AMANDAI finished talking to my grandmother, and our conversation allowed me to relax and see things more clearly. Of course, the first thing she did was offer once again that I could come live with her whenever I wanted. I had lost count of how many times I had declined her offer. I cherished my independence, and as much as I loved my nonna, I wasn't willing to give it up for anything or anyone. We hung up after she insisted on me calling Emiliana. I didn't tell her much about Emiliana, just that she was a lawyer and lived one floor below mine.I turned my phone in my hand a couple of times, pondering if it was a good idea. I hated how my mind overanalyzed decisions, but it was even worse to make a decision and then realize all the things that could go wrong. I got up from my chair and started walking around the apartment. Maybe she was busy and couldn't answer my call."But wasn't it her who asked you to call her?"To hell with this! I was being irrational. Emiliana wouldn't have of

AMANDAThe last time I had a lesbian crisis was when I was in the third year of high school. I had gone out with some friends to a bar, and I ended up kissing a stranger. To understand the context, you should know that at that time, I didn't even know how to define myself. I wasn't sure if I liked women or men.Add to that a really conservative family and the fear that someone I knew would see me and tell my parents. From experience, I was aware that nothing good would come of it.The next day, my friends told me what had happened, although they didn't make a big deal out of it because, according to them, it was just a kiss to "strengthen our friendship." I remember that I never thanked anything as much as the fact that heterosexuals followed any fashion that added experiences to their daily lives.We left it at that, and the topic was never touched again. Ten years later, it still tormented me. Right now, my immediate problem was something else, and it had a name and surname: Emilian

EMILIANAThe Baseli house was an hour outside of Rome. I had to get up earlier than usual to avoid the traffic jam on the highway. I was born and raised in Palermo, but when I was ten, my mom was offered her dream job as an economist at a company that specialized in textile exports.Of course, my dad and I supported her. We weren't the most affectionate family, but we showed our love through actions rather than words. Despite the complicated relationship my dad and I had, it was entirely different with my mom for both of us.My father literally saw through his wife's eyes, and although he didn't like to show affection in public, I was aware during my childhood of how much he loved both of us.It was fortunate for me because I was genuinely repellent to displays of affection. I detested excessive cuddling and felt like vomiting every time I heard couples using ridiculous nicknames. When they started with that sappiness, I knew it would last a long time, and it didn't surprise me. No sa