Best Way Out

12

CHAPTER TWELVE

—

Amirah really wishes there was a way in which she could look cute but also be comfortable.

There's only so much ripping off itchy clothing tags a girl can do without ruining every item of clothing she owns.

Besides, if she's going to see queer women today, she wants to be pretty when they talk to her, because they will, she's sure of it.

Already, in the back of her mind, she can hear Mama saying, "Amirah, you are pretty no matter what. Now please get dressed quickly", and Baba saying, "Shona, it's getting late, everything looks the same", while shaking his head and muttering to himself how this generation cares too much about how they look, as if he didn't spend an hour trying to pick out an appropriate tie for his suit.

She wonders how her parents will feel, knowing that she's currently getting ready to go to a Pride parade.

She wonders how her younger self will feel, not just about Pride, but about all of this. Her whole life. Where it's gone, where it's going, where it will go.

Six year old Amirah would be so fucking confused as to why her parents aren't dressing her.

Ten year old Amirah would love that she's finally wearing pink clothes with zero shame.

Fourteen year old Amirah would probably lose her mind at the thought of having her own apartment.

Eighteen year old Amirah would be proud of her for using the word lesbian to describe herself.

Twenty-two year old Amirah would be thankful that she's no longer with Alice.

Twenty-five year old Amirah is so unbelievably content.

Eventually, she settles on throwing on the clothes that are on the top of her pile, because her father was right, she really does always get a bit too late, and Victor is always here a bit early, and also, she can't be bothered when her knees are starting to ache.

Maybe Victor is telepathic or he can sense when she's in pain and has nothing to do, because right as she's about to crash into bed and stare at the ceiling fan, her phone buzzes with a message from Victor.

victor 🤗☺️😚 -
Here. -Victor.

victor 🤗☺️😚 -
<3  -Victor.

Instantly, her spirits lift.

When she leaves her house, bag with water and food in one hand, gift in the other, and when her eyes fall on Victor, whose fingers are drumming away at the wheel of his car while he mouths the words to what's almost definitely You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift, she realises that, holy fuck, she doesn't know anyone whom she'd rather give this cardigan to.

"Hullo, Victor!" she chirps once she's inside, Victor just smiling back at her before glancing at her seatbelt and giving her a pointed stare.

The urge to say "Psh, yolo!" has never been stronger.

"Say hello back," she says instead, strapping her seatbelt on. "Though I will say that your little smile is cute, so it's okay if you don't."

Victor just rolls his eyes. "Hello, Amirah. Are you excited?"

"Thrilled." I can do this. "But uh— before you put on your straight boy attire and start driving like an absolute fucking dude-bro, I have something to... give you, I guess."

Victor's lips twitch with a smile. "Oh?"

Okay. I can do this. This isn't embarrassing. "I..." This is not embarrassing. "I've been knitting this cardigan. Y'know, it's been on the list. My silly little list. You know the one." Get to the point, silly. "Well, I wanted to give it to you."