My palms were sweaty. I hugged my pocket with my left hand to feel for the ring box. It was still there.

  As I waited in line, I rehearsed my plan. When the countdown got to one, I’d go for it. I bent each knee slightly trying to determine which position was most comfortable. Was I really doing this?

  Once I ordered and paid the bartender, I lingered, pulling out my phone to see if there was a sign why I shouldn’t be proposing. Nothing. No text, no calls, and no emails from anyone. If there was no divine or human intervention, that was all the confirmation I needed.

  I danced back to where Kelly was standing. At midnight, the liquid courage kicked in, delivering a fiancé as I ascended to Beyonce’s “Drunk in Love.” I was getting married.

  *

  After my engagement to Kelley on New Year’s Eve, I placed Erin back in a box on the shelf and focused on what was next. My renewed attention was on my career and building a future, which led to attending a leadership retreat in Denver that March.

  Since beginning in education, I had committed myself to working for those who were furthest from opportunity. The experience in Denver would allow me to learn more about the disability movement and its impact both on education and the world. Plus, they had just legalized marijuana.

  Midway through the week-long trip, I toyed with sending Erin an email. As far as I knew, she still worked in education, and I thought she would appreciate the information. I was in the midst of being stoned, customary for a young person’s first trip to Colorado after the marijuana laws changed, and I’d forgotten she had ghosted me again.

  Hey. You probably won’t see this or reply, since you didn’t respond to my other email, but I’m on this Special Education Leadership Journey in Denver and I am learning so much. You would definitely enjoy it. Hope all is well.

  I popped a few more cannabis-infused candies and set my alarm. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss dinner or the outing that was planned by the retreat organizers.

  *

  After a few hours, I woke from my THC-induced coma and reached for my phone. When I opened my emails, I saw Erin’s name and smiled. Then I became angry. How is it she can respond to this email but didn’t have the common decency to acknowledge her apology?

  There was only one way to know for sure.

  *

  That sounds amazing. I would love to hear more about it. Also, what other email?

  I sat up on the side of the bed. I was wide awake at this point as the evening sun draped across the room. Confused and concerned by her message, I searched for the missing email to compare email addresses. As I imagined, they were the same. Her ignorance was not amusing.

  Fueled by frustration, I sent a quick response.

  Give me a call when you have a moment and I can tell you all about it. My number is still the same.

  No sooner than the time I hit send and moved to the next email, my phone lit up with a DC number displaying on the screen. Wow! She was really calling.

  “I didn’t expect you to actually call,” I said as I answered, somewhat in disbelief.

  “Did you not want me to call? Did I read the message wrong?” There was an extended pause. “Your message said to call...”

  “Yeah, I just didn’t think you’d do it.” My tone was a mixture of annoyance and exhilaration.

  “But why if that’s what you asked?” She seemed genuinely concerned.

  I didn’t sugarcoat my frustration. “Did you not get my other email I sent in December?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Did you send it to the right email?” She sounded as dumbfounded as I had when I posed the question. It felt like I was on an episode of Punk’d. Though hilarious on TV, it wasn’t a laughing matter now.

  “After you sent your email in December, I replied to you asking if we could talk. You never did, so I moved on.” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

  There was more silence on her end.

  “I’m engaged now, that’s all.” I dismissed the occasion as menial.

  “Oh... Well, congratulations!” she said.

  Unable to place her tone, I shifted the conversation to the reason I had reached out in the first place. We played catch up, exchanging updates about our careers and next steps for our separate lives. She had moved out of public education but was still connected to the work in a different capacity.

  “I guess I should have known you wouldn’t be in the classroom forever,” I said fondly.

  “I loved it. I just wanted more,” she continued. “Now, I’m on a path to be one of the youngest Black women in executive leadership in DC.”

  I was reminded of the brilliance and tenacity she’d always possessed. It was one of her most attractive qualities. Despite what had happened between us, I missed Erin’s intellect and passion for the work.

  I was elated she called despite the knots forming in my chest. I paced while we talked, looking at the flowered wallpaper covering the entirety of the room, hoping to ease my nerves. Listening, I heard the words that were coming out of her mouth, but my focus was still on the fact she had called.

  I plopped back down on the bed and started taking notes on what she was saying so I wouldn’t forget what was discussed. My mind escaped me.

  As much as I did not want to get off the call for fear another one would never happen again, I needed to gather myself before heading downstairs to leave for dinner.

  “I hate to cut our time short, but I have plans that start soon,” I pivoted quickly, not wanting to miss an opportunity to continue talking. “I could hit you up later, but it’s a two-hour time difference.”

  “Just text me when you’re done and we’ll go from there.” I could hear a smile in her voice. Maybe she didn’t want the conversation to end either.

  It amazed me how easily we could pick up where we left off like nothing had ever happened. Perhaps there was space for us to be friends. After all, that’s all she ever wanted from the beginning. Now seemed like a perfect time to lean into just that.

  *

  After the retreat, Erin and I spoke weekly from the time I returned home to Alabama until early May. I was scheduled to attend a conference outside of DC in June on the use of technology in Special Education. It was the same time as the Capitol Pride parade and events. Though I had never been, I was sure it was destined to be White and cater to men. Nonetheless, I wanted to go.

  Once I registered for the conference and connected with Gigi about staying with her, I shared my plans with Erin.

  “Are you going to go to the professional development I sent you?” I asked, hoping she would say yes. I wanted to see her but feared the rejection of just asking.

  “Maybe. I have to check my schedule, but it sounds interesting.”

  My mouth was moving faster than my brain could process. We hadn’t discussed seeing each other in any of our communication. Though we had talked about being friends, I wasn’t sure what that really meant, at least not for me.

  I had never felt for any of my friends the way I had felt for Erin. With all I had learned about her during our summer of love, she didn’t talk to her friends as regularly as she spoke to me. I was sure she wasn’t sending them messages that read “Good morning” with a sunshine emoji or “Sweet dreams” the way I had been receiving them.

  “Let me think about it,” she replied quickly before hanging up.

  I smiled with excitement and I felt reality settle in my stomach. Given the slight possibility I would see her while in DC, I had to decide how much of the truth I was going to share with Kelley before I left. If Erin and I were just friends, there was no harm in telling her my intentions, right?

  When Kelley and I first met, I told her all about Erin. I carried on about college and our summer together before she broke my heart. At that time, I never actually thought I would see Erin again. But now here I was, three years later, faced with the challenge of opening myself back up to the unknown and possibly breaking Kelley’s heart in the process.

  I tried to pass the time waiting for Erin’s decision by staying busy. Kelley was still out of town with her friends from college, so I would wait to mention the trip once I knew all of the details.

  A few days passed before Erin gave any indication of what she was thinking. As usual her communication came in the form of a text message:

  I want to see you.

  *

  When Kelley returned home the next day, we caught up on the details from her trip and the plans for the next month. Because she also traveled for work, we tried to coordinate our schedules to maximize our time together when she was at home as much as possible.

  “I’m going to a conference in DC next month to follow up from the project in Denver.” I shared just enough to start off the conversation.

  “Okay. How long will you be gone?” she asked, continuing to unpack.

  “Three or four days. I haven’t booked my flight yet. I was waiting to hear back from cuzzo before making a decision since I’ll be staying with her.” Feeling confident she was only half listening, I continued. “You remember me telling you about Erin, right?”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked up from where she sat inside of the walk-in closet in our bedroom. “Yeah, what about her?” I pulled back at the tinge of hostility in her tone. In failing to disclose we talked when I was in Colorado, I chose my next words carefully.

  “We reconnected recently. Just catching up on some work stuff. We might link up while I’m up there.” I waited for a reaction before I continued. She squinted her eyes at me and tilted her head but said nothing. “I want to see if we can be friends after everything that happened. Kinda like you and Nicole.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess.”

  I muffled my smiled, attempting to contain my excitement. “Cool.”

  fifteen.

  My flight landed at Reagan National around noon the Saturday before the conference. I was giddy Erin had agreed to go to the parade. I sent a text message in all caps to announce my arrival, but it went unanswered. Was she backing out of our plans?

  After I picked up the rental from outside of the terminal, I checked again. Still nothing.

  I drove over to Gravelly Point, which was adjacent to the airport and waited, watching planes take off and land to kill time. It was the same spot I’d sat in to see Parker off all those years ago. I sent Erin another text.

  Are we still on for today?

  I waited a bit longer with no response. The day was still young, but I didn’t have a desire to go to the parade by myself. I called my cousin to tell her I was on the way.

  Just as I was circling the block to pull into her driveway, my phone buzzed.

  Are you okay? I thought your flight got in at twelve?

  As usual, the timing of her text was terrible. I had just driven thirty minutes away from where Erin lived. It was edging on two o’clock in the afternoon. Our texts obviously were amiss, so I called.

  “I texted you when I landed. You didn’t respond, so I waited a while and texted again with no response. Did you not get my texts?”

  “If I got it, I would have responded. Why didn’t you just call?” Irritation loomed in her voice,

  “I didn’t call because that’s not what we do. We only text, so I texted.” My justification spoke for itself. “What would have happened if I just popped up?”

  “I guess we’ll never know.”

  I remembered her address from years before. It was seared in my mind although I had only been there once before.

  “We’re not going to make the parade.” She sounded deflated.

  “Parades don’t have end times. I’m on my way.” I backed out of the driveway and headed toward the city.

  *

  It had been two years since I had seen her last. I felt anxious walking up the steps, but my stride remained steady. I was where I was supposed to be.

  “Hi,” she spoke before I rang the bell.

  Startled, I clutched my chest and grinned. “I didn’t see you there. Were you waiting with baited breath?” I said jokingly. She was sitting on the steps just inside of the front door.

  “Yep! Now, let’s go.” She opened the door only to walk out. If excited were a person, Erin was it.

  I was still in shock we were going to the parade together. She had always said I was “so gay.” My outness made her seemingly uncomfortable, which I didn’t understand that given some of the people she had dated. It wasn’t like I wore rainbows and fit into the personas I’d watched growing up. Perhaps it had bothered her with those people too and I just didn’t know it.

  *

  From where she lived, it was a short walk to the parade route. As we strolled, I imagined what it would be like if this were my reality.

  “There’s a coffee spot down there,” she pointed as we crossed an intersection, “that I go to on the weekends. They have an amazing dirty chai.”

  I smiled. “Maybe we can check it out while I’m here.”

  She pursed her lips and rocked her head to the side. “Maybe.” Then, “This is the carryout I ordered wings from the summer you stayed at Gigi’s.” We paused in front of a brick store front with a yellow sign the read Carry Out.

  “The wings with Mambo sauce! Can we get some of those, too?” I wanted to go back to that time in our life when things were much simpler.

  “We’ll see. I have other food places we can try,” she declared before resuming our stroll.

  People were out in droves. Most of them following the same route we were taking. We stopped at Dolcezza, a neat little gelato shop with an old-world vibe. The black and white tile paired with wooden bar reminded me off an old soda counter from the 1950s. I let her order for me since I’d never had gelato before. “It’s like ice cream only richer,” she’d told me.

  After we took our scoops, we walked the block and sat on the steps of The Carnegie Institute. The streets were lined with people, mostly White in a chocolate city, donning their “Born This Way” shirts and brightly colored regalia.

  “You know, I’ve never been to a Pride parade before.” I said, finishing off the last of my bourbon caramel scoop.

  Erin’s face contorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right! I know you’re a flaming lesbian. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better.”

  “I’m serious.” I looked toward the sky as if it would reveal a memory contrary to what I had stated. “This is a first for me.”

  Erin continued scooping out her gelato with the flat plastic spoon. “Thank you for not wearing all your rainbows. You know how y’all do.”

  Her statement was facetious. I didn’t wear rainbows.

  “Why are you so afraid of being out?” I turned my body toward her, setting my empty cup down.

  “I’m not afraid. It’s just not anyone’s business. I can be who I am without wearing a neon flashing sign.”

  We agreed to disagree.

  Growing up in Atlanta, the parade wasn’t the go-to event. Before turning eighteen, I would hang out at Piedmont Park on the Sunday of the Pride festivals in June and again over Labor Day. When I was old enough, my friends and I frequented parties at clubs and lounges, and always the strip clubs. Atlanta was the strip club capital of the world.

  The parade scene was new to me. How lucky was I to share it with the love of my life?

  After finishing our treat, we strolled back to the action on 14th Street to catch the end of the parade. She grabbed my hand once we stopped, giving it a gentle squeeze. Nonchalantly, I returned the gesture, not giving in to the pulsing sensation flowing through my body that made me want to kiss her.

  I relished the moment as we watched confetti shower the crowds and drag queens strut in their regalia. Major organizations, including the public school system, had banners and participants walking in the parade. In all of its foreignness, the atmosphere felt familiar—like home.

  Still holding hands, we moseyed back toward her house along the same route we’d taken to get there, passing the Florentine houses. She pointed to a pink door. “My best friend in elementary lived there.”

  “Oh?” Now my interest was piqued. “What was their name?”

  “Robby Jr.” She recalled, pointing a finger in the air.

  “Are you still in touch?” I quizzed.

  “Nope.” She swung my hand like a little kid. “This was fun,” she said changing the subject. “I’m glad you made it.” Her smile brightened my day.

  “Me too.” I slowed the swinging of our connected arm. “Would you have gone without me?”

  “Probably not. I wanted to go with you.”

  Our arms stopped swinging altogether, but our hands stayed connected. Her statement stunned me. Not wanting to tip her off there was anything wrong, I croaked, “Okay.”

  Our journey home was quiet, but she’d already said more than I’d ever hoped for.

  *

  Later that evening, after partaking in carryout and watching Golden Girls. She began to doze off. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I tidied and quietly grabbed my keys.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, half asleep.

  “Time for me to head out. I’ll come back up tomorrow,” I said reluctantly.

  She oriented herself to the room. “Do you have to stay at your cousin’s?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “No. I don’t have to stay there. I’ll go and see her tomorrow.” Gigi would be deflated, but she’d understand. “Are you offering for me to stay here?”

  I knew she had two bedrooms, so space wasn’t an issue. Sleeping there would give us a chance to really catch up with one another. I wondered if this was a test.

  “Yes. I’m offering for you to stay here.”

  The temptation was too good to ignore. “Then I’ll stay.”

  After updating Gigi and promising to visit the next day, I retrieved my duffle bag from the car and made my way to the other room. I hurriedly showered and changed into something more comfortable.