Aubrey and I have been close since we were kids. Her family moved next door when we were ten, and from day one, we were practically glued at the hip. We were in each other’s houses so much our parents stopped asking questions. Sleepovers became the norm. My closet became hers. Her bed became mine. By the time we hit college, nobody really remembered a time when we weren’t a packaged deal.
But somewhere along the way, the friendship shifted. The looks lasted longer. The touches started lingering. Her mouth would hover closer when she laughed at my jokes, and I stopped pulling away when her hand slid down my arm and stayed there. We didn’t need to spell it out. We both felt it.
We were both bi. That came out during senior year in high school—quiet confessions after a party, still tipsy, bo
