CHAPTER 34Emma
Emma didn’t feel like a lesbian. Or maybe she did. She noticed that when she went into the coffee shop on Piedmont Avenue, her eyes sought out the dyke behind the counter; she hoped that she would be the one to take her order.
“So, do you like her?” she could almost hear her sister asking. “If you like her, you should ask her out.”
Emma considered this. No, she didn’t like her, not like that. Nor did she particularly want the other woman’s interest. Emma just enjoyed the feeling that that woman might look at her and know.
It was the language that always tripped her up. Know what? That Emma was a lesbian? She didn’t feel like a lesbian. In high school, when she had first started making out with her boyfriend, she had been shocked at how wet her underwear would be afterwar
