Girl, spill the tea !

The following day, Amy comes home from her conference, her suitcase rolling behind her as she steps through the door. I hear the familiar clatter of her suitcase wheels before I see her, and suddenly, everything that's happened over the weekend starts buzzing in the back of my mind again. I have so much to tell her.

She barely takes her coat off before saying, "We need drinks. You're telling me everything."

I don't argue on where to go. We head to our usual bar, the one with the sticky tables and soft lighting, the one that's heard more of our secrets than any therapist ever will.

Once we're seated at our regular table, Amy wastes no time. She leans in across the table with that mischievous glint in her eyes. 

"Okay, spill it," she says, already grinning. "How was your weekend?"

I hesitate, my fingers tapping nervously on the side of my glass. My cheeks flush, and I know she can see it. I should lie, keep it vague. But instead, I tell her the truth.

"Well... I was, uh, intimate with someone," I say, lowering my voice instinctively.

Amy's eyes go wide, and she practically lunges across the table. "No fricking way ! That someone ?!"

I open my mouth to answer, but before I can say anything, Chris and another colleague from the department walk into the bar. Just like that, the moment shifts. I straighten up, and whatever courage I had fizzles out.

Amy notices, of course she notices, but she doesn't push. She just sits back as we exchange greetings with Chris and his friend. The conversation becomes casual, academic, dull. Eventually, the two men move to a nearby table, and we find ourselves in our bubble again, the background noise of clinking glasses and soft music returning like a soundtrack to unfinished confessions.

Amy leans back in, her voice lower this time. "So... about what you said. You were intimate with someone." Her tone is gentler now, more curious than teasing. "Was it serious? Or just... a moment?"

I stare down at my drink, watching the condensation run down the side of the glass. My fingers trace the rim as I try to find the right words. What are we ?

"I don't know, Amy. I felt safe the whole time with him. It felt good at the moment. But I think it was just a one-night thing. Like, we just got caught up in it, and…" I shrug. "I don't think it's going anywhere beyond that."

She watches me carefully, her expression unreadable. Then she nods slowly. "I get that. Sometimes, it's just about the moment. No expectations. No strings. And it was years of tensions between you two…"

I manage a small smile. "Yeah, exactly. I just..." I hesitate. "I don't want to overthink it, but part of me keeps wondering if it meant something more. To him. To me, I'm afraid that I already know."

Amy's face softens. "It's okay to feel like that. You don't have to figure everything out right now." Then, with a grin she adds: "And hey, at least you enjoyed it."

I laugh, quiet but genuine. "Yeah, you're right. I'll just have to see where things go."

But even as I say it, something twists in my chest. I keep telling myself it was nothing more than one night, but deep down, I know I'm lying to myself. At least, I hope he is thinking of me as more than a one night stand.