I headed across the street and rang the doorbell. Normally, I would let myself in, but that felt wrong after my fight with Carrie. I heard stomping headed toward the door. It swung open and Carrie grimaced at me. She wore a ratty Wonder Woman t-shirt and tiny running shorts. Her golden brown curls hung wildly around her face. "What do you want?"

I pulled out the flag from behind my back and started waving it.

Carrie glared at the rainbow flag in my hand. "I already know you're gay, dumbass."

"I didn't have a white one. It was kinda short notice."

Carrie rolled her eyes, but I saw a hint of a smirk. She immediately pulled her lip between her teeth to snuff it out.

"Truce?" I asked.

Carrie crossed her arms, pouting. "You were mean to me."

"And you tried to out my feelings for Clay. Let's call it even?"

Her face softened. She tilted her head, making her curls fall across her face. She huffed and tucked them behind her ear. "Despite what I may have said, I didn't do it on purpose. I'd never hurt you like that, Emmie. You know I just shoot my mouth off sometimes without thinking."

I sighed. "I know, Care."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, almost too low to hear.

"What was that?" I held a hand up to my ear. "Did you say something?"

"I'm sorry!" she blurted, much louder this time.

"I'm sorry, too."

Carrie teared up. She rushed forward and slammed against me, throwing her arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides. "I've missed you."

I reached out and patted her hips. "It's only been like two hours."

"The longest two hours of my life. God! I could break up with a million boys and never feel as wretched as I did today."

"I know what you mean."

"Now, get your ass in here and tell me what I've missed in Emmett-land."

"A lot actually." I walked past her and went to settle on the couch. "Starting with, I'm pretty sure Clay wanted to kiss me after we left, but before he ran from my house crying. And ending with him possibly asking me out on a date."

"What the fuck is your life?"

I barked out a sound of exasperation. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Carrie hopped onto the couch beside me, sitting cross-legged.

"I'm worried that him saying it's a date is just hyperbole."

She frowned. "I haven't made it to that word yet on my calendar."

"Exaggeration." I clarified.

"Right. I knew that."

I tapped her knee, noticing a fresh knick from shaving her legs. "Me and you say we're going on dates all the time."

"You think this is a friend-date? After you say he tried to kiss you?" Carrie sounded skeptical.

"He didn't try. He just looked like he wanted to. He kept staring at my lips."

"Ooh. I love it when they do that. They always look so sexy."

Clay definitely looked sexy, standing in my kitchen in nothing but his underwear, his hands on my arms, my hands on his waist.

The thought had me halfway to hard, so I switched topics. "What about Alfie?"

I wasn't really dating him. We only hooked up once (twice if I counted the mutual blowjobs in Whitley's powder room), but he was already saying "I love you" again, albeit in the process of trying to manipulate me. Did that still count as a real declaration of love?

"Who gives a fuck about Alfie? He's a dick. And just 'cause you like getting his dick doesn't mean you should be with him."

"She's right," Dr. Herrera said, stepping out of her office, coffee mug in hand. "A hard dick will wane. But a selfish dick will be an asshole forever."

"Jesus Christ, Mom!" I shook my head, mystified. "That is the most confusing and disturbing sentence I think I've ever heard you say."

Dr. Herrera raised her mug in the air and headed toward the kitchen. "It's the truth, mijo. If you sleep with men, you're gonna have to learn it sooner or later."

I leaned over to Carrie and whispered, "Sometimes I can't believe people actually pay your mom for advice."

"I heard that, you little shit."

"Sorry. You know I love you."

"Yeah, yeah. That's what they all say."

I laughed. It was obvious where Carrie got her brashness. She and her mother had the same honest-to-a-fault nature.

Carrie let out an irritated grunt. "Just ignore her."

I shifted to face Carrie. "I wouldn't mind her input. She is a professional."

Carrie rolled her eyes. "Ugh! Fine."

"Hey, Mom!" I called out.

Dr. Herrera walked in to stand behind the sofa. She'd exchanged her coffee mug for a glass of red wine. "Yes, my darling boy."

"What do you think I should do?"

"I didn't hear anything you guys said before 'He's a dick.' Fill me in."

I gave her a quick summation of my relationship with Clay and this new development.

"Don't do anything," Dr. Herrera said, waving the hand holding the wineglass, sloshing the red liquid inside dangerously close to the edge, above the white sofa. "Let him lead the way. You, of all of us, know best what he's going through. This was probably his way of reaching out without risking too much."

That made sense. Clay could always backtrack on the "date" idea if he wasn't into it. I would just have to show him a great time and hope for the best.

"Thanks, Mom," I said.

Dr. Herrera leaned over the back of the couch to kiss the top of my head, then ruffled her fingers in my hair. "Anytime, mijo."

After Dr. Herrera left, Carrie grabbed my arm. "Can we talk about how hot Clay is? I've never seen him without a shirt before."

I shook my head. "I don't want to go there until I know how he feels. I can't get my hopes up."

"Spoil sport." Carrie grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on the TV. "What country of Drag Race are we on now?"

"UK. Season two."

Carrie puckered her lips, clicking her tongue as she searched for the right episode. As the episode started, she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, tossing it across both our laps, and leaned over to lay her head on my shoulder. All was well again.