by Erin Zak
“What do I do?”
“Well, first of all, don’t let her scare you. She’s a thirty-seven-year-old who is acting like a child. Be mature, and don’t let her walk all over you. Just because you’re not my flesh and blood does not mean you aren’t a part of my heart.”
Lila’s eyes fill with tears. She doesn’t want to cry. Not because she hates crying, which she undeniably does, but because crying means Gwendolyn’s jealousy has affected her a lot more deeply than this simple conversation would lead anyone to believe. “Okay.” She lets the word fall under her breath and prays Carol heard it over the sound of the running water.
“Hey, stop.” Carol slaps the towel on the counter and turns the faucet off. She grabs Lila’s shoulders and spins her so they’re facing each other. Lila is a good three inches taller, and the difference is very apparent in the moment. “Look at me.” She does as Carol commands. “What have I always told you?”
Lila sighs.
“Since day one on that volleyball court when you begged me to let you try out?”
“Do not let anyone get to me. Ever.”
“And why did I say that?”
“Because I’m too special to let anyone else’s feelings dictate how I feel about myself.”
“Exactly.” She smiles, squeezes Lila’s shoulders, and places a kiss on her cheek. “You are my girl as much as she is. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Can I tell you what I really think?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to even if I say no.”
She laughs as she picks the towel up. She grabs another dish. “I think there was a spark there, and it scared you both.”
Lila can feel her shoulders fall as she groans. “Carol. No way. That is not what this is. Her being a jerk to me has nothing to do with any spark.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Seriously?”
“I have been around girls for most my life. I’m a volleyball coach, for Christ’s sake. I know how girls act.”
“Okay, okay. You don’t need to continue. You’re wrong. There was no spark. Period.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Lila groans again as she flips the faucet back on. “No more talking.” She laughs when Carol’s hip bumps hers. If she didn’t love Carol so much, she would leave and tell her she’s in charge of all the dishes.
“Are you hanging out after this?”
Lila shrugs. “Bella wanted to meet for a drink.”
“Maybe you should. You need to let loose a little before practices really kick in.”
“Always thinking about me, aren’t you?”
Carol chuckles. “I know you’re complete shit when you’re hungover.”
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to pick up your uncanny ability to drink a bottle of wine and wake up fine.”
“It really is a skill.”
They laugh together as they continue to wash. Lila is embarrassed, though. A spark? A fucking spark? No way. There was no fucking spark. And even if there was, it wasn’t going to be a good spark. No. The spark would be the one to start a horrible forest fire, destroying everything in its path. Not a good thing at all.
* * *
Lila isn’t perfect. Gwendolyn knows this. But God, she is damn near close. She has great presence, which isn’t a compliment Gwendolyn passes out lightly. She spends a lot of her time around vapid, insecure assholes who think they can act. Most of them can’t. Some of them can. And none have a presence like Lila.
Jealousy isn’t something Gwendolyn handles well. As she’s clearly displayed for the past three days. But something shifted at the dinner table that evening. There is something about the way Lila navigates conversation with Gwendolyn’s parents and even her. It’s impressive, and honestly, it’s making her think twice about hating Lila.
Maybe a friendship is possible with an almost perfect woman.
It might be something Gwendolyn can handle. After all, she needs to figure out a way to deal with this weird relationship that happened while she chose to not come home. It really is her fault. Isn’t it?
It’s hard realizing that the world she’s having a hard time surviving is the very world she created. So hard, in fact, that when Bella sends Gwendolyn a text after dinner about meeting for a drink, she gobbles up the offer. Leaving the house after dark feels really strange. She actually asked permission to go. Her mother laughed at her. Her dad shook his head and reminded her she’s thirty-seven. “You’re more than welcome to come and go as you please.”
She knows it’s because she’s never been through any of this before. She didn’t party in high school because getting caught would have resulted in even more of her mother’s wrath. And when she did go out, she was hanging out with the band geeks and the drama nerds. They did nothing to get in trouble. Rehearsing scenes from Les Mis or singing show tunes at the top of her lungs wasn’t exactly like the drunken nights a lot of her teammates were having. And since her teammates were off-limits…
Gwendolyn’s memory halts abruptly. She steers her brain around one of the most uncomfortable moments of her adolescence and breathes in deep.
As soon as high school was over, she left for college in California and never looked back. She didn’t want to visit. She didn’t want to cram back into the tiny, claustrophobia inducing closet her mother’s reaction forced her to live in. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t something she was ever willing to compromise on.
“I wonder if I did the right thing,” Gwendolyn says quietly.
Bella stops her drink midway to her mouth, eyebrows arched to her dark hairline. She looks perplexed. Or maybe she knows how to respond but fears the reaction. Either is a reasonable cause for the look. “You’re joking, right?”
Not exactly the response she expected. “I mean, sure. I’m joking.”
“No, seriously. You’re joking. You have to be.” Her voice is strained. She sounds…mad? “Do you know how many times I begged you to come home?”
“Are you mad?”
“Sorta, yeah.” Bella drinks from her vodka, soda, and lime. She sets it down and wipes her hand on her jeans before she runs both through her bobbed hair. “That’s bullshit. You took a stance. Don’t fucking back down now.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“Well, come on. You left. Don’t act like it wasn’t the right move after all these years. You can’t take it back.”
Gwendolyn is speechless. Bella is right. And provoking her is never a good idea. It’s like poking a bear.
“Why are you even saying any of this?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Bella laughs loud. Really loud. Thank goodness they’re on the patio of the Franklin House bar because it’d be embarrassing inside. Even for a bar. “Fuck you. Right now. You’re answering me.” Bella leans forward, folded arms on the table. “If it has anything to do with Lila Machowicz, I’m going to scream.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know damn well what it means.”
Gwendolyn doesn’t know what to say because it has nothing to do with Lila.
Nothing at all.
Except…that’s a lie. All of this does have a little to do with Lila, doesn’t it? “Wait.” She stares at her drink, hoping for some sort of help as if the drink is a prompter she asks for a line in the script. “I guess you’re kind of right. I mean, this does have to do with her but not for any reason you’re thinking. Or at least what I think you’re thinking.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Of course you are.” Gwendolyn glances around. The air is still cool for June, so most people are inside, but a few more are stationed at the cast-iron tables. The bar is nonsmoking, but the patio is fair game, and a few patrons light up cigarettes. She misses California and the strict nonsmoking laws. She shakes her head when Bella reaches into her purse, pulls out a pack of clove cigarettes, and lights one. “Cloves? Seriously? Are you still in high school?”
“You’d know si
nce you’ve been acting like a high schooler since you arrived.”
“Damn.” Gwendolyn laughs. “When did you become a comedienne?”
“It’s easy when I have great material.”
“Sigh.”
“You give up way too easy.” Bella pulls on the dark death stick, and proceeds to blow smoke directly in Gwendolyn’s face. “Finish.”
After she fans the smoke away, she rolls her eyes. The only way out of this conversation is through it. “If I would have stayed, went to Purdue like my mom wanted, gone into education, all that jazz…” She feels emotion rising up her esophagus. She swallows and takes a drink of her whiskey on the rocks and waits for it to burn the feelings out before continuing. “I would be the one coaching with her, being her best friend. Chopping vegetables for a salad.” She looks at her drink, in a plastic cup because apparently, secondhand smoke is fine, but God forbid a glass break. “It’s not like I’m regretting my life choices. I mean, it sounds like that, but it’s not what I’m saying.” She clenches her jaw. She is confused by everything these days: her life in California, her career, her lack of a love life. Hell, her lack of a life, period. As much as she has started to hate Lila, she’s also started to like her. And it’s not okay. On so many levels. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Can I say something?”
Gwendolyn reaches across the table and takes the clove. She pulls a long drag and hands it back. The smoke burns way worse than the whiskey, and if she was counting regrets, this would be on the list. Near the bottom of what seems like a never-ending scroll these days, but still. “How the fuck do you smoke those?”
Bella laughs, takes another drag, and the smoke billows from her nose. “Do you think your mother’s view on lesbians would have changed if you stayed?”
“It hasn’t changed. She still thinks I’m going to hell. She still thinks it’s a fucking phase.” She stares at Bella’s bewilderment. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Her view has changed. Drastically.”
“How?”
Bella doesn’t answer.
“Tell me. Now.”
“Fine.” She flicks the ashes from the clove. Her chest rises as she pulls in a very deep breath. She’s wearing a low-cut top, and if Gwendolyn wasn’t completely against a one-night stand with her straight high school best friend, she’d pounce like a lioness. “Lila is a lesbian.”
Gwendolyn sucks in her breath so fast it causes her to cough. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Lila. She’s a lesbian.”
“Wait.” Gwendolyn composes herself. “You’re telling me my mother wouldn’t accept me, but she fucking accepted that perfect asshole?”
“Perfect asshole?”
“You know what I mean.” Gwendolyn leans back and folds her arms. She wants to stand up, flip the table, go home, and scream at her mother. She wants to be furious. She probably should be, but for some reason, she isn’t. She’s shocked, yes. She’s hurt, yes, but she isn’t mad. At all.
“I thought you knew.”
“How the hell would I know?”
“Gaydar?”
The deadpan answer causes Gwendolyn to laugh. She is laughing so hard she can barely catch her breath. “I can’t even believe you right now,” she finally manages.
“I know it’s real. Ellen says so.”
“Ellen who? DeGeneres?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t even.” Gwendolyn crosses her legs while chuckling at her sheltered, straight-as-an-arrow best friend.
Bella shrugs. “I don’t know. I assumed you could always pinpoint it with accuracy. How am I supposed to know? Either way, I’m telling you, your mother has come an awfully long way in the gay department. I don’t think it would have happened if you stayed.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Oh, wait, I’m sorry.” She leans farther over the table. “Can you say what you said a little louder please? For the people in the back?”
“Never again.” Gwendolyn starts to laugh. “Will I utter those words.” As she starts to contemplate the brand-new information, she hears Bella’s sharp intake of air.
“Well, this might be awkward.”
Gwendolyn turns and of fucking course, Lila is walking toward them from the street. She’s wearing the same outfit from dinner, and as confused as Gwendolyn is about whatever the hell is happening, she is thankful for those black skinny jeans and white T-shirt. How can such a simple outfit make her palms sweat? How can seeing this woman make her insides twist? How can learning about her mother’s change of heart not infuriate her? How is any of this happening?
“She’s gonna probably sit with us…is that okay?” Before Gwendolyn can even attempt an answer, Bella stands, arms open, and shouts, “Lila!”
Guess it’s going to have to be okay. When Lila pulls out a chair next to her, Gwendolyn forces herself to smile, take a couple deep breaths, and center herself. The only problem is with each intake, the scent of Lila’s perfume surrounds her, and it is intoxicating.
A drink is delivered without Lila having to order it, which causes Gwendolyn’s melting iceberg of jealousy to be replaced with the tiniest amount of respect. Not because she’s starting to see what everyone else sees in Lila. No. Because commanding a room is hard, but commanding a bar? That’s even harder. Yet, here she is, doing it with ease. And just like that, Gwendolyn feels the crack in her facade start to spread.
Chapter Seven
“You stop right now.”
“I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Lila makes a crisscross over her heart. She’s not sure why she’s confessing anything to Gwendolyn, but the drinks have calmed them both. Ever since Bella left—the one who basically set them up and who will get one hell of an earful—the conversation has been strangely easy, laid-back, and comfortable. Lila hates to admit how nice it’s been. She’s on the edge of her seat waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“No way,” Gwendolyn says.
“Why would I lie?”
“Because you’re trying to impress me.”
“Why would I want to impress you?” Lila raises her eyebrows. “You, who so obviously hates me.”
“Okay, okay, you got me there.” Gwendolyn moves a lock of hair which has fallen out of her ponytail. She runs her fingers along her jawline, then props her chin on her palm, her elbow on the table. “Which one was your favorite?”
“Hmm…my favorite of your movies? I’d say Matchmaker. You as the love doctor for Melissa McCarthy’s character was a good role for you. You were very funny. And also, really endearing.” Lila sips on her vodka soda with lime as she watches for Gwendolyn’s reaction. Her stare makes it seem as if she didn’t hear, so Lila laughs and finishes her thought with, “I liked the others, too, but that was my favorite.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lila leans closer. She thinks she heard her correctly, but she isn’t sure, and if she did, the apology is so out of place and out of left field that it has causes her heart to pause. “Wait, what was that?”
“I’m sorry.” Her chin is still in her hand, and she looks really pretty in the glow from the string lights. “I should have never been so shitty to you.”
Lila doesn’t know what to say, so she shrugs and mumbles, “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine.”
“Gwendolyn, seriously, don’t.” The other shoe is dropping. This more than random apology is quickly morphing comfortable banter into a difficult confessional. She never wanted either, but she most certainly doesn’t want the latter. “It’s really not worth it.”
“What do you mean? My apology isn’t worth it?” She folds her hands in her lap. “I am being very serious. I need you to know I’m sorry for being such a raging cunt to you.”
Lila’s mouth drops open. “Whoa!”
“What?”
“The c-word?” She laughs. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Well, it’s how I feel. I was not nice to you.”
/> Is there any point in arguing? She sighs. “Nope, you sure weren’t.”
Gwendolyn’s eyes seem to be searching for something with the way they’re moving over Lila’s face, and she can practically feel every time they stop on one of her features. “You have a story, don’t you?”
Jesus. This conversation. Lila wants to curse it. How and why did it take such a hard left into awkward? “Doesn’t everyone?”
Gwendolyn nods and is so calm, it’s almost eerie. Is she high? She smiles. “That is true. Even I have a story. One I’m sure you’ve only heard bits and pieces of.” When she shrugs and moves her gaze to her plastic cup, Lila wants so badly to say, tell me, tell me everything, because if anyone deserves a redemption arc, she’s hoping it’s Gwendolyn. “Fortunately for both of us, it’s probably not one I’ll be telling since I leave tomorrow.”
Lila lifts her chin. She’s disappointed, of course, and not only because she won’t get to hear the parts of this story she’s spent the last fifteen years wondering about. More because she assumed, and wrongly it seems, that Gwendolyn was going to stay longer. The way she spoke at dinner, the way she is right now, everything about her is nothing like someone who’s going to leave tomorrow, almost as if she is putting down roots and not watering them. “You’re not staying, then.”
“Why would I?”
Lila crosses her legs, leans forward, and props her folded arms on her knee. “You seem to have settled a little. Figured maybe you’d ease the rest of the way into this.”
“This?”
“Life back here.”
Gwendolyn smiles. “You realize I have a life back in California.”
“Oh, I know.” She laughs. “Everyone knows about your life in California. At least on the surface. But you, Gwendolyn Carter, seem like maybe that surface has something bubbling beneath it.” The way Gwendolyn’s face shifts makes her think she struck a chord. Not a bad chord, but a chord nonetheless. “Am I right?”
“If I told you I’m unhappy, would you believe me?”
“Yes.”
“If I told you I hate being a failure?”
“One hundred percent.”