Love. I suppose the next step is to tell her. But the thought of uttering those words locks me up like the gold in Fort Knox.
I can love, and love deeply. But saying ‘I love you,’ letting it be known for sure? Whole other story. Expressing love is baring it all, and I’ve never done it without getting burned. I wish I could forget the distance and the age difference and the shadow of depression, but those are the tattoos marking me. Those will never go away.
I glance at the clock: Soccer practice is ending. Another hour or so and Jaye will call.
I decide if Jaye says the words, then I will. Does that make me cowardly? Or sensible? Are we both in opposing holding patterns, each waiting for the other to make the move?
I slide off the bed and go downstairs to fix lunch. I know me, I know my patterns. Coward wins.
“Rachel, if this was on real paper, it would catch fire.”
I’m having lunch with Toni, and we’re discussing the Triangle novel. It’s Wednesday. Barely thirty hours removed from Jaye, and it’s like torture. Our long, affectionate, innuendo-filled conversation on Tuesday night left us both hot and bothered and frustrated. It’s good to get out of the house. It’s also good to get confirmation that the new, happy ending and the jazzed-up love scene work.
I smile. “Worth keeping?”
“I think so,” Toni says. “Is Jaye getting as much out of this as you are?”
“She’s the MVP of the league at this point, so yes.”
“Not that you’re biased.”
“You can look up the stats!”
“I know you think I was harsh with her Monday night, but you also know I only want the best for you.”
I do know. But I’m still a little miffed at Toni’s lack of faith. “You’re not going to have to hunt her down, Antoinette. Ever.”
Using her full given name earns me a grimace. “I suppose I can put a bug in Paula’s ear about Dallas TRACON now.”
“Yeah. Why hasn’t she applied already? TRACON or Fort Worth Center would jump at the chance to have her. And you’d be home.”
“We didn’t do it because it would have left you alone.”
I stare at her. “What?”
“You need friends, Rachel. Friends nearby. Paula and I wanted to be here for you.”
I am stunned. I had never once thought Toni would forego moving back to Texas because of me. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
Toni’s stern expression doesn’t change, but there is the love of a friend in her eyes. “No. You’re a good woman, Rachel. I know you like being alone, but you can’t be alone all the time. I’d’ve worried too much about you if I went home. Besides, Colorado’s been okay.” She smiles. “But now that you have Jaye, I can let myself think about it.”
Friday evening Jaye’s impish smile comes at me from New Jersey. The Blues have an away game against Sky Blue FC (my writer’s mind is fraught with pun possibilities), and she’s hanging out in the hotel room talking to me.
“Hey,” she says, “I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“I want to change my Facebook status to ‘in a relationship.’ Is it okay to use your name?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
As soon as I say the words, though, the implications of Jaye’s going public with “us” flood my mind. Despite the marketing advantages for an author, I’m not on Facebook, and I know I’m one of maybe ten people on the planet who isn’t. Anything popping up there is available to the known world instantaneously. If Jaye posts that we’re a couple, then my little oasis of privacy will essentially be gone.
Am I ready for this?
As an air traffic controller, I had to make quick, accurate decisions. I don’t waste time with this one. “Yes, it’s all right, but do me a favor. Use my real name for now, and give me a couple of days to think about outing me as The Fyrequeene. Okay?”
“Outing you?”
“Almost no one knows I’m The Fyrequeene. I think I can handle the change, but let me get used to the idea.”
“I won’t say anything at all if you don’t want me to.”
I am so not going there. “Jaye—we are not a secret. If you want the world to know, tell them. I’m unbelievably lucky to have you. Shout it from the rooftops if you want.”
“Wow. Okay. Listen. Is there any way you can come to KC like, on Sunday? We get back from Jersey about four.”
My original plan was to leave Denver on Wednesday for the four-day drive to Cape Cod. I would have spent Wednesday night with Jaye, then left. She, as usual, has suggested something much more sensible in terms of our spending time together.
“You don’t have any team obligations Sunday night?”
“No. You’ll be my obligation.”
“I take it you’ll want me to get a room.”
Jaye’s laugh is low and sultry. Pure, smoky Bacall. “Or we can scandalize Nickory and Bree.”
“As long as they don’t want in on the act.” I’m not sure where that thought comes from.
Jaye ignores it anyway. “Won’t happen. Come Sunday.”
“You promise I’ll come Sunday?” I can’t do the sultry voice, but I can do the double entendre.
“As many times as you want.”
Sounds like a plan.
The Blues beat up on Sky Blue Saturday evening. The home team should have given KC a better game, but nothing works for them, and Nickory plays better than she has all season. She makes three spectacular saves in the first forty-five minutes, while Jaye spreads the wealth in the attack half, assisting on goals by Kirstie Longstreet and Sherry Cavallini. Near the end of the match, Kirstie is tackled ten yards from the goal, which leads to a penalty kick. Jaye takes the kick and buries the ball in the net, extending her scoring streak to five games. Final score, 4-0, Blues. I am one proud girlfriend and happy fan.
The last part of my Sunday drive to Kansas City occurs under cloudy skies and threats of rain. I dodge raindrops east of Salina and end up pulling into the townhome complex a little after five.
I don’t have a key to the townhome, and nobody’s there when I arrive, so I wait things out in the shade of a tree near the pool, which is full of kids. After twenty-six noisy minutes (yes, I count them), I’m relieved to see Nickory’s every-bell-and-whistle Jeep Wrangler finally drive up.
Turns out she and Jaye have just gotten in, too, with bad weather delaying the team’s flight by a couple of hours. Nickory, who I’ve learned barely tolerates flying, is her usual reticent self with a hefty dose of crankiness thrown in. Jaye is marginally more civilized.
After a perfunctory hug, Jaye says, “We had to hold over frickin’ Nebraska for forty-five minutes! What is it about puffy white clouds that scares you air traffic controllers so much?”
I give Jaye an unapologetic stare. “Were the puffy white clouds big and anvil-shaped?”
Jaye nods, and Nickory grimaces as she opens the door and lets us all in.
“Those kinds of puffy white clouds hide thunderstorms, which eat airplanes, given the opportunity. The controllers were keeping you safe. Appreciate them.”
I slide my arm around Jaye’s waist. “Or better yet, appreciate this retired one who’s here to make it all better.”
Jaye melts into my half-hug. “I missed you,” she says softly, right before she kisses me. We don’t go overboard with passion, but our lips linger together long enough to draw a comment from Ms. Grumpy.
“Bedroom’s right around the corner.”
Jaye lifts her head and shoots a glare at her friend. “Yes, it is.” She takes my hand. “Promise you won’t slam any doors this time?”
I blink at Jaye in astonishment, then risk a glance back at Nickory. There is fire in her eyes and a hard set to her jaw.
“I won’t be here,” she says. “I’m going to go run.”
“See you later.” Jaye’s response
sounds friendly enough, but as soon as we get to her room and close the door, I have to know.
“What’s up with you and the warrior queen?”
“Warrior queen?”
Have I not yet said that out loud? “Nickory.”
Jaye drops her bag, relieves me of mine, and wraps her arms around my waist. “We had a fight.”
“About me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
No, of course not. “Are you two okay?”
“We will be.”
Any further discussion is forestalled by the touch of Jaye’s lips to mine. And this is perfectly okay.
“Being away from you is getting harder.”
Jaye’s honesty is borne out by the enthusiasm of this evening’s sex. We didn’t actually hear Nickory leave, and so were more quiet than usual. This gave things an intensity beyond what we usually experience, which is saying something.
But I’m in complete agreement with her. “Yeah. It is. I don’t know how I made it through the week.”
“Especially without phone sex.”
“Shut up!”
“How did you ever live without me?”
“Oh, it was a war, an absolute war,” I say, and we both know I’m only semi-joking.
Jaye pushes herself up so she can meet my eyes. “No more wars.”
I kiss her, lightly. “You know, if the depression was something I had to go through to end up with you, it was worth it.”
“Nobody should have to go through that.”
“True. But I did, and if because I did I was able to have you? I’ll take the deal.”
“I wish we’d met sooner.”
I laugh. “We couldn’t have met much sooner. You’d’ve still been jailbait!”
Jaye gives me a playful push. “Not true. We could have met ten years ago, when I was twenty-one, which is legal everywhere.”
I shake my head. “We met when we were meant to. Let’s be happy with what is.”
“Are you happy?”
I reach out, caress her face. “Indescribably happy.”
Not quite I love you. But I’m getting closer.
Monday afternoon a thunderstorm rolls through Kansas City. I’m reading outside on the patio when the wind kicks up and thunder rumbles. I put the book down and get lost in scanning the clouds. They are storm clouds, but not the deep dark threatening kind that bring tornados. This will only be rain. The thunder is constant, but after a while I realize there’s no lightning—it’s all hidden behind the swirling gray masses of moisture. The rumble of thunder with no apparent cause fascinates me. It could be angels, in heaven, bowling. Or the shellfire of distant war.
Or, I think, as raised voices come from inside, salvos from my lover and her best friend arguing in the kitchen. Apparently last week’s argument didn’t settle anything. With a nonchalance well-feigned, I waltz into the kitchen.
“A fight! Can I play?”
The pair turn to me. I’m surprised at the venom in Nickory’s expression. It’s all I can do not to take a step back. Words, I think. Buried before she starts.
“Nickory doesn’t think we should be together,” Jaye says, clearly peeved.
“That’s not what I said,” Nickory grinds out, her jaw tight.
“You said Rachel’s too old for me,” Jaye snaps back. “You said we were moving too fast. You said I don’t know her. I went to college, Nickory. I can draw my own conclusions.”
Nickory opens her mouth, but I beat her to it. “She’s right, Jaye.”
Both of them gape at me in astonishment. I elaborate.
“It’s been less than a month. I’m older than the soccer coach bitch. We haven’t even scratched the surface of knowing each other.” Before Jaye’s head starts to come off, I finish up. “But remember what you told me that night in Portland? When I said we didn’t know each other?”
Jaye blanks out. “I said a lot of things then.”
“A lot of wonderful things, one of which was, ‘isn’t that why people get involved? To know each other?’ Remember?”
I watch her anger literally pour itself down a drain. “Yeah,” Jaye says, glaring back at Nickory. “I do remember.”
I turn back to Nickory, too. “That’s what we’re doing. That’s why we’re involved. And it would be nice if you’d stop acting like a jealous high schooler and give your best friend some support. After all, it’s her call, isn’t it?”
The venom does not recede. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“Fine,” I say. “You’ve made your point. But even if you’re right, I’m not going to turn away someone as wonderful as Jaye because you disapprove. If Bree was twenty years older than you, would you have turned her down if Jaye didn’t like it?”
Nickory sets her jaw and steps toward me, fists clenched. “Don’t bring Bree into this.”
Fists, I’m toast . . . shit.
Before she can actually raise her hands, Jaye steps between us. “Whoa! That’s enough, both of you.”
I seize the opportunity and take a small step back. Jaye gapes at her best friend, bewildered. “What the hell, Nickory?”
A host of expressions, all of them dark, play across Nickerson’s face. I hallucinate they have something to do with eviscerating me. But I’ll never know, thank goodness, because she abruptly turns on her heel and walks away, through the dining area and back toward the bedrooms.
I start breathing again while Jaye watches her go. “I’ve never seen her like that before.” She sounds a little lost.
“Probably a good thing,” I say, far more casually than I feel. “Let’s get out of this war zone, go to dinner or something, okay? You and me.”
Jaye, staring toward the hallway, nods absently. “Okay.”
We end up at Carenza’s, a nearby pub, lesbian-owned and woman-centric. The pub is a quiet, comfortable place where music actually plays softly in the background, rather than pounding from a million speakers. Jaye gets a beer, and I indulge with a Bombay Sapphire and tonic, heavy on the lime.
“I’ve never seen her react like that before,” Jaye says.
“Nickory doesn’t approve of me.”
“She’s never approved of anyone I’ve been with.”
“Any idea why?”
Jaye leaks a tiny smile. “Until you, she was right. They weren’t worth her approval.”
“Did you ever fight her on any of them?”
A sip of beer. A slow shake of her head. “No. They were all one-night stands, remember?”
“But you’re fighting her on me.”
A glare. “Shouldn’t I fight for you?”
I take Jaye’s hand. “Absolutely. Because I don’t want to go anywhere.”
She is slightly mollified. “But you think we’re moving too fast?”
“Yeah. But I also feel like we’ve got something strong.” I sip my drink. “Maybe we’re blinded by sex right now, but I’m not complaining.”
Jaye’s brow furrows. “You’re not just doing this for the sex?”
My denial is immediate and vehement. “No!” Then I get a glimmer. “Is Nickory telling you that?”
“More or less.”
“Do you feel she’s right? Because your opinion counts, not hers.”
She turns the table on me. “Do you think I’m just doing it for the sex?”
I laugh. “No. Because if you were, it wouldn’t be with me.”
Jaye’s hand slams down on the table, loud enough to turn every head our way. “Cut that out!” she says with enough force to make me sit straight up. “Stop putting yourself down. I mean it.”
I stare at her, speechless.
“I think you’re beautiful, and sexy, and amazing, and that counts. Okay?”
Someone in the bar claps quietly. Three or four someones, actually. Tentatively I lift Jaye’s hand to my lips, kiss it softly.
&nb
sp; “Okay,” I say humbly. Maybe I’ve finally learned a lesson.
Jaye sees something in my demeanor that says she made her point. “Can we agree we’re not doing it for the sex?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Good.”
We both take healthy hits of our drinks, and the waitress comes up to take our dinner order.
“Don’t get me wrong, though,” I say after the server leaves. “I love the sex.”
“Good.” The word is accompanied by a hint of flame in Jaye’s eyes.
“But I also love simply being with you, getting to know the woman you are. Finding out what we have in common and what we don’t. I’m delighted we read the same books, prefer quiet nights to noisy bars, cats to dogs, whatever. I’m connecting with you like with no one else.”
“Why doesn’t Nickory see it?”
“I think she does, Jaye. I think she’s afraid of losing you.”
“She’s not going to lose me!”
“Yes, she is. Probably. I mean, if we keep going like we’re going, eventually we’ll move in together, right?”
“I hope so.” Big smile.
“Which means you’ll no longer be part of Nickory’s everyday life.”
“But we’ll still be friends.”
“True. But it won’t be the same for her.”
“She’s my best friend,” Jaye says plaintively. “Why can’t she be happy for me?”
I have a suspicion about why, but I’m not about to voice it. So I shrug and play dumb.
“I don’t know.”
Tuesday morning Jaye and Nickory go to practice together, and when Jaye comes back she tells me they settled some issues. I have my doubts, but Jaye appears to be a lot less worried than she was last night, so I hope it’s true and keep my mouth shut.
In complete contrast to yesterday’s storms, today is gorgeous and sunny. In lieu of another run-in with Nickory, I suggest we go to a park near the townhome. Jaye eagerly agrees. We pack a picnic lunch, take the short walk, find a lovely shade tree to sit under, and things go fine until she decides she wants to take a picture of us.
Game Changers Page 13