Ready for Love

by Catherine Maiorisi

  “So, now you…no wait.” Renee did a quick calculation. “They can’t be eighteen yet. What happened?”

  Constance stared at the waterfall for a few seconds before continuing. “You’ve heard the saying, life is what happens when you’re making other plans? Seven months ago Nigel intervened to save a woman being raped in an alley and was stabbed to death.”

  “How horrible for you and the girls.”

  “It was and it is. They miss him terribly. And so do I. He was my best friend. We weren’t lovers, we weren’t in love, but I loved him and I believe he loved me. Our lives hadn’t turned out the way we wanted, but our daughters were our priority and we made the best of our situation. For the most part, we were happy.”

  They were silent, listening to the rushing water, each lost in their thoughts. Suddenly overcome with the need to be home, in familiar surroundings, Renee glanced at her phone. Four o’clock. “Rather than hang around here, what would you think about driving back and having dinner in the city?”

  “That’s a great idea. Let’s go back to Trattoria Montero if it’s not too boring for you.”

  Downhill over the slippery rocks and gnarly roots required careful attention to maintain balance and avoid a tumble and injury. So grunts and warnings to watch out or be careful were the only conversation on the tense descent. Once they were settled in the car, Constance put her hand on Renee’s thigh. “So what do you think about what I told you?”

  Was that a tremor in Constance’s voice? Did she think Renee would run at the first sign of discomfort? Yeah, well, that wasn’t so farfetched, was it?

  Before Renee could respond to the first question, Constance punched out another. “Do you still want to—”

  “Yes.” Renee met Constance’s eyes for a second then quickly turned back to the road. “I still want to. But it’s a lot to process. You’ve lived a whole life that I know nothing of, a life so different that I can’t even imagine it, while I’ve continued to live the same life as when we were at Stanford. I need to think about that. I still want to go ahead with exploring our friendship, but I have some questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “You’re free legally now but are you free emotionally? Are you ready to consider another relationship so soon? Possibly a relationship with me, someone who hasn’t changed at all?”

  Constance smiled. “I’ve grown up since Stanford and I believe you have too. We’ve both changed. I never expected I would come to New York and find you again. And find you in a state of mind very similar to mine. Like you, I can’t make promises about a relationship. We both have issues to work out and our plan to work on being friends before we complicate things still sounds like a good idea to me. Other than my daughters, my priority now is figuring out who the hell Lady Constance Martindale is. No. It’s actually Constance Martindale I need to figure out. And I would very much like your support doing it.”

  “I’m here. What about your family?”

  “I expect you mean Mum and Dad and the royal issue, rather than Chloe and Cara. Before I left London I came out to my parents and to Nigel’s. I told them I’m done with pretending to be someone I’m not. Thanks to Nigel, the girls and I are financially independent so they can’t use that as a stick. But they’re still pressuring me. My moving to New York City makes dealing with them easier.”

  They listened to NPR for a while then Constance changed to an easy listening jazz station. The silence was companionable. They dropped the car off at Renee’s garage and strolled to Trattoria Montero. As they waited for their food, Renee asked the question that kept coming up in her mind. “Why did you come back to the US?”

  “Nigel’s death gutted me. I was in shock but I had to keep it together because I had two devastated thirteen-year-olds to help through the funeral and the first weeks after. But once the girls were back in school and appeared to be dealing with the loss of their father, I had a lot of time to think. About the past. About the future.” She paused while the waiter poured their wine. “By marrying when we didn’t want to, Nigel and I had put the needs of our parents ahead of our own. Then we’d stupidly had sex neither of us really wanted and ended up with two beautiful babies. And, perhaps rightly so, we put their needs above our own.” Constance flashed a rueful smile. “In effect, we’d put our lives on hold, put our needs and desires aside, with the intention of starting our real lives after we’d given the girls a secure beginning. Because of his kindness to a stranger Nigel never got to have his real life. But I realized I could have mine, if I dared.”

  Renee touched her shoulder. “And is this your real life?”

  “I hope so. I needed to get away from England, from my title, to really be free, but it’s not only me I had to consider. Luckily, the girls are kind of a self-contained unit so they were actually excited about moving to a new school in a new city in a new country. I’ve always felt an affinity for the States. I chose New York City because of the culture and the art scene.”

  “Not because you expected to find me?” Renee tried to wiggle her eyebrows but failed.

  Constance laughed. “Sexy move. Not.”

  “I don’t understand. It always works in lesbian romance novels.”

  “Really Renee? You read lesbian romance novels?” Her lips twitched. “Wait. I’d rather not know.” Her expression became serious. “I did think of you when I made the decision. I’ve thought about you a great deal over the years but I had no idea where you were. You could have been living in California, or on a sheep farm in Australia, or, more likely, in France. And I had no idea of how your life had changed, whether you had a wife and five kids or had entered a convent. I never dreamed you were single and living in New York City. I never dreamed I’d find you again.” Constance seemed mesmerized by the wine she was swirling in her glass.

  Renee followed her gaze. Reflected in the candlelight, the deep red cabernet looked like liquid rubies. Renee’s feelings swirled like the wine. Lit by the dancing flame and the splashes of red, Constance looked mysterious and unattainable. Was she? Suddenly Renee needed to know. “You could have found me through my parents anytime.”

  “I suppose I could have. But I wasn’t interested in an affair with you. Nigel and I had decided as long as we were discreet and practiced safe sex, occasional casual affairs were all right. From time to time we went away for a weekend together. He usually hooked up. I tried casual sex a couple of times but I need more. It was easier for me to be celibate, so I’d stay in our hotel room reading while he went out. Once Nigel was dead it seemed important for me to be independent and not base my life on someone else.” She met Renee’s eyes. “Do you understand?”

  Renee considered the question. Their lives had been so different, yet here they were both dealing with similar issues. “While you were married you wanted more than you could have, then when you were free you wanted to manage your life the way you wanted and not go chasing after some fantasy woman you’d had a sexual relationship with sixteen years ago?”

  “Close enough, I suppose, though you were very real to me.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m happy to have found you. And I truly hope we can explore who we can be to each other in the present.”

  Their dinners arrived. They’d both ordered the Branzino and they focused on it for a few minutes. But Renee was intent on getting answers so between bites she asked another question. “Do Chloe and Cara know you prefer women?”

  “They do. Cara asked recently if I thought I would marry again. I tried to talk around it, but ultimately I decided they were old enough for the truth. So I said I wasn’t sure I would ever marry again, but if I did, it would most likely be to a woman. They nodded and said cool but who knows how they’ll react if it happens.”

  At least there would be no reason to hide. Renee relaxed. “Why didn’t I read about your wedding or about the birth of your twins?”

  Constance laughed. “You bloody Americans are only interested in royals close to the crown, like William an
d Harry. Or those who go from one scandal to another. Nigel and I didn’t fit into either category.”

  Renee laughed. “Hey, don’t forget I’m just as much French as American.”

  Constance held Renee’s gaze. “I’ve never forgotten a single thing about you, Renee. Whatever happens between us now, I’ll always remember and be grateful for your gentle and tender introduction to sex, for the intense sexual and intellectual experience throughout our almost two-month relationship, and the mind blowing love making of our last few nights together.” Her eyes filled. She blinked back the tears.

  “I apologize for not telling you the whole sad story of my life right away. It wasn’t intentional.” She looked away and took a deep breath, then another before meeting Renee’s eyes again. “Or maybe it was. I was afraid if you knew, you’d run. Being free is new and I’m just learning who I am now. That’s why I’m happy to take things slowly. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.”

  Chapter Ten

  Renee sat in her usual chair facing Olivia but avoided her eyes. Now that the easy part, talking about her history with Darcy, was over, she didn’t have the vaguest idea where to start. She’d been here before. Ten years ago she’d spent four sessions without uttering a word before Olivia told her to come back to therapy when she was ready to change. Well she was ready to change. But what magic words would make it happen?

  She loosened her tie, ran her fingers through her hair and leaned forward. “I’m afraid you’ll kick me out again if I don’t talk.”

  Olivia blew on her tea and watched Renee through the steam.

  “I don’t know why this is so hard.” Renee chewed the cuticle on her thumb, then dropped her hand into her lap. “It’s strange, but I’ve hardly thought about Darcy this week.” She frowned. “Actually, I haven’t thought about her at all.”

  “Is that so unusual?”

  Olivia’s gentle question pulled Renee from her introspection. “Very. Though there have been periods in the last twenty years when I haven’t been preoccupied with thoughts of Darcy, she’s always been there in the background like a low-grade fever. Then when I lost interest in casual hook-ups, she moved front and center again.”

  Olivia made a note on the pad she kept on the table next to her chair. “So what changed recently?”

  Renee gazed out the window. Good question. What changed? An image of Constance laughing flashed in her mind. Was that it? Had the reappearance of Constance in her life been enough to blot out Darcy? Was she so shallow? Would Olivia think she was shallow? What the hell? If she couldn’t be truthful here, she might as well kick herself out of therapy this time. “Maybe a convergence of things. Talking to Tori about Darcy. Talking to Darcy. Talking to you.” She cleared her throat. “Constance?”

  “Constance?” Olivia said. “Are you asking or telling me?”

  Renee turned from the window. Olivia was smiling. She relaxed. “Telling you. Is it all right if I don’t talk about Darcy? Will you think I’m shallow if I talk about Constance?”

  “Tell me about her.”

  Renee took a deep breath. “I was involved with Constance when we were graduate students at Stanford. She’s the only woman, other than Darcy and Gina, who I’ve ever thought I could have a future with. Of course having those thoughts scared me so I told myself she was getting too involved and I needed to dump her. But before I could scamper away, she left. She disappeared, went back to England without even a goodbye. We reconnected recently after almost sixteen years and the feelings are still there for me. And from what she says, it’s mutual.”

  “How did you feel when she left you without a word?”

  “It was so long ago.” She knew Olivia would wait for the answer so she closed her eyes and thought back to that day. They hadn’t had classes together but they knew each other’s schedule and usually managed to touch base several times during the day. So when she hadn’t seen or heard from Constance by dinnertime, she called. Getting no answer again, she decided something was wrong and went to her apartment to check on her but she wasn’t there. She tracked down Constance’s closest friend and was stunned to learn Constance had booked a flight first thing that morning and had flown to London that evening. It wasn’t a family emergency; she’d just decided to go home to London earlier than scheduled and wouldn’t be attending her graduation the next week. Reeling, Renee had stumbled back to her apartment. She was devastated. Constance had abandoned her, tossed her away like a used-up tube of toothpaste. She cried for hours, moped for weeks in Paris, then pushed Constance to the back of her mind. Remembering that day, the emotions, still raw, still as painful as they had been then, flooded her. Her eyes popped open. “Shocked. Confused. Hurt. Devastated. Angry. Lonely. And sad, overwhelmingly sad.” In fact, tears were threatening right now.

  “How did you explain it to yourself? Did you try to contact her?”

  “She’s the daughter of an Earl so my first thought was that my being biracial wouldn’t fly with the Queen. Later, I thought she just wasn’t as into me as I’d thought.” Renee rubbed her eyes. “I never tried to contact her. I was hurt and I was too proud. I’d never had to pursue a woman. Besides, we’d agreed upfront on a short-term, no-strings affair.”

  Renee watched Olivia study her over her teacup again. No doubt she saw a butch lesbian. But was it a strong, determined butch or a sniveling, helpless, floundering butch?

  “So Constance had a problem with you being mixed race?”

  “Not that she ever said.”

  “And yet, it was the first thing you thought of when she abandoned you. Did it ever occur to you that the Queen might not have liked her bringing a woman home?”

  Had it? “No.”

  “So how did you feel about being left because you’re biracial?”

  She gripped the arms of the chair fighting the impulse to run as the feelings bubbled up. “Rage at feeling less than. Hurt that Constance thought I was less than, and even more devastated because I felt unlovable, that no one would ever truly want me.”

  “What about Darcy? Do you attribute her unwillingness to love you to your being biracial?”

  Renee’s breath caught. She doubled over, as if Olivia had punched her, and struggled to push back the hurt. Gulping for air, breathing deeply, covering her mouth, or tensing her body didn’t work, and the pain erupted with a wail and sobs burst from somewhere deep inside her. Convulsing, she struggled to regain control. After what seemed like hours, she became conscious of Olivia’s hand gently rubbing her back and she started to breathe. She raised her head. “Sorry.”

  Olivia handed her the box of tissues and moved back to her chair. “How do you feel?”

  “Embarrassed. Relaxed. Lighter.”

  “One way or another, you’ve casually mentioned your racial heritage in every session we’ve had. Are you ready to talk about what being biracial means to you?”

  Was that the elephant in her life? Always there but never confronted? “To answer your question, my being biracial never seemed to be a problem for Darcy. Or Constance, for that matter. But it was for Gina and I think somewhere in the back of my mind I believe that was why they all left me.”

  “So your mother is black and your father white. You have four older mixed-race siblings so I’m assuming you didn’t have problems in your family.”

  “Not in my immediate family but my dad’s mother never accepted me. My mom’s mom was fine, the lighter the skin the better as far as she was concerned. But my aunts, my mom’s older sisters and their daughters who were older than me, made fun of me, called me ugly and said no man would ever love me. From articles I’ve read, my experience was a stereotypical biracial experience—I wasn’t white enough for my French grandmother because I might have black children, and I wasn’t black enough for some of my American relatives. Maybe because my siblings are all darker than me, clearly not white, they didn’t have the same problem. Besides they had each other. I was so much younger I was like an only child.

  “The othe
r night I remembered an incident in fourth grade. My mom and dad came to school to see me sing in the spring pageant, and my classmates thought she was the maid. When I said she was my mom, they accused me of lying. When I insisted she was, they followed me around and asked over and over, ‘What are you?’ I didn’t know how to answer. I was miserable, ashamed of my mom, and feeling that I was bad for some reason I didn’t understand. It went on for a couple of months, until the end of the school year. That summer we went to Italy so my parents could teach and we spent the next two years there.

  “But after those months of shaming, I felt I was different, lesser than. For a while, I tried to avoid being seen with my mom, but it was hard because we were, and still are, really close and I was particularly needy. I retreated into my studies and rarely made friends. It probably didn’t help that I expected to be rejected so I closed everyone out.”

  Olivia looked like the proverbial cat who’d swallowed the canary. Renee imagined she could see feathers in her mouth. She stared at Olivia, puzzled. What had she said? “I don’t know what…oh, I get it. You think I rejected Darcy and Constance because I was afraid they’d reject me like Gina had, because I’m mixed race?” She knew she sounded incredulous but she’d never actually verbalized it in that way to herself.

  Olivia peered at Renee over that damned teacup. Did that cup even contain tea? Maybe she was a vodka drinker or maybe it was hot Saki.

  “It’s what you think that’s important, Renee. Our time is up but it’s time we explored your feelings about race. I’d like you to give it some thought before our next meeting.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Renee had spent the time since her previous therapy session struggling with the issue of her identity. Because of her white skin and blue eyes the world treated her like a white woman even though she was as black as she was white. In reality, she didn’t feel black. Or white for that matter. She felt like herself. As usual, when she tried to think about being biracial she ended up with many more questions than answers. What is she? Could anyone truly love her? What did it mean to be black? How did it feel to be black? Did she need to carry a sign or hang a picture of her with her parents around her neck? Was she a fake? Was she passing? She told everyone she was biracial. Did that make it all right? Did her black friends think she was a traitor? Did her white friends think she was passing? What the fuck did any of it matter?