It became a weekly ritual: Karen and Frema shopped on Frema’s day off, Karen said something embarrassing, Frema’s ugly laugh resonated through Karen’s soul. Just a typical interaction between gal pals.

Their conversation topics were often benign and ordinary: work, the weather (which mainly consisted of Karen ranting and Frema giggling) and the footy (which garnered tirades in equal measure from both Karen and Frema). Whenever Karen brought up her own kids, Frema listened silently but added nothing to the conversation. Her face went solemn, only for her to laugh again when Karen complained about the weather again.

One fateful day, the bananas rose in price again. Frema winced, expecting a fit of rage from the other woman. Instead, Karen quietly complained and added an unexpected comment.

‘Well, maybe there were some issues with the supply.’ She picked up a bruised, almost caramel-hued banana at its end like a dirty napkin. ‘These do look pretty old.’

Frema had to smile at that. 

Throughout these mundane ventures, Karen thought herself remarkably good at hiding her attraction. She didn’t even gasp when droplets from Frema’s checkout-bought water bottle slipped down her chin and neck. Well, her breath stopped as she took in the seductive view, but at least she wasn’t obvious about it.

As weeks turned into two months, they graduated from shopping to eating lunch together. Frema suggested it and basically dragged Karen along to a restaurant with no clue how much it annoyed her. Over time, it became Karen’s respite during her lunch breaks, though the clock of capitalism constantly ticked in her ears to remind her that she would soon be due back at the office.

Frema always tried something new but Karen stuck to chicken salads. Occasionally, Frema would suggest adding variety to the other woman’s diet but Karen refused most of the time. After almost ordering something for her against her wishes and accidentally sparking an argument, she gave up on mentioning it. One afternoon, Karen eyed Frema’s dish.

‘Want some?’ Frema asked with a smile-smirk combo. She twirled her fork around the fettuccine and gently held it up. Karen paused, then nodded. Just as she was about to grab a fork, Frema fed Karen herself. The absolutely heterosexual woman nearly choked on the fork in her mouth, her cheeks as hot as the steam rising from the pasta.

She swallowed the alfredo-covered noodles in one go and coughed the heat out of her mouth. Frema apologised but her laughter called her sincerity into question. 

Once she was home on these hangout days, Karen looked at herself in the mirror, asked herself what her sexuality was meant to be and immediately decided to procrastinate on that train of thought. She was too tired. She could think about it tomorrow.

Much like someone swearing they’ll go on a diet soon, the special “tomorrow” never came.

One day, the two… friends? Karen wasn’t sure what to call her and Frema. Anyway, the two acquaintances went to the nearest shopping centre. It was Frema’s idea, as she saw some ads featuring blazers the other day. Why she needed more blazers than she already had was beyond Karen’s understanding, but more time with Frema was more time with Frema.

An employee at one shop was a teenager with a cold expression and a bored tone of voice as she failed to help Karen. Frema quickly spotted the telltale signs of an incoming tantrum in Karen: raised shoulders, spluttering as she spoke and glaring at a nearby table of folded clothes like she wanted to knock the piles of shirts to the ground. She released a defeated sigh but placed a hand on Karen’s shoulder.

To her surprise, Karen deflated. Her shoulders lowered, her speaking returned to normal (if a bit sheepish) and she stopped staring at the table like a magpie looking at another bird’s nest. If Frema didn’t know any better, she would have thought Karen had melted into her touch.

She began to notice other little details about Karen as they shopped: the self-interrupted stares, the frequent blushing, the moments of stepping closer for a moment before shuffling further away. The way Karen chortled at the start of each hangout but laughed freely by the end of it, the way her dimples showed when she beamed at her, the way her short, stumpy hand gently brushed against each item as she considered buying it.

Frema groaned. She was in trouble.

Karen heard the groan that was meant to be internal. ‘Are you alright? Did you strain a muscle or something? We can sit down and have a break.’

Frema shook her head but gazed upon the other woman with eyes that looked like melted gold.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, absentmindedly caressing Karen’s cheek. When they both realised what she was doing, Frema quickly pulled her hand back. Instead of apologising, which she had initially planned to do, she turned her attention somewhere else. ‘Oh, this store has lots of nice blazers!’

As Frema walked past her towards the store, Karen touched her own cheek where Frema had touched it. Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted.