“Gunnhild, seriously, ask her out already.”
Gunnhild should have known that Sara’s response to her Luna problem would be along the lines of “just talk to her,” as if there was ever any “just” about it.
Sara is hanging over Gunnhild’s shoulder as she’s trying to make a sorry excuses for a dinner. Noodles and cheese. Well, right Gunnhild is so hungry that it’s quite tempting.
The hunger coils in her stomach and mixes with her nerves.
She sent the text. The fucking stupid text.
“You can’t keep going around like this,” Sara continues, and steals a bite of cheese. “You like-like her! You told us! You gotta do something.”
“I can’t,” Gunnhild frowns over her pan. “I mean. She’s just off and on, remember. She doesn’t like me… like that. I think?”
Sara rolls her eyes, sighing like Gunnhild is some kind of idiot. To be fair, falling in love with someone just as avoidant as Peter was probably qualifies Gunnhild for that title. When will she ever learn?
“We’ve talked about this. Luna kisses you at every party. There’s no way that she’s not interested in something.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Gunnhild takes her noodles off the stove and sighs as she puts them in a bowl. Judging by Luna’s behaviour, all the drunk and late night kisses and all the avoiding glances in the daytime, nothing is sure. It’s pretty difficult to tell what Luna feels.
“Remember the yellow banana. Right? You gotta do something now!”
Gunnhild has to laugh. “Yeah sure. Well, I sent her a text. No answer yet.”
Sara doesn’t look impressed. “Well, that was a very careful text. You need to talk more directly to her.”
Gunnhild smiles at her words, and not because they’re true, or because she plans on taking Sara’s advice, but because she’s never really had a friend like Sara before. Except maybe Luna. However, it’s not really a good idea to talk about her crush on Luna, with Luna, is it?
Still, that’s what she has sort of prepared to do. She had asked Luna for advice.
Gunnhild sits down and starts to dig into her food. “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asks.
“No, I ate earlier,” Sara smiles. “I’m just gonna stare at you eating while you’re being stressed out and nervous. This is too much fun.”
“I’m glad that I can entertain you,” Gunnhild mutters.
Sara sits down next to her. “You know, I’ve been there. Well not exactly, but almost. I know it’s not easy. Okay? But it will be.”
Gunnhild’s mouth is full of noodles. She nods. She is glad she has Sara right now. Sara may be in her own head sometimes and almost too straightforward at other times, but she’s a pretty good listener, and she makes Gunnhild feel less alone in this whole “oh no, I have feelings again and I don’t know what to do” - thing.
“Thank you. And I do know that I have to do something. Preferably sober. And that I need to say something. It’s just that I kinda stutter and word vomit every time Luna is around and then I mess up everything.”
Sara scoffs. “I know. But I’m sure you don’t need to say much. You two are practically under each other’s skin already, anyway. It’s not like it’d be much of a step up.”
Gunnhild is fairly sure that her lonely pining is pretty far from being under each other’s skin, but she decides not to argue. “I wish,” she mutters instead. “If she just could answer.”
“I’m sure she will.”
Gunnhild stares into her bowl. Her whole life seems to be a series of “maybes,” and every shooting star is labelled “Luna Oksnes.” Everything blue is labelled with her name, too. And the moon. Always the moon.
Gunnhild takes another bite, but she can hardly taste the food.
She just can’t forget about Luna. It’s not just that she’s cool, pretty or interesting, although she is, of course. Luna just makes her feel good. She calls Gunnhild cute and sweet and makes her feel excited and calm at the same time. Luna sees Gunnhild and knows that she’s weird and lonely sometimes, and it’s okay.
Gunnhild manages to make her dinner and eat it without checking her phone every minute. She decides that it’s a good thing; a small victory.
Sara seems to get tired of watching her and goes to her room to do some homework. Gunnhild decides to do the same. If she only could manage to focus.
It’s like her quiet phone screams at her.
She ends up writing on a poem instead.
And it’s quiet.
And it’s quiet.
Then her phone pings, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair at all, really, because Gunnhild’s heart jumps in her chest and races, and it beats so hard that it hurts, and it’s probably not even Luna at all.
It’s probably mom. Or Sara. Maybe Sara is messing with her?
Gunnhild stares at her yellow phone, not daring to pick it up.
Maybe. Maybe not.
What she wouldn’t give for a “Yeah, I’d love to get together” or a “I like you.” What she wouldn’t give to have Luna here, with her warm lips against her mouth, curled around her body. Like a blue blanket. Gunnhild wants soft whispers and softer skin, she wants to tell Luna all her secrets in the dark as they listen to nice songs on repeat. It shouldn’t be this electric feeling every time Luna looks at her or giggles, or constantly losing stuff and stumbling because she can’t will her feet or hands to stop shaking.
It should be like lying together and gazing at the sky, not like getting drunk to dare to kiss each other and not like writing stuttered poems in the dark about her.
Seeing something blue or glimpses of the moon shouldn’t turn into all these feelings and give her ideas about broken prose she’ll never write.
Gunnhild picks up her phone but doesn’t open it. She stares out the window. It’s the blue hour, when everything is dusky. The moon is up although it’s not really dark yet. It’s pale and light blue and it doesn’t reveal a thing.
She tries to tell herself that it doesn’t matter if Luna answers, or what she says. Gunnhild feels what she feels and she’ll figure things out. She’s done that before and she can do it again. It’s just… She feels so much, and she really wish Luna feels something, too. She wishes so much that her body aches with her wishes. She whispers her confession to the pale blue moon, clutching her phone, afraid of being blinded by Luna’s final words.
She puts her thumb to her phone.