Definite Possibility

by Maggie Cummings

  Lucy kissed her lips before pulling back. “Fucking Frankie isn’t here yet,” she said with a scowl. “I may punch her in the throat when she finally shows.” She pointed one finger at Sam’s chest. “Do not try to stop me,” she said in playful warning.

  “Like I can stop you when you set your mind to something.” It was completely true and they both knew it. Lucy’s face was full of acknowledgment and love as she linked her hands with Sam’s. “Come on. Back to the party. I don’t trust myself with you in here.”

  A half hour later, when Lucy was tied up with her Aunt Suzie’s millionth question about the coffee shop, Sam slipped away to grab a beer off the back porch. She was already entering the room when she saw Emily in a heated discussion with a woman whose back was to the door. Judging from the level of emotion on display it had to be Frankie. Sam lifted the lid on the cooler and reached her hand in, content with anything just to get out of the way. She tried to be silent, hoping to slip out unnoticed, but it was too late. As she made eye contact with Emily, she gave her a look that she hoped conveyed both apology for interrupting and the sentiment that it wasn’t necessary to acknowledge her presence.

  No dice. Emily gave her a small wave as she wiped away her tears. “You’re fine, Sam,” she said in response. “We were just finishing up here.” Emily took a step toward her and the woman turned at the same time. “Sam, this is Frankie. My wife.”

  “Blynn.” The name fell out of Sam’s mouth as if she was in a daze. No time passed before her heart sank into her stomach as the realization of what was going on registered.

  “Sam, what are you doing here?” Frankie asked through a snide snicker.

  Emily jumped in to answer. “Sam is Lucy’s girlfriend. I told you about her.”

  “You didn’t tell me it was Sam Miller.” Her smirk was completely self-indulgent. Sam recognized the look of smug satisfaction her colleague slash ex-fling typically reserved for the boardroom. What an egomaniacal bitch.

  Emily’s voice revealed her confusion. “I didn’t know her last name. Sorry, Sam,” she said, offering a weird apology. “I’m shocked you were even listening to me,” she said, tossing out a barb of her own. She leaned back and crossed her arms looking between them. “Do you know each other?”

  “Sam and I work together.”

  “For real?” She looked to Sam for an explanation. “How did we not put that together?”

  Her mouth hung open a little as Sam shook her head from side to side. “I don’t know. But Blynn, sorry, Frankie,” she corrected, knowing her expression still held shock, “and I do work together from time to time.”

  “Sam’s being modest. I routinely insist that she is my lead graphic designer. She’s the best. And so am I. We have phenomenal chemistry. Am I right, Sam?” Her eyes were loaded with innuendo and Sam hated her for it.

  “But Blynn?” she said, still hung up on her name. It was a ridiculous detail, yet she couldn’t get past it.

  “Frances is so formal. I was Frankie through high school but it’s quite juvenile.” She took her time before she met Sam’s eyes. “Also, it’s a touch masculine for me.” Her smile was coy and vain. “I’ve gone by my middle name since I began in the advertising world.”

  F. Blynn Hughes. Mother. Fucker. Sam started to sweat.

  “There you are.” Lucy’s voice at the doorway cut the tension, but also added to it. “I was getting worried. Hon, would you grab me a seltzer.” She stepped out onto the porch and touched Sam’s back as she sidled next to her. “Frankie, so nice of you to grace us with your presence today.”

  “Get this, Luce.” Emily’s voice still held bewilderment. “Sam works with Frankie.”

  “What?”

  “They work together. Sam calls her Blynn and everything.” Emily clucked her tongue as she rolled her eyes, clearly taking a jab at her wife’s pretentiousness.

  Question and concern covered Lucy’s face as she turned to Sam. “You know Frankie?”

  “No. Yes,” she said, changing her answer on the spot. “I didn’t know…I mean, I only know her as Blynn…not Frankie.” She didn’t mean for it to come out as an excuse or an explanation. In fact, she didn’t want to own up to anything, not at this particular moment in time. But Lucy must have seen the confession in her eyes, because Sam read her recognition right on the spot.

  “No.” Lucy’s protest came out as a kind of plea. “Sam,” she said desperately, but it was a whisper barely heard by the others. “No.” Quieter still this time, as she shook her head slowly, clearly using all her resolve to hold it together. “We should all get inside,” she said through a terse smile. “Em, we have the toast and tribute to Mom and Dad in a few minutes.” She turned quickly and bolted into the house. Sam raced to follow her, but just through the french doors Lucy’s dad caught her arm to introduce her to his brother. At the risk of being rude, Sam stayed for the mandatory hellos, escaping as quickly as she could, but it wasn’t in time. Lucy was already at the front of the room, surrounded by her sisters, while Beth clinked a spoon against a champagne flute to solicit the room’s attention.

  The next thirty minutes passed in a blur. Sam watched the photo montage and listened to the girls’ choreographed speeches, registering breaks of laughter as they pierced through her haze, but it was as though she was hardly present. She was still on the porch trying to make sense of what happened back there. Blynn was Frankie. But how?

  When the homage ended, Sam tried to get Lucy’s attention but she was flanked by family. Sam backed away and slipped up the stairs into Lucy’s room.

  She grabbed her phone and texted Lucy her location, spending the next fifteen minutes pacing and chewing at her short fingernails until the door opened.

  “Lucy, I—”

  “I’m not talking about this, Sam.” She was trying to cover it but her voice held both anger and pain. “Not here.” She leaned against the back of the bedroom door and covered her face with both hands. Despite her proclamation she asked, “How did this fucking happen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She’s my sister’s wife, Sam.” Lucy spoke through her palms but Sam could hear rage and betrayal as her voice cracked. “My sister,” she repeated. “I can’t.” She slid her hands up pulling at the front of her hair and Sam saw tears in her eyes. “No.” She clenched her jaw fighting back her emotions. “We are not doing this now.”

  Sam couldn’t take seeing her pain. She crossed the room and reached for Lucy, folding her in her arms as she kissed the top of her head. Lucy went willingly, crying in earnest against Sam’s chest.

  “It’s okay,” Sam whispered against her hair. “It’ll be okay.”

  “It won’t.” Lucy’s voice was tempered, even as it came out muffled against Sam’s sweater. She pushed out of Sam’s embrace and let her body weight rest on the door behind her as she rubbed at her wet eyes with the edges of her shirt. “I have to look like I’m not a fucking mess.” Her voice was still full of fury and sadness. “I want to go home.” Her eyes filled up again. “Can we just…go?”

  Sam wanted to protest, to tell Lucy that she was making too much of it. Whatever ridiculous arrangement she’d had with Blynn had ended the second she thought she had a shot with Lucy. But even in her own head, it sounded pathetic. She nodded in response. At least the car ride back to Staten Island would give them time alone, a solid hour to flesh it out. But the traffic was unusually light and they flew along the Belt Parkway, making it to Bay West in just under forty minutes. The entire journey Lucy stared out the passenger window, never uttering a word. When Sam heard a sniffle as they zipped past JFK, she tried to touch Lucy’s shoulder, but Lucy moved away. Finally pulling into Bay West, Sam parked in front of Lucy’s unit and cut the engine.

  “You can’t come in,” Lucy said through heavy tears.

  “Luce, we need to talk about this.”

  “No.” She looked straight ahead. “I need to think.”

  “We weren’t together, Lucy. You have to believe that.
”

  “That’s not the point.” She looked off into the distance, letting out a measured breath as she clearly tried to keep her composure. “She’s married to Emily, Sam.” Her eyes seemed steeled on tiny droplets of rain beginning to land on the windshield as she continued. “Emily, who thought she was cheating. Which she was.” Her face fell as she spoke the truth. “With you.”

  Sam shook her head in silent protest but it was pointless. Lucy pulled the door handle.

  “Lucy, wait,” Sam implored, almost reaching her but it was too late. Lucy slipped out of the car, letting the door close with a sad click as she walked away.

  *****

  For the next few days, Sam busied herself with work. She did everything from home, of course, having no idea how she was going to handle Blynn when she saw her. Mostly she didn’t care, but she hated that her colleague had obviously enjoyed a kind of rush over the situation the other night. Fuck her, she thought, closing her project immediately. She could be a crappy wife to Emily all she wanted, but Sam wasn’t about to let her screw up her chances with Lucy. She fired off a quick email to one of the headhunters who was always trying to poach her for other firms. Shutting her laptop with a click, she stood up and got moving.

  She set the shower water temperature to a toasty 110 degrees on the digital display and stepped in, letting the hot water wash over her body. She ached from lack of sleep over the last seventy-two hours and the steady hot pressure rejuvenated her. Although she didn’t really have a plan, she knew she needed to see Lucy. It had been three full days of zero contact. She’d acquiesced and given her space and time to think. Forget waiting any longer. It was time Lucy heard her out.

  Warm light poured out of Lucy’s Coffee Bar as she pulled into the dark lot. Sam couldn’t help but remember the first time she’d come here so many months ago, the night eerily similar to this one. Back then she’d had hopes of finding a simple dessert. She smiled now, thinking about how far they had come. First coffee, then the lunch dates disguised as friendship. The whole time she was slowly, sweetly, slipping into love. It happened so seamlessly Sam couldn’t identify the precise moment she’d known. Suddenly her life was divided into the time before Lucy and now.

  The bell above the door jangled and Lucy looked up from her chore at the counter, doing a double take at the sight of Sam walking to the bar.

  “Hi,” Sam said, noticing the heaviness in Lucy’s eyes right away. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  Lucy put her hands on her hips as though she was bracing for something, but when she spoke, her voice cracked and Sam heard nothing but sadness. “Not here, Sam. I’m at work.”

  “A few minutes. Please?” She didn’t even care that she was begging. “Lucy, come on?” Her voice wavered and it was perhaps her obvious emotion that made the difference. Whatever the case, Lucy gave in. She turned for the kitchen signaling with her eyes that Sam should follow.

  “Raven, give us a minute, would you?” Lucy’s voice was as serious as ever and Raven asked no questions as she breezed past Sam with an uneasy smile.

  Sam touched the countertop with one finger, her other hand stuffed in her pocket as she contemplated what to say. Despite her plea for a moment with Lucy, she hadn’t given the content of their conversation much thought. On the spot, she decided to go right from the gut.

  “I miss you.”

  Lucy blinked slowly, seeming pained by Sam’s small sentiment.

  “I know this situation is…” She paused. “Not ideal. I don’t know what to say about it, really.”

  “Not ideal is a bit of an understatement, I’d say.” Lucy’s voice had some zing to it—a combination of anger and resentment.

  “Okay,” Sam said. “Like I said, I don’t know what to say.” She shrugged. “I don’t think it’s worth throwing in the towel over.” She looked up and hoped her eyes conveyed the level of emotion she felt. “I love you, Luce. I never felt this way about anyone. Ever. Tell me what to do to make it better. Please?”

  Lucy braced herself against the countertop and tipped her head all the way back before meeting Sam’s eyes. She was clenching her jaw over and over. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do.”

  “But Lucy, we weren’t even together, you and me. When all that happened. Honestly.”

  “I know, Sam. I believe you.”

  “I had no idea she was married, Luce. For whatever that’s worth. Maybe that’s stupid or I was believing what I wanted, or just not thinking about it at all. But trust me when I tell you I didn’t know.”

  “I believe you, Sam. I do.” She clenched her jaw and fought back the tears. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “I know,” she said, even though she didn’t quite know why.

  “I just can’t stop picturing you with her. With Frankie.”

  “Don’t.” Sam looked right at her. “There was never anything between us. Honestly. It was purely…” Her voice faded, knowing the admission did nothing for her cause.

  “Physical,” Lucy finished for her. “I know. That doesn’t help, actually.”

  “I just meant that I never had any feelings for her.”

  “I hate that you were with her like that. I hate it.” She wiped a tear before it fell, her voice getting more agitated by the second. “I hate that I can’t stop thinking about it. I hate that obnoxious, selfish Frankie got to experience you the way I do. When you are vulnerable and shy and sweet.” She balled her fists but released them right away, rubbing her palms on her worn-out jeans. “I hate that anyone else besides me ever got to see that side of you. I know that makes me sound jealous and greedy in my own right, but I want to be the only person who does that to you.”

  “But you are.”

  Lucy shook her head. “I’m not. And I hate it.” She breathed out audibly. “More than anything, I hate that I have to tell Emily about it,” she said.

  It was the answer to a question she’d been too uncomfortable to ask, but the knowledge still shook her to her center.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Sam. I have to tell her. You know I do.”

  Sam nodded and then shook her head, the conflicting emotions she felt on display.

  “Just don’t let it define us.” The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to filter them. Lucy was about to talk but Sam stopped her. “Babe, I get it. I don’t like it but I get it. I know she is your sister and you are close, and Emily deserves to know that Blynn, ugh, Frankie,” she self-corrected, “is not being straight with her.” She took a step forward and put one hand delicately on Lucy’s waist. “I’m sorry for my part in all of it. I’m embarrassed by it,” she admitted. “But even still, I’m not willing to lose you over this.” She put her other hand on Lucy’s side. “I love you, Lucy. More than I ever loved anyone in my whole life.” She looked up at the stained ceiling before meeting Lucy’s eyes. “I know you love me.” She kissed Lucy’s forehead. “That has to count for something.”

  Lucy leaned forward, pressing her head into Sam’s chest, her hands drifting along the lean muscles of Sam’s upper body. Her body language said it all. She wanted to be held, she needed it. Only a few days had passed but she clearly missed Sam’s touch. Lucy tilted her head up and Sam kissed her softly, the small moment taking over, making it seem as though everything might be okay.

  “I can’t, Sam.” Lucy’s voice was so low Sam wasn’t sure she heard her correctly.

  “What?”

  “I’m not saying it’s over.” She paused. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “Then don’t say anything.” She ran her hands the length of Lucy’s arms hoping for a positive response.

  “I just need some time. To process. To talk to Emily. To get these awful images out of my head.” She worried her lower lip. “Give me a few days. A week. Maybe more. I don’t know,” she muttered with a shake of her head.

  “Take whatever time you need, Lucy. I’m not going anywhere.” In a bit of irony lost on neither of them, Sam step
ped backward toward the rear door. “I mean, technically, I’m going home, but”—she channeled her best charm and hoped she looked irresistible—“you know what I mean.”

  Lucy answered with a smile that was sad but sweet, and Sam was sure she saw love in it. She could only hope it would be enough.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “I hate Sundays.” Meg let her head fall gently against Sasha’s bare back, groaning a little in her dismay.

  Sasha turned in her arms, touching Meg’s face as she kissed her cheeks and her eyelids, her lips brushing her face as she nestled her body closer.

  “No, you don’t. In fact”—she found Meg’s lips—“you love them.” She gave her attention to Meg’s freckled chest. “Because we’re about to do this. Again.” Her expression was as coy as ever. “And at ten thirty we’re going to meet the girls at Lucy’s like we do every Sunday.” She dropped a kiss on Meg’s collarbone. “When we come back, we’re going to veg all day, curl up on the couch, read the Times, work on the puzzle.” She licked her lips almost laughing as she continued, “Then you’ll find a ridiculously cheesy movie.”

  “Which you will pretend to hate, but secretly be infatuated with, even though you will make fun of it the whole time.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Sasha cooed.

  “Mm-hmm.” Meg played along. “Sure, sure. Cut to three hours later when you can’t stop talking about how cute the old couple was or the puppy or the kid sister or something else completely secondary, so I’ll know you were totally invested. Newspaper prop or not.”

  “Shut up.” Sash punctuated her words with a series of light finger pokes to Meg’s biceps. “I do not do that.”

  “You completely do.” Meg caught her index finger and brought it to her lips. “It’s adorable.”

  Sasha smiled. “You are making my point.”

  “Which was what again?”

  “You love our lazy Sundays.”

  “I do.” Meg kissed Sasha’s forehead. “I could use some coffee right now,” she said, glancing over at the clock.