I saw her exiting the courthouse, coming down the steps with sure strides, as I made my way inside. She just nodded. I’ve always remembered that she wore pinstripes, and I considered that an odd choice. I only allowed myself a brief frivolous thought of another woman that day. I was still getting used to being a divorced woman, living in a small apartment on the Upper East Side, sharing custody of a child. My mind was overflowing with babysitter schedules and how to make my modest city paycheck last until the next payday. And there was Alexander to consider, the boy on whose behalf I was testifying that day.
The main reason for my divorce from Gerald was crystal clear to me, but I simply hadn’t had the time to pursue anything. Nevertheless, despite our very brief introduction a few weeks earlier, and this quick, courteous nod on the steps, something did register with me. I didn’t realize at the time, but looking back, I had to acknowledge that somewhere deep inside, I already knew I wanted to see her again.
The next time I saw her was at my office. There was that handshake again and I noticed for the first time how broad her hands were, as if slightly out of proportion with the rest of her. Her fingers were long, like her, but also wide, and so strong.
“I’m here for the Cindy Latimer case,” she said, her brown eyes resting on me. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Dunn.”
“Oh, it’s Whitehouse. I guess my name change hasn’t made it through all the channels yet.”
She tipped her head a fraction to the right. “I guess not,” she said, and only then let go of my hand.
“Please, call me Jodie.” She was wearing pinstripes again. I escorted her to my cubicle, where we huddled so closely over a case file I could smell her perfume. I recognized it as DKNY, one of my personal favorites.
“I guess I’ll see you in court then, Jodie,” she said, a broad smile on her face. I felt it then. I didn’t have much experience at picking women who were into women out of a crowd, but somehow, with Leigh Sterling, I knew. Built-in gaydar, perhaps. If only it had worked when I looked in the mirror before I married Gerald.
“I look forward to it.” I extended my hand and suddenly I couldn’t wait for her to take it in hers again. As she did, her smile transformed into a crooked grin.
“Poor word choice, perhaps,” she offered. “Considering what happened to the girl on whose behalf you’ll be testifying.”
I was so taken aback, I didn’t immediately know what to say. I still stood there, slightly entranced by this woman who opened up rather a few possibilities in my mind, that I could only mumble, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be unprofessional about it.”
She gave my hand one last squeeze. “Day after tomorrow, then?”
“See you there.” I watched her walk off.
“Earth to Jodie,” Muriel in the cubicle next to me whispered. “Come back to us, please. The New York City Administration for Children’s Services needs you. The children need you.”
“Shut up,” I hissed, feeling caught out.
“You’re smitten.” Muriel couldn’t let it go.
I sat back down, hoping that disappearing from her sight would put a stop to her teasing.
“You don’t giggle like that when Dan comes to see you, Jodie. And you especially don’t stutter like that.”
I wheeled my chair back so as to get a good look at her. “I wasn’t stuttering.”
“Hm-mm.” Muriel rolled her eyes at me. “Sure, girl. Believe what you want. I’m just an innocent bystander, that’s all.”
“What do you think of her?”
“Of her?” She pursed her lips together. “Hot piece of ass, for sure. As for what I think of you, Mizz Whitehouse… I think you want a slice of that.”
I shook my head. “Please, Muriel. Must you be so crass?” I said it in the voice I used to impersonate our supervisor.
“I must.” Muriel stretched her legs and rested her feet on an overflowing trashcan. “I must also discuss this further with you over drinks after work.”
“I can’t tonight. I have Troy.”
“Then you and Troy must come to dinner and we shall discuss this further while Francine helps him with his homework.”
“He’s five, Muriel. He doesn’t have homework yet.”
“Then she’ll build a fort with him. Whatever. God knows the woman is broody and she loves that child. Do it for her.” She tapped her thumbs together. “And you’d better know who to call to babysit when you and the sexy ADA go on a date.”
The ringing of Muriel’s phone interrupted our conversation. Before she picked up, she pointed her forefinger at me, as if to say that what she’d just proposed was non-negotiable.
Our first date happened weeks later. After the Cindy Latimer case, Leigh rushed to another appointment and we barely had a chance to say goodbye. A similar case put us back in court together, only this time Leigh didn’t win and instead of being placed in a state facility for his protection, Joey Williams, the child in question, was sent back to his family.
“Drink?” was all she said.
It was October, and the city was cold and wet. I’d stepped in a puddle on the way over to court and one of my shoes was soaked. Troy was at his dad’s and when I looked into Leigh’s eyes to say “Yes, please” I already felt a little bit better about the unfairness of the system and its repercussions on Joey.
My instinct and Muriel both turned out to be correct. Not even fifteen minutes into our date, Leigh said, “Just so you know, Jodie, I’m into women and I like you.”
“That’s very forward.” My heart was thumping beneath my thick woolen sweater.
“I mean,” she continued, “I could be all coy about it. Throw out some feelers. Probe gently into your personal life, but after the afternoon we’ve had, I don’t really have the energy for games like that.”
I nodded pensively, as if mulling over what she’d just said, while really I’d been dreaming about a moment like this—in various degrees of hotness—for weeks. From the get-go, she was someone whose presence in my life, no matter how small and infrequent, I couldn’t shake. It sat there, at the back of my mind, coming to the fore out of the blue, and often late at night when I couldn’t sleep.
“Additionally,” Leigh hadn’t finished yet, “I get a rather distinct sort of vibe off you. I wouldn’t be saying all of this if I didn’t.” She ended with a wide smile. One that shot straight through my flesh, to body parts untouched for years.
“Well.” I looked into my glass of cheap wine. Despite its acid taste, it was nearly finished. “I guess I’d better buy another round then.”
“I’d much rather do something else with you than sit here and get drunk,” Leigh said.
“Like what?” I asked, already mesmerized by the twinkle in her eyes.
Her response came in the shape of another smile. She bit her bottom lip, and I wished my teeth were doing that to her.
I pull myself from the floor, avoid the view of the ocean, and go straight upstairs. I pull some clothes out of my overnight bag, and as I turn, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. As expected, my eyes are red-rimmed, my skin blotched, my cheeks puffy. I can’t help but wonder if I’m looking at a woman who has done the right thing. Because if it was right to let her go, then why does it hurt so much? Why this urge to undo? To go back? To sacrifice, now that it’s too late?
But I’m a mother. First and foremost, I am Troy Dunn’s mother, and I want another child. It was one of the first things I told Leigh six years ago. Nothing is more important to me than my child. And I will have another. Was she not listening when I said that? Because I said it often, and in a clear voice. Of course, I waited. I needed to know where things were going with her first. Needed Troy and her to get acquainted. Needed to build our life together first.
Judging from the woman looking back at me in the mirror, I’ve gone and destroyed that life together. Yet, despite the blistering pain, somewhere beneath my ribcage, a sense of relief builds. I’m free now. No more fights. No more energy wasted on trying to convince h
er that this may actually be something she wants as well. No more talking to deaf ears. I know what I want. I can see it so clearly. Troy and I in Central Park pushing a pram. The look on his face when I first bring his brother or sister home. The wonder in his eyes. The first time he realizes he’s someone’s big brother now.
Over the past year, those thoughts have become my fantasies much more than anything I wanted Leigh to do to me.
I push a finger into the pillowy flesh of my tear-stained cheek. These signs of heartbreak will fade away over time, as will the most acute pain. I’ll pull myself together. Go for a walk on the beach alone. Return to the city tomorrow. Go to work the day after and pick Troy up from his dad’s in the evening. I will hug him, and explain to him why Leigh couldn’t stay with us, and then I will hug him some more—for both our benefit. And our life will go on without her, until it’s not just me and Troy anymore, and we welcome a newborn baby into our home.
I nod resolutely at the woman in the mirror. Her eyes brighten a tad. Then I catch a glimpse of the bed behind me, the bed Leigh didn’t even sleep in, and it hits me again that she’s gone. For good.
CHAPTER THREE
When I arrived at our apartment on Saturday after the drive back from The Hamptons, I was in such a state, I’m surprised I managed to throw some spare panties in a suitcase. Ours was not an easily uproot-able life. I moved into Jodie’s apartment on York Avenue not long after we got together. My place was bigger, but hers was rent-controlled and located only a few blocks from Gerald’s townhouse on East 78th Street. The plan was to find a place together after I’d been with Schmidt & Burke for a while, but that never happened.
So, now, I feel like it’s Jodie’s bell I’m ringing. I can hardly still call it ours, not even in my head. She buzzes me up. She knows I’m coming to collect my things. I already know that I won’t be able to move everything I want this time either. She’ll just have to live with my stuff for a while longer, until I figure out a more permanent place to stay.
I don’t knock immediately when I reach the front door of 3B, but the door opens anyway.
“Hey,” Jodie says and gestures for me to come inside. It’s strange to have her do that while the key to this apartment still sits snugly in my pocket.
My heart sinks when I see the two suitcases and the couple of boxes she has piled up in a corner. She wants me out so badly she packed up my things.
“You’ve been busy.” I head over to the boxes.
“Look, I know you wanted to see Troy, but he’s staying over at Jake’s after his soccer game.”
“How is he?”
Jodie stops in her tracks and looks at me as if I have absolutely no right to inquire about the well-being of her son, a child I shared a home with for almost six years. “What do you want me to say, Leigh? That he misses you? That you leaving has him crying himself to sleep at night? Because, yes, that’s what he does. You know he adores you and it hurts.”
I bite back the tears. “I wish you’d stop saying that I’m leaving you.” I lean against the boxes, looking for some sort of support. “Because, to me, it feels much more as if you’re not giving me an option to stay.”
Jodie holds up her hands. “Let’s not do this again.” Almost instantly, her arms go limp again, drooping by her side. She’s not looking very glam today, despite the glossiness of that skirt she’s wearing. “I can’t.”
“I want to say goodbye, Jodie. I want to see him.”
“Of course. I’ll set something up. I promise. Today, I just couldn’t—” Jodie wrings her hands together.
“I understand.” It’s not as if I have any claims to make on her child.
“Where are you staying?” She struts to the couch and sits, not looking me in the eyes.
“At a colleague’s.” When I arrived back in the city on Saturday afternoon, I decided to call Sonja on a whim. Most likely because I was in dire need of some admiration.
“Not Sonja?” Jodie asks, the inflection in her tone indicating that she already knows the answer. And that I’ve just reached a whole new level of despicableness.
I just shrug. It’s easy for her. She still has a home.
“I can’t take all of this now.” I point at the boxes and think of the rickety pull-out couch in Sonja’s broom cupboard which doubles as a spare room. “I just came to get some essentials.”
“You seem to have gotten by without them for the past week.” In a way, it satisfies me that she’s getting worked up because I’m staying at Sonja’s. Perhaps it wasn’t the most dignified choice, seeing as Sonja blatantly hit on me one time Jodie joined us for after-work drinks, but what’s the point of caring about that now?
“Can we please get through this in a civilized manner, Jodes?” I sigh. “It’s hard enough as it is.” My mind flashes back to that night when Jodie met Sonja. Jodie sat there pouting like a wronged teenager, sulking with a martini glass in her hand, her back to me and the rest of my colleagues. After I’d let her stew for half an hour, I took her home and showed her how much room there was for another woman in my life. “No one takes it like you, Jodie,” I’d said to her while ripping her panties off her. “And you know it.”
She nods and rests her head on her upturned palm, fingers cradling her jaw. “This place is not exactly spacious either. Just… don’t wait too long.”
I try to find her eyes, but she doesn’t let me. I suppose asking if we could, at some point, still be friends, is out of the question. “I won’t.” I turn to the suitcases. “Are my suits in here?”
“They’re still in the closet. I wanted to leave them hanging up.” And it’s this mundane, homely piece of information that kills me the most. Because Jodie can’t help but care about things like that, just as she can’t leave any dishes in the sink before she goes to bed. Having my stuff linger here must be terrible for her, not just on a personal level, but it must seriously mess with her OCD.
“I’ll just take those and the suitcases. I’ll come back for the boxes as soon as I can.” I can’t begin to imagine what opening these boxes will do to me, knowing that she packed them.
“Okay.” Suddenly, she stands. “Please, come here.” Her voice has grown small.
I don’t question it, just go to her.
“Just… one last hug. To say goodbye properly.” Jodie’s a few inches shorter than I and when she looks up at me like this, her eyes pleading and her lips trembling, I actually want to question my desire not to have children—again.
I wrap my arms around her. Her head presses against the flesh above my breast, as it has done countless times, and at first the embrace we stand in is strangely soothing, until wetness spreads where my blouse is open, and Jodie is sobbing, her tears hot against my skin.
“Hey.” I curl my fingers around her neck, also a tried and tested gesture between us, and pull her up so I can look at her. I know this sucks, I want to say, but what the hell kind of difference will it make now? I wipe away some of her tears with the back of my hand, but it’s pointless, because a gazillion more of them moisten my hand and her cheek, as if something has broken behind her eyes, something that, right now, looks like it can never be fixed again. So, instead of talking, I slant my head toward her, and I kiss her. Her lips taste salty and they are slippery, but she easily allows me access to her mouth. My tongue slides in and I try not to think of the circumstances. I try not to wonder about the uselessness of break-up sex. I’m not even sure I can do it. I’m not sure this can go further than this sloppy, wet kiss, which could be considered as part of that goodbye hug she asked for.
Or perhaps she was asking for more.
Jodie’s lips are frantic on mine. She bites and sucks as if there’s no tomorrow. I can’t blame her, of course, because for us, there is none. There’s only now. One last moment. One last opportunity to be Jodie and Leigh. One last chance to change our minds, perhaps? But no, I think we both know that ship has sailed. This is just a way of saying goodbye, as opposed to the hurried manner in which I fled the
house in The Hamptons.
Jodie’s tugging at my shirt buttons already. Her mouth has descended to my neck. Her hands are on my belly, crawling upward, and her fingers slip under the underwire of my bra. I have no more time to question if I really want to do this. Jodie has decided for me. For once, I let her. We can have this. Even if it’s just an instant during which we don’t have to face the consequences of who we have become. Two people wanting vastly different things from life.
So I hoist Jodie’s top up, and we unglue for a second, and I still can’t find her eyes. She can fuck me, but she can’t look at me. Somehow, I understand. Understanding each other was never an issue. We’re both very good at laying out arguments, displaying logic, and making each other see why we want certain things. If only life’s issues could be resolved by understanding each other.
Because I understand what Jodie needs now. She needs to forget. She needs a moment to hold onto, something between us to look back on other than all this pain we’ve caused each other. And right now, in the state we’re in, this can only be physical.
Jodie doesn’t wait for me to undo her bra. She rips it roughly off and throws it on the sofa behind her. She barely gives me the opportunity to take in her breasts one last time. Those tiny nipples of hers, that can grow hard just by being gazed upon. They’re so pink and perfect, but there’s no time to dwell. Jodie practically grabs me by the neck and shoves them in my mouth. She’s not usually one to be so forceful, but that, too, I get. She wants to leave an impression, make a memory. And, perhaps, she also wants to make sure that, grief-stricken as I am, I don’t end up in Sonja’s bed.
Her mouth is by my ear and at first she just sighs and moans, but then she says, “Fuck me, Leigh.” And if she wanted the hinges to come off, her wish has been granted. I move away from her breasts and let her nipple fall from between my lips.
“Look at me,” I say, my voice demanding. “Look at me, Jodes.”
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