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Chapter 5

Lauren hated monthly lunch meetings with Lucy. She hated them. She hated that Lucy always looked so put together. She hated that Lucy always had a new picture of Joy to show her. She hated the phrase, "I'll have to leave by 4 to get back in time to have dinner with Carl." She really didn't even know why they still did it. Well, yes, she did. They had always had monthly lunch meetings. No, that's not true. They had lunch every day together for three years. Then, it became once a week when their 'status' changed from 'in a relationship,' to 'it's complicated,' and then back to just best friends. Facebook didn't have a 'best friends' option. That's how you know it's really over.

Before Lauren had even caught her breath from the breakup, Lucy had married Carl Tuckerson and had moved to Connecticut. Fucking Connecticut. She didn't even bat an eyelash at moving out of their city. Now, the lunches were monthly. Without fail, Lauren sat across from Lucy in a booth at Vic's Diner once a month. She fucking hated it. Something was different today, though. After all of Lauren and Lucy's tired history, after Carl, after Baby Joy, today was the first time she felt guilty about monthly lunch meetings.

Lauren was lying at the foot of her bed, tucked into a fetal position and eyeing her cell. She had been toying with a thread on her sweater for at least fifteen minutes. She was procrastinating and she knew it. This was so stupid. She should not feel guilty. There's nothing to feel guilty about. She and Lucy are so, so, soooo over. And she and Camila are...? She couldn't even complete the sentence. Nothing? Interested? Pre-gaming? Talking with the option to date? No, there's no dating someone on the opposite coast. There's no 'just dropping by,' or 'let's grab a movie tonight, or 'Hey meet me in twenty and I'll blow your mind.' Lauren needed those things. She needed them to be options. She didn't even know if the other woman would consider it...or her. No, Camila most certainly wasn't an option.

She really would appreciate it if the niggling at her brain that said differently would just shut the fuck up already.

Lauren eyed her phone again. She had been trying her best to keep it at arm's length. Not only because she liked calling that Washington number a little too much, but because now it held a picture of one Camila Cabello. She had received it in a picture message a couple of days ago. Immediately, she assigned the picture to Camila's contact information. She then proceeded to stare at it for two days instead of calling. Lauren was attracted to her. She was before, of course. She already loved her laugh and her sighs and her sleepy voice. Now, though, Lauren knew about the brown hair and the brown eyes and the whole fucking All-American girl-ness of it all.

"Don't be such a pussy," the brunette chided herself and pulled the phone toward her. She made quick work of getting to her call screen before pressing the home button. She waited for the ding. "Siri, call Camila."

"Calling Camila," Siri said back to her. Lauren could swear that bitch was getting a kick out of her anxiousness. Even Lauren's electronic devices had attitude problems.

"Hey, New York," she heard after a few rings. "I was just thinking about you."

"I'm a lesbian," Lauren blurted.

"I like country music," Camila replied in a heartbeat. "Wait, is this the confession's phone call? Did I just say that for no reason?"

"You already knew," the raven eyes narrowed.

"Of course, I did."

"And you're cool with that?"

"If I wasn't, it would be pretty hypocritical," Camila reasoned.

"Oh." Lauren wasn't entirely surprised, but she suddenly wondered just where on the Kinsey scale Camila fell. Not that it mattered because her brain was practically screaming, 'option!'