Close to Home

by Rachel Spangler

  Kelly stared at her as if she’d spoken another language.

  “I’ve got a women’s studies degree,” Elliot said, going in to faux teacher mode. “Slut shaming is not my thing.”

  “Sl-sl-slut?” Kelly’s face turned beet red as she stammered the word.

  “No, no, no, not you.” Elliot rushed to recover. “Men use that word to describe women who want sex, who admit to liking sex, but it’s just a way of keeping women in their place. We can’t internalize their misogyny.”

  “I can’t even begin to respond to that.”

  “You don’t have to. You just need to realize I’m not ashamed of who I am. I’m not ashamed of what I like, of what I need. I think last night both of us needed the same thing, and we took it. We owned it, at least in the moment. If we’d taken care of something we needed to do in the business world, we’d be proud of ourselves. If we’d taken care of something in our financial life or with our health, that would be considered smart or responsible. Why should our emotional or sexual needs be any different?”

  Kelly listened, dark eyes brooding, but she didn’t interrupt. She didn’t even answer right away, and when she did, she started cautiously. “I’m not sure I agree with that.” She cleared her throat. “That sex can actually be compared to work or treating the common cold, but I suppose I should be glad you think the way you do. I’m mildly relieved to know any misgivings I have are mine alone.”

  Elliot wouldn’t go that far. She still had her share of concerns and questions, but voicing them now seemed secondary to soothing Kelly. “It happened. We share responsibility equally, but there’s no need for shame or guilt. We’re both professionals, and we have work to do. What we need in our personal lives doesn’t have anything to do with getting through tax season.”

  “Work. Right. I guess we agree there. There’s always work to do.”

  “Great,” Elliot said, “then I’m going to go make a double batch of coffee.”

  Kelly seemed to almost smile as she offered a sincere, “Thank you.”

  Under other circumstances Elliot would’ve hoped for a better resolution. Some emotional touchstones or a hint as to where their relationship might head. Most women would’ve wanted some sort of closure, but if she’d learned anything over the last twenty-four hours it was that Kelly Rolen was nothing like any woman she’d ever met before.

  Kelly listened from her desk as Elliot answered a client’s questions over the phone. Her voice was light and efficient, her answers concise and easy to understand. She blended professionalism and approachability in ways Kelly wasn’t sure she’d mastered, even after more than a decade of doing the same job. She didn’t need to check up on Elliot nearly as much as she did, but she couldn’t seem to break the habit. At first she’d eavesdropped on everything Elliot said out of fear she’d mess up, or maybe in the hope that she’d falter and give her the chance to assert her own expertise. Somewhere along the way, though, she’d stopped wanting or expecting her to fail. Now she listened in because she found her presence comforting, maybe even enjoyable.

  A week had passed since what she’d come to think of as “that night.” Not that she thought of what’d happened any more than she had to. She refused to dwell on her actions or any implications her mind might try to draw from them, but late at night, or in times of deep exhaustion, her thoughts occasionally wandered to various explanations. She’d been tired. Overwhelmed. She had gone too long without an outlet for her feelings. She’d been caught off guard. She’d been upset about the prospect of something hurting Elliot. She’d experienced some weird transference of emotions or even a mental break. None of the theories were absurd, but none felt quite satisfactory either, and she chose to avoid looking for anything deeper. Avoidance was the most compelling option, or at least the most convenient one.

  Elliot, for her part, had lived up to her promise not to make Kelly regret the confidence she’d shared. She’d never mentioned anything outright, and barely even hinted at anything that had transpired, other than occasionally asking how she felt, or if she wanted to talk. Kelly didn’t want to talk about anything other than work, a fact she reiterated every time Elliot asked. She’d done nothing but work, visit her father, and sleep, though she never seemed to have quite enough time to do any of those tasks to the level she would have liked. Still, she stayed afloat, largely due to Elliot’s shared dedication.

  “Knock, knock,” Elliot said from just outside the door.

  “Come in,” Kelly answered, straightening up automatically.

  Elliot stepped into view and smiled. Today she wore a chocolate brown sweater vest over a starched white oxford with camel-colored khakis and a pair of men’s loafers. She had brushed her auburn hair back with an almost debonair flair. Kelly didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t insanely attractive. She simply tried to focus through the distracting way her breath grew noticeably shallow.

  “We don’t have any more appointments today,” Elliot said, dropping into one of the chairs opposite her desk. Kelly tried not to stiffen at the move. If she had to pin down one thing different since “that night,” it would be that she noticed Elliot’s easy informality, even closeness, much more acutely. She couldn’t tell if Elliot had gotten more familiar over the last week, or if she’d simply become more aware of her since then.

  “You’re free to go,” Kelly said, then hearing the abruptness of her tone added, “if you want to.”

  “No. I’m going to stay and cuddle with my friend, the scanner, a little longer. We haven’t gotten to spend as much quality time together since our client meetings and walk-ins picked up.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to come between you two.”

  “No. You wouldn’t,” Elliot said cheekily, “but I was going to pick her up some food first, maybe some champagne and strawberries, and I thought since I was running out anyway, I could pick you up something, too.”

  “Are you offering to buy me dinner?” Kelly asked, leaning back in her chair. She wasn’t sure she should agree to that, but she was hungry, and she did prefer this playful side of Elliot to her concerned side.

  “Sure, but you have to eat it in your office with the door closed so you don’t interrupt me and the scanner.”

  Kelly smothered a grin. “What were you thinking? About the food, not the scanner.”

  “Well, it’s Darlington, so we have so many options to choose from. We could have Thai, or sushi, falafel, or maybe saganaki.”

  Kelly rolled her eyes.

  “Or baba ganoush, or tapas, or crepes, or poutine.”

  “Are you done yet?”

  “Paella,” Elliot said with gusto. “Okay, now I’m done.”

  “So Dairy Queen or chili?”

  “Can one get chili from the DQ?”

  “You could, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  “What?” Elliot feigned shock. “Really? Chili from DQ? That’s where you draw the line?”

  “We have the best chili parlor in the whole world right across the square. If you drove all the way across town to get some sad approximation, then yes, I’d have to kill you. It’d be a mercy killing, but you’d still be dead.”

  “Wow, a mercy killing. Aside from the fact that I could walk ‘all the way across town’ in about ten minutes, I feel as though it’s not the distance or the effort that bothers you so much as the bad judgment associated with inferior chili.”

  “Obviously.” Kelly shook her head. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Um, well I transferred in the middle of my sophomore year, and it’s a five-year program, minus going home for the summers, so, boots on the ground, I’ve probably spent around three here in Mayberry.”

  Kelly chose to ignore the slur against her hometown. One step at a time. She picked up her desk phone and dialed a number from memory. While it rang, she turned back to Elliot. “Three years is too long to go without this chili.”

  “Wow. Shouldn’t I look at a menu or something?”

  Kelly shook her
head and spoke into the phone. “I need two large chilies delivered to Rolen and Rolen please. Put it on my tab. Thank you.”

  “You have a running chili tab?” Elliot asked as Kelly hung up the phone.

  “Don’t judge me until you’ve tried it.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.” Elliot’s smile was playful, and instead of feeling annoyed, Kelly found herself amused. They shouldn’t have been able to joke so soon, or even ever again after what had happened, but they could and they did, even if only about things as benign as chili. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d joked about anything.

  She tried not to overthink any of those facts as silence settled between them again. She was tired, and maybe more lonely than she cared to admit. Maybe she would’ve welcomed any good-natured company at this point. Only she didn’t actually enjoy anyone else’s company. Clients meant more work. Doctors and nurses brought too many questions and not enough answers, and on the rare occasion anyone made a social call, their pity only reminded her of everything she couldn’t control.

  Control.

  She wouldn’t have thought Elliot, of all people, could help her feel in control. Elliot, the person who had seen her fall, the woman who knew better than anyone else what a tenuous grip she held on restraint. How could she look Elliot in the eye after what she’d seen? How could she ever respect herself again, much less inspire respect in Elliot? And yet, there they sat bantering back and forth until their dinner arrived.

  “How’s your dad doing?” Elliot asked casually.

  She sighed. She should’ve been grateful Elliot cared enough to ask, but she missed the more comfortable topics. “He’s progressing.”

  “Progressing,” Elliot repeated. She didn’t push for more, but the silence between them didn’t seem nearly as comfortable as before. Kelly had fielded these types of questions numerous times over the past four weeks. She’d learned to dodge or extract herself from them altogether, but she couldn’t refuse to answer what Elliot didn’t ask. She had a hard time summoning her standard defensiveness when Elliot refused to pry. She’d simply opened the topic and then waited for Kelly to return whatever she chose.

  “They moved him to a rehab floor, but as far as I can tell, he’s not actually experiencing much rehabilitation,” Kelly said, much to her own surprise. “He speaks with a little more consistency, which I suppose counts for something, but his vocabulary is still limited. And he doesn’t seem to have enough energy to care.”

  Elliot nodded, her eyes speaking the concern she didn’t actually voice.

  “They say it can take a year to understand the full effects of a stroke, but the doctors have hinted that his current condition might be the best we can hope for.”

  Elliot opened her mouth, but the bell above the front door rang, saving them both from whatever statement she’d intended to make.

  “Hello?” someone called from the front office. “Chili delivery.”

  Elliot smiled weakly and rose to greet the delivery person. Kelly followed more slowly. She shouldn’t long for more casual interactions with Elliot, and they certainly didn’t need to have any deep emotional conversations. Business offered the safest retreat and also the most pressing distraction from everything that plagued her, so she needed to make this a business dinner, then get back to work in earnest.

  “Holy, shit!”

  “Language,” Kelly said, her normal stern voice undercut with amusement.

  “It’s hot,” Elliot whined as her tongue took the brunt of the chemical burn.

  “Blow on it.”

  “It’s spicy hot.”

  “It’s chili.” Kelly laughed. “And you’re a wuss.”

  “I’m not.” Elliot wiped the beads of sweat dotting her forehead and tried not to employ Lamaze-style breathing. “I just didn’t expect something so spicy from Ms. I-don’t-eat-ethnic-food.”

  “If you can’t take it …” Judgment dripped from Kelly’s voice.

  Elliot took a swig of ice water. “I can take it. Really. I’m not a spice wimp. You just caught me off guard.”

  Kelly ate calmly and neatly, her cheeks barely pink, and probably more from enjoyment rather than the food. Add a high tolerance for Tabasco-style heat to the growing list of surprises she kept hidden from the casual observer.

  She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. “So what do you think?”

  “I think you’re full of surprises, and every time I think I’ve gotten used to you springing them on me, you find another way to make me question my assumptions about you.”

  Kelly blinked a few times, the color rising drastically in her cheeks. “I meant, what do you think about the chili?”

  “Oh.” Elliot grimaced. “Sorry. I like the chili. Once you get over the shock, it sort of grows on you, ya know?”

  “Not really. I don’t recall needing a learning curve. I don’t even remember the first time I ate the stuff. It made up a staple of our family diet from the time I could eat solid food.”

  “They feed this stuff to children around here?” Elliot asked. “No wonder you’re all so hearty.”

  “Hearty?” Kelly asked. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

  “Oh, it is,” Elliot assured her, taking another bite. “You Midwestern farm stock are a different breed with your up-with-the-sun mentality and drinking coffee black and wearing skirts in February.”

  Kelly glanced down at her classic black pencil skirt but didn’t reply.

  “Maybe you all have that no-nonsense mentality because parents inoculate you to pain at such a young age. You know, like how some parents give their kids shots for smallpox, or when Scandinavians have their infants nap out in the sub-freezing temperatures to boost their immune systems?”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Oh, I know— this explains how they teach you to eat all the other bland meat and potato dishes everyone loves around here. After eating the chili, you can’t taste anything else, so it doesn’t really matter what random carb you put in your mouth.”

  “Are you finished?”

  Elliot pretended to think hard for a few more seconds before smiling. “For now.”

  “Good,” Kelly said in a dramatic show of exasperation, “and I’m not sure if all local families start their children on chili as young as my dad did. We’ve had some of the same tax season routines ever since I can remember. I always got chili and chocolate milk when he had to work late, which was a lot during tax season.”

  Elliot smiled, thinking of a miniature Kelly in her tiny business suits sitting at her huge desk poring over tax forms and drinking chocolate milk through a straw. The image might not be totally accurate, but she couldn’t actually envision kid Kelly as anything other than a smaller version of her current self. Surely she’d been born with at least her drive, seriousness, and professional acumen fully intact.

  “What are you grinning at?”

  “Nothing,” she answered quickly. “I used to have similar traditions with my mom. She’s a lawyer. When she got absorbed in prepping a case we would have takeout picnics. We’d spread a blanket on the living room floor and line it with those little paper cartons, then just graze while I did homework and she reviewed documents.”

  “Single parents, making do,” Kelly said wistfully. It was the first reference to their shared style of upbringing since the day Elliot had first made the connection. She’d wondered if Kelly had even cared enough to remember the detail. Finding out she had made the conversation feel more intimate. Her stomach tightened in a little churning way that had become entirely too common over the last week. She’d tried, really tried, to live up to her promise of complete professionalism and pretending not to think of Kelly as her sexy gay boss. Most of the time she succeeded, but occasionally when she least expected it, Kelly said or did something to make herself seem real, human, vulnerable. In those moments the memories overwhelmed Elliot before she had time to rein them back in.

  “So your mom’s a lawyer?” Kelly asked nonchala
ntly as she scraped the bottom of her Styrofoam container with a plastic spoon. “Is she the one who taught you to argue all the time?”

  “Pretty much,” Elliot admitted. “She’s kind of a big feminist.”

  “No.” Sarcasm filled Kelly’s voice. “Your mom’s a feminist?”

  “Yeah, your dad’s a CPA, my mom’s a rabid feminist. Insert joke about apples and the trees they fell from. I’m part of the first wave of sisters doing it for themselves in the baby-making department.”

  Kelly seemed to have a hard time swallowing her last bite of chili. “Excuse me?”

  “It was the early ’90s. Fertility advancement met consumer culture, and a thirty-five-year-old single businesswoman suddenly had a lot more options than she used to. And what’s more feminist than having a kid without a man? Just going down to the sperm bank and plunking down her own hard-earned cash, then walking out with one half of an Elliot in a vial.”

  “Wow.” Kelly’s complexion had gone a little pale. “I’m not sure anyone has ever used the word ‘sperm’ in my office before.”

  “I’d be fine if we never used it again.”

  “Me too,” Kelly agreed. “But, having a baby on her own by choice? Your mom sounds … brave?”

  “Or insane. Actually she’s both. I think she’d admit now that she would’ve liked to have had someone to share the experience and the responsibilities with, but she’d never settle for someone less than a full partner, and she had a lot of herself invested in the idea that she didn’t need a man to fulfill her. The great tragedy of her life is not being a lesbian.”

  “Wow,” Kelly said again. “I think the similarity of our parents ends at the single part.”

  “Probably,” Elliot said. “I’ve never met anyone else quite like Sydney.”

  “Sydney?”

  “My mother. She doesn’t like to go by ‘Mom.’ Says it limits her identity and puts an unnecessary sense of hierarchy on our relationship. In preschool, I didn’t think I had a mom or a dad, just a Syd.”