February Kisses

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February Kisses Page 12

by Hildred Billings


  More than one person had called her name by the time she finally opened her texting app.

  “Would you like to come over to my place for dinner tomorrow? I’d love to talk to you about your article : )”

  She put her phone away before she could regret sending that message. There were two hours to lose to tea and lattes. Time enough to fret about her own self-discovery later!

  Chapter 17

  SALAMA

  Cribbage was more foreign than croquet, and Salama never got the hang of banging around balls, let alone the rules of the game. Sorry, Rana. Sorry, Amin. Sorry… Fatima. Yeah. That had been the most awkward youth-oriented excursion she had ever attended. When she wasn’t hitting her ball into creeks of rushing water, she was playing out of turn and crying because she saw a garter snake beneath a bush.

  Hopefully, cribbage wouldn’t be so dramatic. (She would be woefully wrong. She should never underestimate the power of women getting dramatic over cribbage.)

  It had been a week since her dinner with Amin and subsequent text she received from Heaven, who had been preparing for the last cribbage night. Since then, they had embarked on a slow and tentative, yet quite mindful relationship that was still in the early stages. Salama hesitated to say they were having a full-blown honeymoon period, but then again, she had never been in a relationship where sex would probably happen and breakfast in bed the absolute norm.

  Okay. So maybe it was a honeymoon period, but they also spent so much time talking about their life experiences and how they felt that it was akin to hanging out with a new best friend. Wasn’t that how it was supposed to be, though?

  Heaven’s face lit up when Salama entered the café on Wednesday night. There weren’t a lot of people there yet, but that simply meant Salama had a great opportunity to open a conversation with the pretty proprietress behind the counter. When she had asked how Heaven felt about being open with their relationship, she had received a shrug that said, “This town talks. We couldn’t keep it a secret if they tried. Not that I’m suggesting we do.”

  So they didn’t.

  They shared a kiss over the counter before Heaven finished washing up the dishes in the back. Salama, who was still on a quest to be more extroverted in polite company, approached the few people sitting by the cribbage boards and met their gaping mouths with a smile.

  “Hi. It’s my first time here. I’ve never played before, so I’m hoping you’ll teach me.” They continued staring at her as if they were fish in a bowl. Blub, blub, blub. Little bubbles popping against the surface, each filled with nothing but air. “Is there something wrong? Do I have something on my face?”

  She expected them to comment on her kiss with Heaven, a woman most of them had assumed was straight for so many years. Instead, she got, “You ain’t wearin’ your scarf. Don’t think we’ve ever seen your hair before.”

  Well, geez! Salama hadn’t been self-conscious when she left her apartment that night, but she sure was now! “Yeah, sometimes I don’t wear it.” That was all she said. That was the only explanation any of them needed – including herself. Sometimes I wear it. Sometimes I don’t. It’s a journey of experimentation and transitioning to whatever life I should live.

  Her editor had rolled his eyes at her article, but in truth, Salama hadn’t written it for him, or even the thousands of readers who came by their website every month. She wrote it for herself. For Heaven. For any woman struggling with opposing sides of her identity and thought she had to entertain either one right now. If her editor decided to publish it? Bonus. But Heaven also recognized his frustration that she had submitted that instead of the next official piece in her series. Tonight would determine what she wrote for her conclusion.

  Not only was she now coupled with one of the most recognizable women in town… well, she still had some platonic friends to make!

  Heaven brought over pots of decaf tea and complimentary heart-shaped cookies that were now old since Valentine’s season was long passed. She had to ask everyone if it was still February. Yes, but only by one day.

  “Oh, good! So I’m not a loser if I give you Valentine’s cookies.” She held the plate over everyone’s heads before placing it beside Salama. “My favorite lady gets first dibs.”

  The jaws dropped again. Salama couldn’t help but tuck her hair behind her ear and bask in their attentions. “You heard the woman.” She grabbed a cookie, broke it in half, and passed the side with more sprinkles to her girlfriend. “Now you have to go easy on me when we play.”

  Heaven closed shop as soon as the last of the straggler’s arrived. She sat with her patrons, one arm wrapped around Salama as vain attempts to teach her how to play cribbage were made. It didn’t make a lick of sense, and she did so badly that not even people taking it easy on her could spare the humiliation, but she laughed so hard that she almost choked on her own spit.

  “How I Got To Know My Small Town In Three Easy Steps: Step 1, Act Like I Belong With the Locals.” It was working so far, wasn’t it?

  “You get the last cookie.” Heaven tipped her girlfriend’s head back and shoved half the thing in her mouth. More laughter sputtered through the café. Experienced women told her to hold off on killing her girlfriend until at least six months in. Any sooner was tacky.

  “Kill her? I don’t wanna kill her!” Heaven gave Salama a loving look. “Then I don’t get kisses, and that’s the best thing!”

  For every person shaking their head that night, there was another laughing along and inviting the love birds to the next big event. Heaven turned them all down. Salama informed her that they would be going. She’d thank Salama later.

  It was about time Heaven made some friends around here, huh?

  THE END

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  MARCH MADNESS

  (A Year In Paradise #3)

  Joan Sheffield and Lorri Abrams have been the best of partners for the past eight years, but their mission to have a baby has put a damper on the love they once shared. After the most recent miscarriage, Joan has begun questioning the point of everything she does.

  It doesn’t help that Lorri’s way of avoiding the pain is by immersing herself in her friends and college basketball tournaments. Two women who were once closer than Adam and Eve have now grown apart, and they both fear that nothing, not even a baby, could patch them together again.

  Yet what Joan doesn’t know is that Lorri still holds something close to her past. And Lorri doesn’t know what her crafty partner has been up to for so many years.

  Will the madness finally end?

  EARLY MARCH

  Hildred Billings is a Japanese and Religious Studies graduate who has spent her entire life knowing she would write for a living someday. She has lived in Japan a total of four times in four different locations, from the heights of the Japanese alps to the hectic Tokyo suburbs, with a life in Shikoku somewhere in there too. When she’s not writing, however, she spends most of her time talking about Asian pop music, cats, and bad 80’s fantasy movies with anyone who will listen…or not.

  Her writing centers around themes of redemption, sexuality, and death, sometimes all at once. Although she enjoys writing in the genre of fantasy the most, she strives to show as much reality as possible through her characters and situations, since she’s a furious realist herself.

  Currently, Hildred lives in Oregon with her girlfriend and dreams of a cat.

  Connect with Hildred on any of the following:

  Website .:. Twitter .:. Facebook

  br />   Hildred Billings, February Kisses

 

 

 


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