Thankfully, Wendy walked quickly to the large kitchen Kat’s father had designed when he was a teenager and his parents remodeled. A range with six burners separated the kitchen workspace from the small table they used daily. She’d taken extra care to tidy the kitchen as if it were interviewing for the job. She was glad for the small bouquet of flowers her father had gathered from the yard. The mint he used offset the mustiness that crept up from the basement. She had emptied the drying racks and stowed them under the sink to leave as much free counter space in the cooking area as possible. Now she eyed the counter closest to them thinking she should have stored the bread box and napkin basket in the cupboard below.
“The table can be extended,” Kat said to direct Wendy’s attention away from the clutter. “There are two leaves that would give you more workspace,” she continued, “and there’s another table in the dining room.”
Wendy followed where Kat was pointing through a doorway. “May I?” She inclined her head.
“Of course. Whatever you need to see. I see this as a nice staging area for the cake, plates and forks up on the sideboard and cake on the table. The French doors open to the porch.”
“When was the house built?”
“Nineteen nineteen. My father lived here when he was a child and later ended up buying it back.”
Wendy turned to her, surprise on her face.
“Your father?”
“I live here with my mom and dad. And my son.” Recalling all the criticism her friends had delivered when she moved back in, she felt her defensive shield rise.
Wendy crossed her arms. “Your mom and dad?”
“I know how it looks. I really didn’t want to move back home, but after the divorce…” She didn’t want to say more. The last thing she wanted to talk about was the end of her marriage. Kat had told Wendy at the reunion that she was divorcing, but she’d never told her why.
“I get it. No need to explain. I just wondered how long your parents have lived here.”
“They’ve always lived here.”
“Wait, you grew up here?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I’m just…It’s nothing,” Wendy said.
“It’s not nothing. Look at you…” She gestured to Wendy’s crossed arms. “That made you mad. Why?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“It can’t be more embarrassing than moving back in with your parents.” A flash of silver in the driveway caught her attention. “Just a moment,” she said to Wendy. Back in the kitchen, she opened the door to the basement and hollered, “Travis! Your dad’s here. Hustle!”
Luckily, he was ready, his flip-flops slapping the stairs as he bounded up. “See you later!” Kat called as the back door slammed. She worried that Travis probably appeared aloof to Wendy. She missed the boy who used to hug her goodbye and wore whatever she picked out for him rather than the shorts and T-shirts he wore year-round. She had given up those battles long ago.
Travis tucked his guitar into the trunk of Jack’s midlife crisis before folding himself into the passenger seat. The car reversed out of the driveway as if the house was on fire. Did she have to explain anything about that whole exchange to Wendy, or could she simply move on?
* * *
Wendy stood looking out at the driveway wondering what to say. Kat faced the window as well, her shoulders rising and falling with her deep breaths. Her fingers found the rubber band that held her blond ponytail. She slipped the band off and ran her fingers through waves and waves of hair as sleek, thick and long as it had been in high school. Wendy had always been envious of Kat’s hair, first of her French braids when they were freshmen and later the sophisticated buns she kept in place with a pencil. Her own chestnut-brown curls had never been tamed so easily.
“There. Now I can relax.” Kat turned around and her easy-going smile was back. “I’m having a spiked lemonade. Care to join me?”
“Absolutely,” Wendy said. She glanced around the spacious room split in half by the stovetop. A large bulletin board covered one wall. Almost half was home to business cards held in place by lady-bug push pins. A calendar, with reminders penned in purple marker on nearly every square, served as the centerpiece. Instead of envisioning how she would utilize the space for the wedding, Wendy pictured a teenaged Kat surrounded by her friends. No wonder she’d been at the center of the popular crowd with space like this to entertain in. Completely at home, Kat stood by an uncluttered yellow counter, popping tops off two bottles, handing one to Wendy.
“Cheers,” Kat said, clinking her bottle to Wendy’s before she took a sip.
Wendy sealed the toast with her own sip. “You have two refrigerators. This is a caterer’s dream, unless they are packed to the gills already.” A single cupboard stood in between them, just wide enough for the microwave. A fruit basket hung in front of a small window and held a few dried gourds. She looked for evidence of what kinds of meals Kat’s family prepared. One counter had several cutting boards and knives hung from a magnetic strip on the end of the cupboard which suggested they did some cooking, yet no cooking smells lingered. She didn’t pick up the heaviness of hot oils or any spices to give clues to favorite dishes.
“I couldn’t share a fridge with my parents.” Kat took another sip and studied Wendy. “Why did you want to know how long they’ve lived here?”
“I hoped you’d forgotten about that.”
“I don’t forget things easily,” she said.
Caught, Wendy confessed. “I used to pass this house on my way home from high school. Sometimes I’d see you.” Kat had done so many after-school activities that they almost never walked home at the same time, but Wendy distinctly remembered seeing Kat walk right by the house. “I never saw you walk up the drive. You walked all the way to Aqueduct.”
“You were spying on me?”
“Everyone watched you in high school.”
“Well nobody watching me would have understood.” She disappeared into her thoughts.
“A house like this, I pictured you hosting all the in-crowd parties.”
Kat’s eyes met Wendy’s. “Hardly.” For a moment she seemed lost in the past. Then her expression cleared. She set down her drink and stepped toward the range. “Most of the burners only light with matches. We keep a box here.” She reached into one of the numerous cupboards that hung above the countertops.
Business. Not pleasure. Wendy tested each of the six burners. “And the oven?”
“It gets hot. It’s just that the numbers are all worn off, so we don’t really know how hot.”
“How do you bake?”
“We prefer to leave that to the professionals.”
“Luckily, you know one.” Wendy didn’t want to talk business. As old as it was, the kitchen had generous workspace, and she knew she could make it work. She wanted to know what Kat thought people wouldn’t understand and why she hadn’t wanted to invite her friends to her house. “Why did you walk to Aqueduct if you lived here?”
Kat pulled her hair over her shoulder and started to lift the ends toward her face. Her eyes met Wendy’s again, and she ran her fingers through it instead. “One time, I was walking with these girls, and they started talking about who lived in this house. They had this whole vision of how spoiled the kids must have been.”
Wendy ducked her head, ashamed for thinking the same thing.
“I don’t know why, but I agreed with them. And then I was stuck. I couldn’t very well walk up the drive and wave goodbye to them.”
“Why would you agree with them?”
Kat rolled her eyes. “Come on. You know that fitting in is the most important thing when you’re a kid. It’s hard to fit in when your parents live in a place like this. Even when they can barely afford it and put what little money there is into fixing it up.”
“I’m sorry,” Wendy whispered.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“But I was one of those kids. I assumed whoever lived here was rich. And I was jealo
us. My dad and I lived in this shitty apartment on the other side of the freeway.”
“Where does he live now?”
“He and his new wife have a place in Burbank.”
“And you?”
“I’m in Eagle Rock. Cliché, I know.”
“I don’t follow. Why is that cliché?” Kat asked.
“It’s where all the lesbians live.”
Kat’s hazel eyes widened just a little. If Wendy hadn’t been watching carefully, she would have missed it. These were the things she would share with Cory to prove that Kat had not split with her husband because she’d finally realized she should have been dating women. She remembered Kat’s curiosity after the reunion and how, though she expressed sympathy that Wendy’s relationship had ended, she seemed more comfortable being around her once she was single.
“You said the couple has already toured the yard. Did you talk about where they’ll set up tables?”
“Let me show you.” She carried her empty bottle with her, so Wendy drained hers and followed Kat onto a wide white porch. Kat took her bottle and dropped it over the railing where it clinked against other bottles. “Recycling goes here,” she said nonchalantly. Wendy stood mesmerized by the space. To her right, a patio stretched from the porch to the garage. To her left, lush lawn stretched back seventy-five feet or so to a large hedge. Trees that extended above the two-story house lined the edges of the property creating what felt like an oasis. It was hard to believe she was just a few blocks away from one of the major Los Angeles freeways.
“They said they’re inviting thirty to forty. I thought if they use the church’s round tables, they could fit everyone on the lawn.” Kat stepped past her and walked out to a single tall swing. She sat down and kicked off, rocking gently. “But I’m sure you’ve got a better eye for space. What do you think?”
Wendy thought that seeing Kat in her native environment was messing with her head. Why else would she be contemplating how romantic it was to watch Kat swaying with the orange glow of the sunset behind her? It must have just been her high-school self reveling in the fact that she was at Kat’s house, in Kat’s yard.
Which she had asked her to assess. Wendy switched to professional and paced the lawn area, feeling out the space where the tables would go, how much room to allow for chairs for her waitstaff to pass through. “It’ll be tight, but it will work,” she said.
“I’m texting the guys right now to let them know!”
With Kat’s attention on the screen, Wendy wandered to the patio. “Is the pool yours too?” she asked, peeking over grapevines that were just budding.
“Of course. And behind the garage is the turtle yard.”
“I wondered where you kept your turtles,” Wendy said. Then she burst out laughing. “Who has turtles?”
“We do. Actually, they are tortoises. Want to meet them?” Her buzzing phone stole her attention once again. “Evan and Jeremy want to know when they can choose the menu.”
“I’m at Fairbanks all afternoon tomorrow. Can they meet me there?”
Kat’s thumbs flew across her screen. Then she looked back to Wendy. “Did you want to meet the tortoises?”
“How can I resist?”
“There are some scraps for them in the compost bin inside. Let me grab it. More lemonade?”
The first one had gone down so easily that a second one truly tempted her. “I shouldn’t on an empty stomach.”
“Then let me feed you,” Kat said. “We’ll feed us and the tortoises.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“But I want to. You’re helping me, and I’m sure you get tired of feeding everyone.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Unless you have something better to do. I understand if you need to get going. I’m all loose-endsy now that Jack takes Travis to band practice. But it’s nice not to have to sit there and make awkward small talk with the parents I used to call friends.”
There were so many things Wendy wanted to ask. She wanted to know what had happened to Kat’s marriage, why they’d decided to divorce, and why it was awkward being around her friends. And she wanted to know why she was doing so much to help a gay couple from her church. There were so many questions that she couldn’t think of a single thing to actually say. Kat’s phone buzzed, and she quickly read the message and passed her phone to Wendy.
“They’re in. Want to text them the address?”
Wendy typed as she followed Kat back inside. She set the phone on the counter. “Why are you doing so much for these guys?” she asked.
As Kat pulled a few bags from her refrigerator, she started explaining about the church again.
Wendy interrupted her. “I know that part. I’m just curious about why it matters to you so much. Since, you know…”
Kat piled ingredients on the counter. “Since I’m straight? Come on, some of my best friends are gay.”
“I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right at all.”
“It’s okay. Even my mom wanted to know why it matters so much to me. It doesn’t seem right that if I wanted to remarry, the church would happily let me stand at the altar, but just because Jeremy and Evan are both men, it’s not allowed. It doesn’t seem fair. It’s not like people can control who they fall in love with.”
“You really can’t,” Wendy said, loving Kat a little bit for understanding.
“I’m in a position to help take some of the sting out of how the church rejected them. Why wouldn’t I?”
“True that,” Wendy said. “But still. It’s a pretty wonderful thing to do.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Kat was so kind and genuine. Didn’t she know what a rarity that was? She had to know that most people just went along with the crowd. “You’re amazing.”
Kat rolled her eyes. “No more than you are.”
“Not true. You’re in a totally different position, like you were on Halloween, junior year.”
“Was there something special that year?”
“I wore that gigantic heart, and everyone teased me. All day people threw mean comments about how dumb I was to confuse Halloween with Valentine’s Day.”
“That does seem like a weird costume.”
“You don’t remember it?” Wendy was surprised.
“Should I?”
“You were in a flock of your friends, all of you with your matching curled bangs, blue eye shadow and off-the-shoulder sweaters. They were dissing my costume, but you stopped. You plucked the cardboard glasses off my head and sang, ‘Turn around bright eyes.’”
Kat’s hand flew to her chest, and she dramatically continued, “‘Once upon a time, I was falling in love. But now I’m only falling apart. Nothing I can say. A total eclipse of the heart!’ Oh my god, I so remember that now! I loved that costume!”
“You were the only one who got it.”
“Everyone else was laughing at your white tights.”
“Can we forget about the tights?” Wendy cringed. “I had chicken legs back then.”
“Are you kidding? You’ve always had great legs. And you’ve never had to worry about your butt being too big.”
“I hope you never worried about that.”
Kat laughed. “Worried, she says, like my big butt is a thing of the past.”
“I wouldn’t call your butt big.”
Kat leveled her gaze on Wendy. “What would you call it?”
Wendy gulped, struggling to come up with the right adjective. She couldn’t very well say nice, though it was the first one that came to mind. Or perfect. “Shapely?”
“Nice job, Bright Eyes!” Kat said, rewarding her with one of her perfect smiles. “You just earned yourself dinner. I live on bean and cheese burritos. Is that okay with you?” She held up a bag of tortillas and a block of cheese.
“Of course,” Wendy said.
She was soon transfixed by Kat’s dinner preparations. She watched in awe as Kat spread a thin layer of refried beans in the mi
ddle of a tortilla, grated some cheese on top of it and popped it into the microwave. When it came out a minute later, Kat quickly folded it into a burrito. Beans and cheese, warm in a tortilla. The woman was an amazing advocate, but not an amazing cook.
Perhaps, Wendy mused, I could help with that.
Chapter Three
“Who was here earlier?” Millie traded Kat an empty Diet Coke for a new one.
“Wendy.” Kat perched on the edge of her mother’s bed. Across from her Millie reclined in her favorite purple cotton kaftan on the small sage-green sofa, her short legs propped on a matching ottoman and crossed at the ankle.
“The caterer.”
“Yes. She said our kitchen is going to be great.”
“She stayed a long time.” Millie studied her cuticles and pushed them down with her thumbnail.
Kat couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face, remembering Wendy’s fascination feeding the tortoises grape leaves one after another. “She was having a fun time with the tortoises.”
“This is the friend from high school?”
“No. We barely knew each other back then.”
Kat reflected on telling Wendy how she’d hidden where she lived from the girls. Wendy had never been one to conceal who she was to make or keep friends. She’d been the girl to petition the school to take her girlfriend to prom. When Wendy had asked her earlier why she was defending Evan and Jeremy, Kat should have told Wendy how she wished she’d stood up to her friends when they’d made fun of the story their school newspaper ran about prom. They had been critical of Wendy’s dress, of her hair, of the fact that she didn’t try to look like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles. She had been herself.
And she’d been beautiful.
She still was, Kat realized. It had been a long time since Kat had considered a woman’s beauty without it being a comparison to her own style or how she was aging.
“Well it’s nice you’re friends now. I still can’t believe your Momzilla friends chose Jack over you.”
Kat's Nine Lives Page 3