by Radclyffe
“Are you excited about grad school? I can’t even imagine starting up again in the fall.”
Rachel removed her hand, running it through her light blond locks. They were shorter than usual. It was nice, in the heat.
“Yeah. I’m pretty excited. I mean, the fall feels far away. I’m not in training this summer, finally, so I can just relax. What about you? Anything interesting planned?”
Emmerson grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “I start at the firm in a week.”
Rachel had read in the paper that Emmerson had scored a prestigious internship with a public relations firm in Washington D.C.—thanks to her relationships with the school’s board of trustees, most likely.
“Sounds right up your alley.”
“It is. It’ll be good, I’m sure.”
Emmerson’s drive had to be admired. Rachel had been too focused on improving her cross-country time to fall in love with a high-powered career, but she had done well enough in her academics, and grad school would be a new adventure.
“You know, I never heard about you and anyone else.”
On this last night of college, Rachel wanted to know, even if it wasn’t her business.
“There weren’t that many others. I mean there were a few, but mostly nothing serious.”
Rachel stayed silent, waiting for Emmerson to continue.
“Um…there was the TA from my French class. But that ended up just being a few dates. And last year I hung out a lot with one of Heather’s art friends, and in January I actually kind of dated one of the sophomores on the student government board. But nobody knows about that.”
Her grin was infectious, and Rachel laughed, tipping her head to the side as she contemplated the scant dating history Emmerson revealed.
“That’s, um…quite an assortment?”
Emmerson lifted one corner of her mouth, playing with the pearls around her neck.
“They were all women.”
Rachel’s mouth formed an O, her eyes widening. “I wasn’t—”
“Of course you were. It’s okay.” Emmerson leaned closer. “How could I go back after us?”
The air was suddenly dry, all the moisture sucked by the electricity crackling between them. Emmerson reached a hand out, her fingertips landing on the back of Rachel’s right hand. Ever so slightly, she traced a path from the middle of Rachel’s wrist, over the middle knuckle, to the tip of her finger. Her touch was light, enticing, and it made Rachel’s entire body open up on the inside.
Rachel tipped her head back just a little, then turned her attention to the right. Emmerson met her gaze unsmiling, her eyes issuing an invitation that she hadn’t offered in a long time.
It came flooding back in a moment. The way Emmerson’s hands felt on her body. The ways they’d made each other dizzy with pleasure. The way it felt to fall apart in Emmerson’s arms, anchored only by the emerald green of her eyes. It hadn’t been polite, between them—it had been messy and hot and sweaty, both of them taking greedily and giving generously.
It was a lot to remember, and Rachel could feel her body responding accordingly. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she concentrated on her swirling emotions. Was she interested in going down that road? Again? She had wanted to talk to Emmerson and say good-bye; presented with more, she wasn’t sure what to do.
Rachel removed her hand from Emmerson’s touch, taking a half step backward as she looked toward the apartment.
“I should probably find the girls. They wanted to hit up another party tonight.”
If Emmerson was disappointed, she didn’t show it. The polite, public face was back and Rachel exhaled slowly in regret. Needing to ease the moment away from the precipice it teetered on, she tried for comedy.
“Are you gonna take your turn with Heather?” The teasing note in Rachel’s voice made Emmerson blush.
“I’m about as good at beer pong as I am at ping-pong. I’m actually going to head home. I had a breakfast at seven this morning and I’m exhausted. And unpacked.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “You can’t turn in early on the last night of college. Besides, lineup isn’t until ten tomorrow.”
“I know. But pictures start at nine, and I have to be there for that. Plus I need to do some packing or my dad will have a fit. I’m glad I got to see you tonight.”
Emmerson put her hand on Rachel’s shoulder. Her touch felt warm, doubly so because of the temperature. It burned Rachel’s bare skin.
She closed her eyes as Emmerson leaned in and hugged her, inhaling the scent of her perfume. It felt good to be in her arms again, two years of distance melting away easily. Rachel’s hands held Emmerson’s upper back tightly, both of them taking the moment for their big good-bye.
“You’re the best, Ray. You always were.”
Her whispered words caused Rachel to shiver, and they pulled apart.
“You too, Em.”
Together, they walked back into the apartment, where the air had been turned up to accommodate the crowd of people. Rachel’s roommates were standing near the coffee table, drinking and laughing, and she walked to them, ignoring the curious glances they sent her way. Her mind was spinning, awash with the possibilities she had turned down. Emmerson had been offering one last night—a capstone, of sorts, on their time together.
It had been the right thing, to walk away. Rachel wasn’t looking for a quick fuck or the heartbreak of starting up something again; of bringing all the emotions back to the surface.
And yet…
Things had always felt a bit unsettled between them. They had been the best of friends before their relationship, and it had felt wrong to separate with no lingering affection. Perhaps one last night together would be the cherry on top—the balm on any residual hurt. For a few minutes the thoughts bounced around her head, weakening her resolve. She couldn’t help but think about being with Emmerson again, older, wiser, and more experienced. Would their chemistry have dissipated in the two years since their breakup? Or would they be more combustible than ever?
“Listen…I’m gonna catch you guys later.”
She had no interest in waiting to see what her friends would say. Instead, she dipped out of the group and glanced around the apartment to see if Emmerson had already left. When there was no sign of her, Rachel maneuvered her way through the apartment and made her way out of the building. The gravel crunched under her feet as she picked up her pace.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she caught sight of Emmerson about to cross the street. As if instinctively, Emmerson turned, and Rachel jogged down the sidewalk, hands stuck in the front pockets of her jeans. Neither of them said anything until she stopped, leaving just a few feet between them.
“I’ll walk with you.”
For a long moment they stood there as Emmerson considered the offer. She reached out a hand and put it on Rachel’s cheek, her thumb stroking the curve of the bone. Rachel accepted the caress but made no movement, her gaze trained on Emmerson’s green eyes.
The air around them seemed heavy with promise. Rachel could feel her heart pounding.
“Okay.”
On the other side of the street the crosswalk gave way into a long and winding brick path, which led by the library toward the other side of the residential campus. They walked slowly, silent for a long while, Emmerson’s heels clicking on the brick.
“Can you believe this is really it? Freshman year seems like a million years ago.”
Rachel had never really thought about graduation over the years. She wasn’t one for milestones; it was more about the experiences. Graduation was one day, but the celebrating of it had been going on well before senior week.
As they drew near the entrance to Emmerson’s stairwell, they paused, the moment stilted. Emmerson leaned her back against the door, purse still draped over her shoulder. The heat had produced a shininess to her face that only made her look luminous in the light from the sidewalk lamps.
“All my residents are gone. I’m a mama duck with
no ducklings.”
There was a stray lock of hair plastered to her neck. Rachel reached out to gently brush it back, feeling the pulse leap in Emmerson’s neck as she did.
Bravery. The word absently floated through her brain. Long ago, Emmerson had been the brave one, initiating their first romantic interaction. It was time for Rachel to return the favor. She leaned in slowly, her eyes never leaving Emmerson’s. The first brush of their lips was feather-light, a mental stroke more than a physical connection. She paused, letting the caress permeate Emmerson’s thoughts before pressing their lips together firmly. There was no finesse about it, or vulgarity. Just a simple kiss.
The heat sprang up.
Emmerson curved her arm around Rachel’s waist, bringing their bodies flush, leaving no doubt about her intentions; issuing the invitation a second time. Rachel wasn’t about to turn it down again. She ran her tongue over the curve of Emmerson’s bottom lip, melding their lips together, invading her mouth with a softness and restraint that she hadn’t shown to anyone in a long time.
Her hands wandered, holding Emmerson at the waist, cradling her neck, trailing down her rib cage. She pressed their hips together, desperate to rekindle the feeling of completion between them that had been dormant since their breakup—the feeling of attaining the greatest pleasure with one you love, knowing that delay only makes it sweeter.
When Rachel bit down teasingly, Emmerson pulled back. Rachel took a deep breath, loving the feeling of being overheated in the acute humidity and the sensation of her body’s nerve endings all alive. With a playful shove, Emmerson moved Rachel aside so she could turn and unlock the door.
Emmerson lived in the all-girls freshman dorm. The building was set up into six suites; during their freshman year, they had been in Suite 2, all the way up the stairs on one end of the building. Emmerson was the Resident Advisor for Suite 5, and they bounced up the single flight of steps easily. Rachel remembered chasing each other up the four flights to Suite 2, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard. She leaned against the stairwell banister as Emmerson dug her lanyard out of the bottom of the giant tote bag, the jangling mass of standard-issue brass keys clinking as she flipped through them.
“How many fucking keys do you have?”
Emmerson looked at her in mock offense. “Building key, room key, the government office, honors office—”
“Okay, okay, I get it, Em, you have a lot of keys. Open the door—it’s sweltering in here.”
As she followed Emmerson into the suite, it was like walking back in time. Emmerson walked around the entry corner to the RA’s room, which had her name in big blue cut-out letters stuck to the wood. There was a dry-erase board with various doodles, and her schedule pasted up as well. It made Rachel a bit cross-eyed just looking at the hourly breakdown of Emmerson’s week.
Unlocking the door, Emmerson ignored the overhead fluorescent light, finding her way in the dark to the five-headed lamp that was set up next to her bed. It put a soft glow over the room, throwing shades of red and yellow and pink onto the walls. The room was as put-together and lived-in as it would be during the middle of the semester.
“Uh, wow. You weren’t kidding. Why are you so bad at packing?”
“I mean, I have clothes and stuff packed. I was just so busy this week.”
“Only you could be busy during senior week.”
“I was wrapping up loose ends. And the trustee meetings. Graduation details. All that crap. I have Diet Coke.”
“Sure.”
As Emmerson retrieved the soft drinks from her fridge, Rachel looked around. There were picture frames all over, displaying smiling photographs of Emmerson with her friends from high school, and on the corkboard was a picture of their entire crew from freshman year. Rachel could see her eighteen-year-old self, staring back at her with wide eyes and a smug grin. She shook her head and turned her back on the photo, accepting the drink.
“Thanks.”
Toeing off her pumps, Emmerson sat on the edge of her bed, the bright floral pattern of her dress contrasting with the gray watercolor flowers printed on her comforter. The skin above the bust of her dress had flushed in the heat, the hairs at the crown of her head curling a little.
“Come sit.”
Rachel sat at the foot of the bed as Emmerson slid back to the headboard, leaning against her assortment of pillows. They stared at each other, both predators for a moment, wondering who would be the prey. The pressure from the kiss downstairs had dissipated, leaving them on different sides of an emotional void. Suddenly surround by Emmerson’s world, Rachel felt a little unsure.
“Why’d you invite me up?”
“Why’d you walk me home?”
The smile pulled at Rachel’s lips slowly, but she narrowed her eyes. It was different to play the game with Em, after so long. Before, their passion had been sparked by a touch or a look, always welcomed. The verbal game they had been playing since she encountered Emmerson on the balcony was new territory for them.
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
Emmerson waited till Rachel looked up before asking. “Do you regret breaking up?”
Rachel glanced at the corkboard. The 4x6 photograph was small from her vantage point on the bed, but she could still make out her smiling, happy face. She turned back to Emmerson, mentally pulling herself out of the past.
“No. I don’t.”
To her surprise, Emmerson smiled. “Good. Neither do I…I regret not being able to love you more, or longer…But I think it was what we both needed.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t recognize that at the time.”
She had caused Emmerson a lot of pain in her refusal to accept that they weren’t “meant to be.” Hurtful things had been said, and what could have been a very clean and amicable break had been jagged and drawn out over the course of a semester.
“It wasn’t your fault. Half-share, okay?”
Half-share. Emmerson used to say that as she peeled an orange, or opened a candy bar, offering it out. Rachel hadn’t heard or thought about the expression in two years. There were a million things about Emmerson that she had forgotten.
Emmerson extended her hand, the movement smooth, assured.
“C’mere.”
Rachel took the offered hand, crawling up the bed on all fours. Emmerson shifted, lying on her side, and Rachel mimicked her pose, also placing her head on the pillow. Their noses almost touched, and from so close, she could see the lamplight reflected in Emmerson’s deep green eyes. She reached over and put the can on the bedside table.
“Will this hurt in the morning?”
Emmerson’s voice was inquisitive, like a child asking a nurse if a shot will hurt. Four years earlier, Rachel would have said no; no, it won’t hurt, assuring and cajoling Emmerson all at once.
“I don’t know. It might.”
Rachel reached out to trace the lips that she had kissed so many times. It was familiar to be so close, but not the same as it used to be. She was a different person than she’d been when they met. They were both different people. Would she fall in love with the Emmerson of senior year? Busy, political, savvy…
“I’m okay with that…if it hurts. Later.”
Rachel considered her options. She had tried to run Emmerson out of her system two years earlier. It hadn’t worked, but eventually she had been able to move on. Falling back into Emmerson’s embrace might hurt her heart in the morning, but Rachel had made her decision the moment she’d left the party to run after Emmerson. There was no turning back.
She missed the heat. There had been a warmth to being with Emmerson that she hadn’t found with anyone else; a fire that had blazed in and around them, and kept her constantly warm, constantly on an edge. She wanted to feel the heat again. No matter the consequences.
“I am, too.”
The smile that Emmerson gave her was encouraging and lovely, and Rachel let herself fall into the embrace without reservations. With aching slowness, they
began to kiss, reacquainting themselves. Mere brushing of lips gave way to tender pressure, and it then transformed into something more aggressive and possessive. Rachel melted under Emmerson’s insistent caresses, opening her mouth, searching with her hands. Emmerson’s skin burned under her touch, as if her fingers were leaving lines of fire in their wake. Her skin was salty under Rachel’s lips.
Before she was too far gone, Emmerson reached over to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into semidarkness. The light from the street lamp outside her window bled across the bed, leaving them illuminated enough to see.
A gust of breeze blew through the window screen, but stopped just as suddenly, making the room feel even more stifling. Rachel felt scorched by the heat, inside and out and all over her mind. It had always been like that with Emmerson.
Emmerson sighed. “It’s so hot.”
Rachel smiled against her neck.
It always was.
Contributors
Brenna Harvey is a writer and queer intersectional feminist activist from New England. She is currently pursuing graduate studies in sociology at the University of Connecticut, where her main areas of interest are human rights theory, gender identity, and sexual and reproductive health. Though an aspiring social scientist, she actually believes that only fiction has the power to speak meaningful truth.
Justine F. Lane is a vegetarian, Japan-obsessed type who lives with a black cat she picked up in a seedy area and her partner, whom she picked up somewhere else. Her ultimate goal in life is to have a private island and/or biodynamic farm with a queer organic café. While waiting for that to materialize, she writes stuff, edits stuff, and teaches stuff. In her spare time, she collects herbal teas, studies spices, and gorges herself on Indian sweets. This is her first short story to be published. You can mail her at: [email protected].