Heather McNamara wasn't really one for words, at least not in the usual sense. She could write cute captions for photos, make up funny phrases and inside jokes, but she couldn't ever quite display her emotions through the typical poem or essay. Usually her responses to serious things were short, probably because she buried things. Not that short responses were a bad thing, but that sure didn't help when a deep conversation was due.
"I just can't." She said, the first time she was asked why she wouldn't say who she liked. It was Heather Chandler of course. She loved the way the girl's reddish-blonde hair framed her face, the way her soft curls cascaded. She loved the movements she made when stretching in the mornings at their weekly sleepovers.
"I just can't." She chuckled, when Chandler taunted her about not wanting to ditch class. Usually, Mac would have jumped at the chance to spend a day with Heather. Unfortunately Duke was a third wheel with them and it made things awkward. Not that Duke knew it, but they'd really rather be alone together.
"I just can't." She replied when Chandler drunkenly asked to kiss her at a party. She knew that if people saw it would be bad. Really bad. I mean how exactly would they explain it? Two drunk best friends? One drunk bisexual and her secret girlfriend? Mac couldn't risk it. Not only would people talk, but it would add to the stress Chandler already dealt with. Not to mention, it could ruin her status. Mac wouldn't let herself get in the way of that.
"I just can't." She giggled, when Chan asked why she hadn't stopped smiling after they finally told everyone. This was what she had waited for, for years. Well, in theory only months, but Mac had craved Chandler for most of the time she knew her. She found herself always wanting to be around her.
They met in seventh grade, when Chandler forcefully told her "We are going to be friends because we have the same name. No arguments. Mkay?" She hadn't seen the girl anywhere before, but immediately felt something flip a switch when she met her. Her heart skipped a beat. From fear or hope, no one could ever say.
In all honesty, Chandler was the first girl Mac ever really had a crush on. She had all the cliches—butterflies, sweaty palms, stuttering—she had it all. That's what made it so hard to hide.
"I just can't..." She told her parents when they asked why she wouldn't tell them the reason she was acting so weird. Not being out, not knowing her parents thoughts on gay relationships, it was terrifying. When she finally did get the courage, though, it wasn't as bad. She stood there at the foot of her parents bed, her mother and father both reading magazines, and said "Mom, dad. I just can't hold this in any longer." And it all turned out okay.
Life went on and she and Chandler grew and grew to become the most popular couple on campus. They both had the looks and the status, and now they had the jealousy of dozens of closeted gay kids. So why did McNamara still find herself lost? Why was she still unhappy?
Flash forward to now, where Chandler sat, staring at the floor, a note in her hand, the same note she'd read over and over for a month.
"Let her go, Heather. She's gone." They all said.
Chandler had the same response each time. "I just can't."
