by Alexi Venice
Ten
Stinson Beach
Amanda’s feet carried her along her favorite coastline—which was and always would be any beach in Northern California. Her eyes stung from the low sun glinting off the water, as she gazed over the incoming waves lapping around her ankles, her feet relishing the rough sand with each step. She stopped and ground her toes into the cold sand, as the foamy current performed its trick of burying her feet, the retreating wave sucking them in deeper.
Behind her, Chance and Kip’s beach party was underway, but she had bypassed them on her trek from the beach house to the water. She needed some personal time and space to explore her thoughts and allow herself to feel. A familiar war was building within her—remain sober or party with Kip and Chance’s beautiful and interesting friends. She knew she had already blown it with the G&T, but hers was a complicated path. One afternoon drink didn’t mean she had to fall completely off the wagon. She felt good, her buzz lingering from the gin. Could she stop now and still enjoy herself?
A decade ago, she wouldn’t have paused to deliberate her attempts at sobriety. Instead, she would have delighted in being the center of attention, sharing outrageous stories about criminal trials, drinking whatever was offered to her, and smoking whatever was passed from hand-to-hand.
She shook her head at her old habits, recalling a beach party weekend where she had slept with two different women in one weekend, then the three of them had ended up in bed the next weekend. The sex had been naughty and greedy—satisfying even—but it paled in comparison to what she shared with Jen. She didn’t harbor an ounce of shame over her past escapades, but she felt irredeemably guilty over her extremely poor judgment with Roxy. Jen had been right to leave—the first time, anyway.
Accustomed to being chased, Amanda was at a loss for how to deal with Jen’s rejection. Her heart ached. She longed for Jen’s touch. She had lost her appetite, the starvation accentuating the hollows under her cheekbones. She had moped around the house for days, picking up articles of Jen and Kristin’s clothing, smelling them, seeing their faces, bits and pieces of happy conversations replaying in her ears.
She pulled her feet from the sand and sulked farther away from the partygoers, wrapping her arms around herself and staring at the foamy formations on top of each wave. Always on the lookout for seals or other sea life, she didn’t see anything of interest. Nothing in her heart and nothing around her. Only emptiness, as her broken heart continued its desolate implosion.
How many times was she supposed to reach out to Jen by texting? How many texts would be welcomed as loving and attentive versus annoying and stalkerish? She had texted once, but Jen’s reply had been slow to come, cryptic, and emotionally detached, confirming only that they were alive and well. The absence of heart emojis and sweet nothings spoke volumes.
Damn it to hell. Amanda found herself again in a spot with Jen that she’d never been before with other women. Dumped. She had always been the one to call off a relationship. After a lifetime of being on the receiving end of hooded glances and longing stares, she couldn’t compute how to process her current condition. For the first time in her life, she had turned her heart over to someone, only to have it ripped to shreds by her own actions. She had no one to blame but herself.
As she thought back over their relationship, she realized that she had been the one to initiate the romance, to propose, to make wedding plans, to buy rings, to build a suitable house. Jen hadn’t made any of those suggestions, yet she had capitulated readily. Because she loved Amanda?
She still loves me, right? How could she fall out of love with me over a few stupid pics of Roxy and me? That pic was old news. She already knew about our hookup. More importantly, she knew it was over.
Amanda kicked at a wave, sending foam and droplets into the air that were carried on the wind back to her face, the cold water refreshing on her hot skin.
“I’m not going to get wet if I walk with you, am I?”
Amanda spun around.
One of Chance’s close friends, Margot, sauntered up to Amanda, bearing a drink in each hand. “Would you like wine or a gin and tonic?”
Amanda smiled politely. Neither, really. “I’ll take whatever you don’t want.”
Margot handed Amanda the plastic glass of white wine, which was fine because Amanda didn’t intend to drink it anyway. Blech .
“You looked a little lonely, so I thought I’d join you,” Margot said.
“How thoughtful.” Amanda pretended to sip her wine.
“I’m not really the big-crowd type. How about you?”
“Hm. Not today,” Amanda said.
“Is something on your mind?”
A lump formed in Amanda’s throat. I couldn’t even begin to count the ‘somethings’ on my mind. “Just contemplating the end of a relationship, I suppose.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been there, and it sucks.” Margot sipped her drink.
They walked in silence. Or, Margot walked, and Amanda brooded while she placed one foot in front of the other.
“Were you in love with her?” Margot asked.
Amanda nodded.
They took a few more steps. “And you’re still in love with her?”
Amanda nodded.
Margot looped her hand through Amanda’s arm. “I’m truly sorry.”
Surprised by Margot’s gesture, Amanda initially flinched, but then realized it was an expression of kindness, nothing more. Kindness. After a week devoid of human contact, Amanda was overcome. A tidal wave of emotion flooded her, leaving her chest tight in its wake. She again fought back tears.
The expression on Jen’s face when she had disinvited Amanda to her lake place replayed in Amanda’s mind for the hundredth time. Jen’s steely, disappointed eyes. Her angry brows. Her lips tightened into a thin line. Amanda never thought she’d be on the receiving end of that look since the first time she had admitted to sleeping with Roxy. Jen’s recent anger, however, seemed like it ran deeper, hitting the low notes of hate.
Like the deep, elongated tones of a cello—providing depth and emotion to a musical piece—Amanda moaned in agony. No longer able to walk, she stopped, let the plastic wine glass fall to the sand, and rested her hands on her knees as she bent over in defeat. Her eyelids could no longer contain the pool of tears that burst forth, crashing into the water, providing the release that she so desperately needed.
She was vaguely aware of Margot’s presence but didn’t give a damn. She didn’t care what anyone’s opinion was of her, other than Jen’s, of course, and she was half a continent away. So, to hell with it. To hell with social custom. To hell with looking cool for Kip and Chance’s friends. To hell with being normal. To hell with remaining strong. To hell with professionalism. To hell with being DA. To hell with life.
She relished the cool sand on her butt, a small pile of kelp in a heap beside her. A few seagulls angrily scurried away, their meal of creatures among the kelp leaves interrupted by Amanda’s presence. Her white jeans quickly soaked up the salt water, as she lay her forehead on her knees and cried the tears of rejection and heartbreak. Cried the tears of loss. Cried the tears of unrequited love—the worst kind.
She wailed into the sound of the waves gently crashing ashore, giving way to the power of heartbreak that gripped her. Dissonant chords of pain bubbled up Amanda’s throat to her dry mouth. I fucking blew it. Unforgiveable. I’ll never get her back.
After a time—she couldn’t be sure how many minutes had passed—she felt a strong arm around her shoulders.
She turned her face to the woman sitting next to her, assuming her own appearance was frightful.
Margot gave Amanda a caring, understanding look. Not a smile, but her lips angled up in support and understanding.
“I’m so sorry I lost it in front of you,” Amanda said.
“Never apologize for crying real tears. We’ve all been there.”
“I don’t want to ruin your weekend. Feel free to leave me and join the others.”
<
br /> “I’d rather be with you.”
“Why?”
Margot’s supportive look turned into a playful smile. “I’m a sucker for drama?”
Amanda laughed in spite of herself. “I’ve never been into drama.”
“Then I’m a closet counselor?”
Amanda shook her head and patted Margot’s wet thigh. “You’re a nice person is what you are. And, fearless—watching me break down like that but having the guts to stick around and say encouraging words.”
“I don’t see anything to fear in you, Amanda. You broke up with your girlfriend, perhaps fiancé, judging by the ring on your finger, and you’re genuinely heartbroken. I would call that normal.”
Amanda watched the waves creeping around her ankles and butt, lapping at the waistband of her white jeans and depositing granules of sand everywhere. “She broke up with me .”
“I’m sorry.”
“Important distinction.” Amanda scooped up a fistful of wet sand and let the globs sift through her fingers.
“I wish I had a cure for you,” Margot said, “but I know there isn’t one. We’ll always carry our former lovers in our hearts—buried deep where there’s a lot of pain—but there’s no denying that they’re still with us, is there?”
“You sound like you know what you’re talking about,” Amanda said.
“I do.” A bittersweet smile claimed Margot’s face. “I lost my wife to cancer.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been behaving selfishly, like I’m the only person who’s ever suffered loss. How long ago?”
“A couple of years now. The anniversary date of her death is approaching, and I can feel myself being drawn into the grief again.”
Amanda leaned into Margot, resting her head on her shoulder. “God, you’re strong—offering comfort when you’re going through something yourself.”
A short, soft laugh escaped Margot. “Oh, I’m not entirely pure in my thoughts and intentions, and I don’t want to mislead you. I found you stunning as hell when we met. When I followed you down the beach, I had touch on my mind, but not the consoling kind.”
“Thanks for being honest.”
“You’re welcome. It’s a character flaw.”
“Hm. Beautiful and honest? I bet you’re smart too,” Amanda said.
Margot laughed off the compliment. “My leggings are really wet. Want to walk back and change into some dry clothes?”
“If you insist, although feeling the chill of the ocean spilling over my jeans and dripping down my butt crack is kind of counteracting my heartbreak, if that makes any sense.”
Margot laughed. “I can tough it out for a few more waves if you want.”
Amanda rubbed her face. “I just can’t stop crying this week.”
“If only I looked that good when I cried,” Margot said. “Let me see your eyes.”
Amanda turned and looked into Margot’s perceptive grey eyes, the color almost indistinguishable from the water in the dusky light.
“A little bloodshot, but not bad.” Margot anchored her fingers at Amanda’s temple and thumbed away mascara streaks under her eyes. “Better.”
When Amanda dropped her head, Margot leaned forward and kissed Amanda’s forehead—a soothing, comforting kiss. Then she backed away abruptly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay.” Amanda placed her hand at Margot’s elbow and squeezed.
The moment was sealed by an aggressive wave crashing around them, sending rivulets up their backs and shoveling sand around their bottoms before it retreated.
“Yikes!” Amanda squealed, jumping to her feet. She held out her hands for Margot.
“God, that’s cold!” Margot pulled herself up by Amanda’s hands. “I think my bra is wet now too!”
“Me too,” Amanda said.
They leaned into each other, soggy clothes meeting soggy clothes.
“Where are our plastic cups?” Margot asked.
“There.” Amanda quickly snatched them from the sand before the surf ate them.
By the time the women made it back to the second floor of the beach house, they were visibly shivering.
“I need a hot shower,” Amanda said, heading for the bathroom.
“That sounds nice,” Margot said.
They stopped in the hallway, water dripping from their clothes onto the hardwood floor.
“I’d suggest rock, paper, scissors, but I’m too afraid to lose,” Amanda said. “Want to share the shower?”
“That’s a little bold for me—getting naked together after knowing you for two minutes.”
Amanda inclined her head. “Fine. Rock, paper, scissors it is.”
“Nonsense. You go first. Hand me your wet clothes, and I’ll put them in the washing machine with mine.”
“You’re a saint. I owe you.” Amanda proceeded to the bathroom and shed her clothes without closing the door.
Margot appeared at the door in a robe and let her eyes roam over Amanda’s sandy body.
Standing naked before Margot, Amanda felt like she had already exposed more of herself by breaking down on the beach. Revealing herself emotionally was much more terrifying than physical nakedness. In any event, she felt free and unbridled, in direct contrast to the prison she had been living in for the last week.
“Not very shy, are we?” Margot observed.
“Not today. I guess you’ve seen all of me now—inside and out.”
Margot’s eyes lingered on Amanda’s breasts. “Very intimidating—that gorgeous body.”
Amanda deliberately scanned Margot’s body under the thick robe. “You? Intimidated?”
Margot smiled then said in a hoarse voice, “I’ll just go throw these in the wash. Sandy bottoms and all.” She turned on her barefoot heel and left.
Eleven
Fireside Lake
Lying on top of Victoria’s hot body, Jen was primed with passion, her libido lighting off fireworks that exploded in neon colors behind her eyelids. Tongue-deep in bliss, Jen’s mind betrayed her, however, by not attending the party. It was on a planet far, far away, unable to turn off nagging thoughts of Amanda. Even though Jen wanted to give Victoria her undivided attention, Amanda’s face loomed like a dark zeppelin.
Jen pictured herself kissing Amanda on the sofa in her apartment while straddling Amanda’s lap; immediately after Amanda had slipped the diamond band on Jen’s finger. She pushed that image aside, trying to remember what she usually thought about while kissing Amanda, and whether her mind was as distracted as it was now. She couldn’t remember thinking anything while kissing Amanda because she usually was so lost in desire that she was incapable of thought. Fuck.
Ever since Amanda had shown Jen the pic of Roxy and Amanda in bed, Jen’s mind hadn’t stopped. It was trapped in an analytic loop, attempting to reconcile the photographic evidence of Roxy and Amanda against Amanda’s repeated declarations of love. Had Amanda been lying? If they married, would she be capable of monogamy?
Think of something else. Think of something else . Will Tommy give me a hard time tomorrow if I stay with Victoria? Will my parents think less of me? What would I think of Jake or Patrick if they stayed over with woman on a first date? Come to think of it, Jake has done that multiple times. Get into the moment!
She leaned up on an elbow and cupped Victoria’s breast then slowly skated her thumb across Victoria’s nipple. Victoria whimpered in pleasure, her expression pure desire.
Jen moaned when Victoria’s hand traveled under Jen’s skirt, grabbing her butt cheek.
How many times had Amanda looked Jen in the eye and told Jen she was the only one? Jen couldn’t fathom saying those words—and really meaning them—to someone one night then spending the next night with someone else. It just didn’t compute for her.
She glided her pelvis over Victoria’s and leaned down for another sultry kiss.
Victoria arched into Jen, her escalating moans indicating she wanted more, so Jen slipped her hand inside Victoria’s bra
, covering her bare breast, the taut bud now pressed into her palm. The texture was so heady it made her wet.
Jen realized, however, that she needed to work through her emotions—whether to leave Amanda or not—before having sex with Victoria. Her mind and emotions were a scrap heap of uncertainty and guilt, tormenting her. She could feel her body responding to sexual desire, but, mentally, she didn’t feel uninhibited enough for the throes of passion, so she slowly removed her hand from the inside of Victoria’s bra.
“Do you want to move to my bedroom?” Victoria asked. “You seem uncomfortable.”
Jen stopped kissing Victoria’s neck and gazed down upon her in the soft light.
Victoria’s pupils were dilated, and she was breathing so fast she was practically panting. One hand was on Jen’s bare butt cheek and the other was exploring Jen’s smooth back under her tank.
They so easily could transition to Victoria’s bedroom, where clothes would be shed, lips and tongues would explore, and sexual desires would be fulfilled, but Jen’s misgivings overpowered her ability to connect. She wasn’t being fair to Victoria or herself. She propped herself up on an elbow and leaned against the back of the sofa with a sigh.
“I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. I love what we’re doing, and I so want to move this to your bedroom, but I can’t turn off my mind. I think it’s telling me that I need to work through some stuff before I can have sex with you.”
Jen intentionally used the phrase “have sex” rather than “make love.” She respected Victoria and found her very attractive, but she could hardly call having sex this soon “making love.” Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she needed more than just physical attraction to act on her feelings. Maybe she needed a relationship built on love before she could make love to a woman.
Whatever the reason, now wasn’t the right time, but given more time, she was sure the answer would reveal itself.