by Sandy Lowe
I, on the other hand, am a little short and a little chubby, and no matter how closely cropped I ask my barber to cut my hair, my curls always look a little unruly. I tend to favor sweater vests and bowties and Sam says I look like a short, chubby Bill Nye, the Science Guy. Women tended to flock around me to pinch my cheeks and tell me how adorable I am.
Over the next couple of weeks, I found out her name was Lauren and she was a fitness instructor. Sam was entirely enthralled with her and came home every day with a new tidbit of information.
“Did you know she likes scuba diving? She told me she’s into crocheting. She just started learning to play the harmonica.”
Sam already had a girlfriend, so I wasn’t sure why she was obsessing over Lauren, but I knew it was a matter of time before she’d bring her over for dinner and I’d have to make small talk about aerobics or how blond was too blond or some other such nonsense.
I hadn’t even spoken a word to her yet and I already hated her, so I was particularly irritated when I came home to find her standing at my front door. She turned as I pulled into the driveway and ran down the porch steps to meet me. Her face was pink and blotchy as if she’d maybe been crying.
“Hi,” she said before I even managed to get out of my car. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but my car won’t start.”
“I don’t know anything about cars,” I said, shortly. “Sam can probably help you when she gets home.”
“You don’t understand.” Her eyes started to fill with tears. “I have to be somewhere. It’s an emergency.”
I sighed, looking at my watch. It had been a long day at school. The students were more unruly than normal, and I had been looking forward to busting through these homework assignments before losing myself in an Orange Is the New Black marathon.
“Please,” she said again. “It’s an emergency.”
“Fine, come on.”
I got into the front seat and started tossing all of the old coffee cups, books, and spiral notebooks from the passenger seat into the back. She smiled as she got in, holding a Reese’s wrapper. I grabbed it from her hand, crumpled it, and tossed it into the back.
“Those are my favorites.”
I cast a sidelong glance at her slender figure and said nothing.
Noticing my look, she smiled. “I have to run a couple of extra miles to make up for it.”
I didn’t answer, and other than her occasional directional requests, we rode in silence. I imagined I was taking her to the gym so she wouldn’t miss some spin class. She directed me to turn onto Palm Street, and I was surprised when we pulled into the parking lot of Sunrise Manor.
“Isn’t this a hospice care?”
“Yes. Come in with me if you like.”
We walked in the front door to the antiseptic smell of heavy-duty cleaning supplies and cloyingly sweet air fresheners. The lobby was decorated in pale desert colors with beautiful artwork and overstuffed couches, but there was no mistaking what it was.
She led me down the hall, into a small room near the end. Bright pictures lined the walls of the room; they matched the wildly colored quilt on the bed. An old woman was in the bed, quiet. For a second, I thought she was dead, but I realized she was unconscious.
Lauren sat down next to the bed and reached for the old woman’s hand. “Hi, Gran. I’m here. I’ve brought a friend with me today. Her name is…” She looked back at me. “Sam always refers to you as her roomie.”
I smiled, sitting in the other chair. “I’m Kate. It’s nice to meet you.”
Lauren turned back to her grandmother, talking softly to the unconscious woman while I sat and listened, feeling more and more like an asshole with every word. She talked to the woman for about forty minutes, and in the course of that one-sided conversation, I found out that she had painted all of the pictures on the walls and had made the quilt for the old woman’s bed. I learned that her parents were both dead and that this grandmother was the only family Lauren had left in the world. I learned that yet again, I had judged someone by her appearance, and I was dead wrong. As always.
When she finally stood up to leave, Lauren leaned over and kissed the older woman on the forehead. She nodded at me with tears in her eyes and we left the building.
Getting back into the car, I cleared my throat. “That’s your grandmother?”
She nodded. “She’s been unconscious for a couple of weeks now. I wish she would just let go. It’s been a hard road for her.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you? It’s not as if I walk up to every neighbor who hates my guts and start talking to her about my personal life.”
I grimaced. “I don’t hate your guts. I just…I’m an asshole.”
She looked out the window. “Yeah, that’s true.”
We rode in silence for a while. I couldn’t help notice the way the gold streaks in her hair kind of shone in the late-afternoon sun.
“Look,” I started. “It’s not that I’m a total asshole…”
“Just a partial one?”
“Pretty much. I’m sorry. I made a judgment call based on your looks, and it wasn’t fair.”
She turned to glare at me. “No. It wasn’t. You assumed because I’m blond and fit that I’m some kind of shallow bitch not worthy of your great big intellect’s time.”
“That isn’t it. I just…”
“You just made erroneous assumptions, and now you feel like a jerk.”
“Yes. I do. I feel like a total jerk.”
“A complete and utter jerk,” she replied.
“A jerk of the highest order.”
“Jerky McJerkinson.”
“Vincent Van Jerk,” I said.
She glanced at me, smirking. “Well, at least we know we have something in common. We both agree that you’re a jerk.”
“We have something else in common,” I said. “We both love Jane Austen.”
She laughed. “Your roommate has been talking about me.”
“She’s smitten.”
“I imagine she is always smitten with a certain type of woman. I doubt it has anything to do with my love of Jane Austen.”
“I’m an English teacher.”
“I know. Sam told me.”
“Sam talks too much. But what’s your favorite Austen?”
“You first.”
“Okay, on three…” I paused to check for a nod of agreement. “One…two…three.”
“Pride and Prejudice,” she yelled, just as I was saying, “Northanger Abbey!”
“Ah, of course you love Pride and Prejudice. Obviously a sap for romance,” I said.
“I can’t say I’m surprised you’re a Northanger Abbey fan.”
“I do have a rather active imagination.”
We turned onto our street and I pulled into my driveway. Hesitating before getting out, I turned to look at her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for judging you. I’ve been…treated not so nicely recently.”
She patted me on the hand and got out of the car. Leaning back in, she said, “We’ve all been treated not so nicely, Kate. All of us.”
We’ve all been treated not so nicely. I thought about that a lot over the next few days. I’ve built such an incredible wall of bitterness around myself. It’s easy to say that women aren’t interested in me because they can’t see past Sam and her muscles and dark good looks, but really, it’s my own wall.
After that, I waved at Lauren whenever she waved at me, and one day, I decided to put down my doughnut and go for a jog with her. I know she slowed her pace to match mine, but it didn’t matter. It was fun. We started to become friends, and I could see what Sam saw in her.
And still Sam would come home ranting about her. I learned, through Sam, that she taught the fitness classes to pay the bills for her true passion, which was teaching yoga to seniors and those with disabilities. I learned that, like me, she was a vegetarian, and that she’d rather get a bouquet of organic produce as a gift than store-bought flowers.
In all of the years I had been friends with Sam, I had never let a woman come between us. When I realized I was falling in love with Lauren, I didn’t know what to do. So I did the only thing I could. I was honest.
It isn’t as easy as it sounds to tell someone that you’re falling in love with them and that you have to stop hanging out for your own sanity. I decided to give her a parting gift, so I showed up at her house one evening with a DVD of The Jane Austen Book Club and a paper bag filled with organic produce from the farmer’s market. She opened the door and smiled when she saw me.
“This is an amazing surprise.” She grinned. “Lucky for you, I have absolutely nothing going on tonight.”
I followed her inside and through the front room to the kitchen.
“Come on. I’m going to make us something to eat and we can watch the movie.”
“Lauren.” I cleared my throat. “I needed to talk to you.”
Greedily pawing through the paper bag, she looked up. “You sound so serious.”
“It is serious.”
She pulled up a stool and sat down. “Okay, then.”
“I know you and Sam have a thing going on, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. Not that I think I could get in the way of it, of course. I mean, I wouldn’t get in the way even if I could get in the way. It’s just, I’m starting to have these feelings for you, and that’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s natural. Who wouldn’t have feelings for you?”
I paused, embarrassed. Poker-faced, she remained silent, not helping me at all.
“So.” I took a deep breath in. “So.”
“So you want to stop being friends with me because you can’t handle having feelings for me?”
“Well, it’s not exactly—”
“Or you feel Sam has some right of first dibs and you’re going to honor that?”
“I’m starting to feel like a jerk,” I said.
“A total jerk.”
“A Jerky McJerkinson.” I grinned.
“Jerk Van Winkle,” she said, laughing.
“Lauren, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to risk falling in love with you when you’re starting a relationship with my best friend.”
She stood up and stepped forward, still smiling. “And who told you that Sam and I were dating?”
“Well, I just assumed, since she talks about you all the time.”
“What do they say about assumptions, Kate?”
I shook my head. “They make an ass out of you and me.”
“Yeah. But in this case, you’re the only ass.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry. Again. I’m not very good at this.”
She stepped closer. “Did you ever think to ask Sam why she was always talking about me so much?”
I looked up at her blond beauty, towering over me by at least four inches. “No, of course I didn’t.”
She smiled, leaning forward. “She’s been trying to set us up.”
I gulped. “She has?”
“Yeah. From the minute she found out that I thought you were adorable.”
I smiled. “I am rather adorable.”
“Even though you’re an ass.”
“I am an ass. Assey Mc—”
“Shut up.” She wrapped her arms around me.
I looked up into her eyes for just a second before closing mine and leaning into her kiss.
October Moon
Sheri Lewis Wohl
“This is stupid.” Lindy Branson stared at herself in the mirror and shuddered. Lord, she looked like…what? A reject from the Middle Ages? Or perhaps a wannabe Goth? The black velvet dress was long and low cut, making her boobs stand out way more than she was comfortable with. Her dark hair hung down her back in a single braid, and her mother had insisted she put on the sliver earrings that were simply not her style.
Her mother came around the counter and put both hands to her mouth. “Oh,” she breathed. “You look beautiful.”
Lindy didn’t agree. In her opinion, the whole thing was crazy. “Come on, Mom, this is so not me.” It wasn’t, either. She was not a dress-up kind of woman, and especially not in something like this. Frankly, she felt silly. Like a little girl playing in her mother’s closet.
“Don’t be a spoilsport. This is important.”
“To you.”
“Yes,” she said as she put both hands on her hips. Her gown, like Lindy’s, was velvet, only it was a rich blue instead of black. Her boobs weren’t falling out either. Apparently age had its perks. “It’s important to me. This is tradition.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. It was hard to buy into the tradition argument. Lindy had left for college at the University of Washington when she was eighteen and then stayed in Seattle to build her own life and career. Never once in the years she’d lived in this house had she seen her mother dress up in something like this and go party with the ladies. In the visits back home, her mom had failed to mention she was a Wiccan.
“Really. Look, you think you know everything there is to know about me, but you’d be sorely mistaken, my dear daughter. I have a life outside of all this.” She waved her hands as if to encompass the home. It was a nice house with comfortable furniture, colorful walls, and a breathtaking view of the river outside the windows. It was nice and, more important, normal.
“Dad was okay with this?” Somehow she just couldn’t envision her father thinking this was fine and dandy. He’d been a professor of accounting at Gonzaga University and way too logical in everything he did to be into something like Wicca. No matter how she came at it, she couldn’t see Dad buying in.
Her mother laughed and her face brightened. “Oh heavens, no. He thought I lost my mind, and when this night came around each year, he was convinced I’d gone over the edge.”
Now, that sounded like Dad. “But he didn’t stop you.”
Blue eyes narrowed, her mother regarded her carefully. “Lindy, let me ask you something. Has anyone ever told you what you could and couldn’t do?”
Fair question. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Well,” she smiled, “where exactly do you think you learned that from?”
Lindy laughed. “Touché. But really, Mom, black velvet and a witches party? You have to admit it’s a little crazy.”
“Not in the least. Magic is all around you, my dear daughter, you just have to allow yourself to be out to capturing the magic. Like I said, it’s tradition. We’ve been holding the annual Wicca gathering for over a decade. It’s time my daughter makes an appearance. I’m so happy you’re here.”
It wasn’t like she’d had a choice in coming. Mom had made it sound like the world would come to an end if she didn’t come home this weekend. She could have argued the point, but it wasn’t worth it. She’d learned a long time ago that there were times to argue with Mom and times to just give in. This was one of the latter.
“I’m only doing this for you. I think it’s crazy.”
“Go, see for yourself, and tell me in a couple hours if you still think I’ve lost my mind. Now let’s do something with your hair.”
She turned to study herself in the mirror once more. There was nothing wrong with her hair. It was long and straight because it was easy to take care of that way. The braid was tidy and simple. Perfect. Why she needed to do anything beyond putting on this silly dress she didn’t know. “My hair is fine.”
“No, it’s not. Amber is going to be there, you know.” She added that last comment softly, but that didn’t lesse
n the shock it sent through Lindy’s body. “Now sit while I undo this braid. Why you hide this beautiful hair I’ll never know.”
“Amber?” Even saying the name made her choke up. Slowly she lowered herself to a chair, and her mother took off the band holding the braid in place. Once her hair was loose, she began to run a brush through it. It was a little like when she was a kid and her mom would get her ready for school. Except she wasn’t a little girl, and what she’d just heard made her feel as though she couldn’t catch her breath. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she had asthma. After fifteen years, she needed to get over it, to get over her.
Her mother continued as if the bombshell she had just dropped was no big deal. “Yes, she’s on leave, and Karen told me she’s coming to the party.” She started piling Lindy’s hair on top of her head in some kind of snazzy updo.
For a moment Lindy closed her eyes and thought of the girl who’d been her first love. Amber had been everything Lindy wasn’t, tall and slender, blond and green-eyed. She’d been full of ambition and drive, and no one had been surprised when she’d secured a spot at West Point. It almost made Lindy groan out loud thinking what she must look like in that military uniform. She didn’t know because they’d gone their separate ways and hadn’t seen each other since that late-summer day when they both left for their own adventures.
Lindy had always secretly hoped Amber would reach out to her, but it didn’t happen. A hundred times she’d wanted to pick up the phone and call her. She never did. Fear paralyzed her every time she reached for the phone, just as it almost did now. It took effort not to jump up from the chair, strip off the dress, and go hide in the bathroom.
Except that would be even more stupid than this party. She was thirty-three years old. A bona fide adult. A successful businesswoman. She did not run and hide from the ghosts of her past. Amber was, after all, a childhood friend, and that was all. Really. Squaring her shoulders, she looked up at her mother. “I don’t even look like myself.” It wasn’t a lie. She was a blue jeans and T-shirt kind of woman. Velvet and updos were not her thing.