bother wiping away her tears; they'll camouflage with the snow. It's cold, but refreshing. Maybe that's how she ought to look at the situation.

Cold.

But… refreshing.

Leena had been shocked. You don't see that as often. Not in Maisie's case anyway. Usually, when a lesbian is friends with other girls, she's accused of liking them all the time, at least that's the stereotype.

This was different. This wasn't like June in seventh grade.

She'd spent weeks then, too. Weeks of building up the courage to finally say it, finally get it out there.

She told herself it would be better for everyone if she was just honest. She hadn't even come out yet. This would be it, this would be coming out and confession all at once.

"June?" Maisie had tapped her shoulder in the hall, vying for her attention.

June spun around, golden hair slicing through the air, spray-tanned face and icy blue eyes leveling with Maisie's own dark features. "Oh, hey."

June was cool, despite her warm Summer name. She wasn't like the sun lighting up your cloudy afternoon; she was more the breeze you long for when it's scorching hot out. Yearning for something to cool you down in the heat, only to shiver when it came. She was cool like a harsh, harsh breeze. Too cold, too sharp, but you want it so badly, fantasize about it, crave it when you feel like you're burning up.

Maisie was a fumbling, mumbling seventh grader who felt like her life was a raging dumpster fire, and she was definitely burning.

"June, I… I have to…" Maisie had struggled to find the right words, which was funny because she felt like she'd been practicing for weeks. She'd stood in front of the mirror, repeating her speech over and over again.

Then came the giggles; girls—June's friends—giggling behind June.

"Oh my God, I told you." One of them had whispered not nearly quiet enough.

Maisie hadn't been sure what that was about, but it made her hesitate. It turned something in her, made her feel shameful.

It had taken years of working on herself and her self-confidence to get rid of as much of that shame as she could. She still felt it sometimes. It wasn't really from strangers anymore, though. She only felt that shame when it was someone she cared deeply about. Because Maisie was good at keeping people out, only letting them in if she truly wanted to—truly trusted them.

She'd let Leena in. And now that shame was creeping up her throat, threatening to come out in the form of sobs. But she doesn't feel like crying tonight.

Maisie cries. A lot. She cried yesterday at a commercial about families reuniting for the holidays. She cries at movies even when they're not really sad. She cries when a professor gives her a harsher-than-usual critique. She cries when she sings in her car and just feels too much.

She's emotional and she can't help that. But she doesn't want to cry tonight. Really, she should've planned for it. She should've scheduled a good cry for this evening. But she thought it would go one of two ways.

One, Leena would accept her confession and they'd go out on a date. Or two, Leena would be horrified and curse her out for even thinking about her like that.

She didn't plan for the third option—the genuine look of confusion and soft-voiced rejection. The eyes misting over. The lips parting in shocked realization.

No, Maisie will not cry tonight.

Instead, she bakes.

She's always found it relaxing. Measuring, mixing, melting. Combining ingredients that feel useless on their own but work together to create something mouthwatering.

It's relaxing but it requires focus. It leaves no room for thoughts of Leena and her perfect smile. And her explosive, contagious laughter. Leena and her love for bubblegum pop music. And appreciation for Maisie's favorite songs. Leena and her adorable freckles. And tiny scar on her perfect nose. Leena and—

She's not sure how long she spends baking, all she knows is that it's a quarter to midnight and she should probably get some sleep.

Of course, that's when there's a knock at the door.

Maisie doesn't need to answer it to know who it is. It's Leena. Who else would it be at this absurd hour?

She dusts her hands off on her apron before slipping it off and hanging it up in the pantry.

Leena knocks again.

Maisie should probably shout out that she's coming so Leena doesn't keep knocking. She isn't going to. Leena will have to wait.

She considers it punishment for the emotional turmoil as she heads to the front door. Then she considers how much Leena means to her and she can't bear to punish her anymore.

She takes a deep, steadying breath before opening the door. The sight before her is devastatingly beautiful.

Leena is shivering on Maisie's doorstep, her very light jacket is unzipped, with snow dusting her auburn hair.

"Are you nuts?! You're going to freeze to death, get in here!" Maisie grabs her by the wrist and pulls her into the house, shutting out the snow. "Where's your winter coat?"

"I forgot it in my dorm." Leena shrugs, smiling coyly. Her voice shakes ever so slightly from the cold.

"Why?!"

"I had to come see you."

Maisie sighs, "Listen, Leena, I really don't want things to change between us. I don't want you to be uncomfortable around me. That was never my intention."

Leena looks like she tries to laugh but she's still recovering from shivering her ass off. "Do I look uncomfortable?"

"Yes, actually, very. Come here." Maisie leads Leena to the couch, directing her to sit while she finds the thickest, warmest blanket they own. She grabs another blanket for herself and they sit together on the couch, further apart than usual. "I know what I said and the whole scrapbook thing was a lot, so I understand if you want to, like, stop being friends. It wouldn't be the first time." She chuckles halfheartedly. "But if you're okay with it, I'd like to continue being friends. We can just pretend this never—"

"No!" Leena jerks forward, cupping Maisie's hands with her own. "Sorry, I mean, I don't want to lose you. But I can't pretend this never happened, Maisie."

"I know," Maisie groans. "I'm so sorry. I ruined everything."

"No, it's okay. That scrapbook was the most beautiful gift I've ever gotten, so thank you so, so much for that. I just… I didn't know."

"Well, yeah, that was the point of me telling you." Maisie tries to cut the tension. Leena's eyes soften. They look pitiful. Like she's about to tell Maisie that even if she wants to, they can't be friends anymore. That she's sorry but it has to be this way.

"No, Maisie, I didn't know." Leena emphasizes. "I—I've never—I didn't realize I was gay. And maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm bi. I don't really know yet, this is all new to me. But what I do know, Maisie," She pauses and the eye contact between them intensifies. "Is that I like you. A lot. More than friends."

"More than friends?" Maisie's eyes widen, heart racing, finally catching on.

"A lot more than friends." Leena smiles. "I don't have a lot of romantic experience so be patient with me. But I know that I like you a lot."

This is everything Maisie has ever wanted. To be wanted.

"I like you a lot too." She grins, pulling Leena in for a warm hug.

"Does that mean you'll date me?" Maisie pulls out of the hug and kisses Leena's still-cold hands. Somehow, on this cold December night, she's filled with the warmth of a thousand suns.

Or maybe just one sun named Leena.

"Try to stop me."