I limped outside, trying to not to put any pressure on my ever-swelling ankle (don't ask - let's just say that you should never cross two goats trying to have sex whilst in six-inch heels). Surprisingly, the air was warm and light, and I found myself loosening the tie on my dressing gown slightly. I made my way to where the barbecue stood, relishing in the smell of almost-burnt sausages, and sat down on one of the random ledges in Grace's garden. I heard the clink of wine glasses and the echoes of laughter drift out from the kitchen as Hannah and Grace sorted out the drinks and sauces. My job, apparently, was to make sure the meat didn't burn. With this in mind, I reached up from my position and grabbed the tongs, quickly transferring the three sausages onto a random plate.
Under any normal circumstance, I would be inside with the others, probably making too many fart jokes, and helping to slice the cheese before coming outside and chatting for a few hours. This, however, certainty wasn't normal. I felt strange. Confused. Me, Mamrie Hart, the eye-rolling, giggle-inducing borderline alcoholic, felt unsure.
There was no doubt in my mind that this thing - whatever it was - between me and Grace was real. As real as Beanz's hatred for society (and that dog has some major issues with the world, ya'll). I knew that I was completely, totally in love with her, and that - to me - it was more than a casual thing. I just didn't know if she felt the same.
I smiled slightly to myself, looking down at my exposed legs. Pebbles tickled my bare feet and a few strands of hair tumbled loose from my bun and fell around my face messily. I wasn't wearing anything underneath my dressing gown (both me and Hannah were staying over at Grace's, so we had all showered already, but the other two were wearing pyjama tops and shorts), and my grin widened as I thought about Grace potentially undoing it later. We'd have to be quiet, though; Hannah couldn't know what was going on.
My thoughts drifted to Grace, then. The way she lost every inhibition when she laughed, and how good her legs looked in denim cut-offs. The way her hair bounced upon her shoulders when curled, how pissed she'd get every single time she got bangs, and her terrible dancing. I recalled one day in particular, when I was driving her to the airport, and she was dancing in the most adorably unadulterated fashion. Her arms were thrown up in the air, her head moving disjointedly from side to side and she was singing the wrong words. Despite this, she'd never looked more beautiful. Online, she acted as if she couldn't sing, but she was actually amazing.
I ran my thumb over my lips as I imagined her kissing me quickly just before she hopped out of the car. She had only done that because she was going away for a month, under any other circumstance I would've only gotten a wave.
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, every bone in my body seemed to ache with an insatiable longing. I hated sneaking around. I hated thinking that she meant more to me than I meant to her.
I didn't just want quick sex, or hot, passionate making out. I wanted nights curled up together in front of the TV, days spent hiking with our hands intertwined. I wanted slow kisses, heartfelt gestures and late night 'I love you's.
"Mames!" Hannah called, snapping me out of my trance, "Get the burgers on, will you?"
I heard Grace say, "Yeah, they're my favourite."
I asked if they were done with the condiments and drinks, and they replied in unison with a simple, "Yep."
"Get your asses outside and help me then!" I said, smirking. Sure enough, they did. Before we set the burgers to cook, Grace placed the three sausages that I had taken off of the barbecue into buns, and added some ketchup to mine and hers. Hannah preferred mustard, so I took the bottle and squirted some on, before handing it to her with a wan smile.
I turned my head, squinting at the still bright, but slowly setting, sun. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Grace licking ketchup from her fingers, and couldn't help biting down on my lip a little.
Hours passed, Hannah and Grace laughed and talked and teased. I - on the other hand - drifted in and out of the conversation, repeatedly falling into reveries. All of them involving Grace, of course.
By the end of the night, the longing was still sitting silently in the pit of my stomach. In a way, I had her, I knew that. I just wanted her there with me, in a different capacity than what she already was. I wanted her to hold me, not to sit beside me. To love me, not like me.
I fell asleep on Grace's couch that night, breathing in her scent and trying to suppress the urge to cry. One day, I told myself, one day really she'll be mine.
