In the Distance There Is Light

by Harper Bliss

  Of course, at work, where I have actual colleagues now with whom I go to bars for after-work drinks and such, nobody asks me about my private life too much. They all know what happened to you, which, ironically, saves me from having to answer difficult questions about how I’ve spent my weekend.

  I guess what I’m also trying to say is that things are as good as can be expected with me, maybe even better. It’s only been six months and perhaps I should still be plunged deeply into mourning. Had it not been for Dolores, I probably still would be, but I know for a fact how much you would hate that. You, the person who hated self-pity more than anything. The guy who gave me a stern talking to every time I only lightly veered in that direction.

  Oh, and in case you’re wondering: no, I haven’t told my parents yet. Granted, my mother and I are not close, but that doesn’t mean I want to give her a heart attack. And it would only give her one more subject to yammer on about. You know, about how it affects her personally and all of that.

  You must realize, Ian, that what drew me to Dolores in the beginning was her strength. The exact same thing that drew me to you.

  She makes me happy at a time where I’m not meant to experience happiness. Is it always easy? Hell no. Not for either of us. But you know what? We mostly don’t care. Because we know what it’s like to have loved and lost, and in the face of that, what’s a sneer from someone who doesn’t care enough about us to even try to understand?

  That’s what it boils down to. If there has to be a lesson to all of this, that’s what your death has taught me.

  I love you, always.

  Sophie

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “If you don’t want to be here,” Jeremy says, “please, feel free to leave.” He angles his head and gives me one of his looks.

  “I’m sorry.” I can’t stop glancing at my watch. Usually, when I spend time with Jeremy, it flies by. For once, he called me in distress, wanting to talk to me about an issue he’s having. “It’s so nerve-wracking.” Dolores is having dinner with her friend June. The plan was to tell June all about us.

  “June is a good old sport,” Jeremy says. “She may grumble a little, but she’ll get over it.” He holds up his empty glass, indicating I should pour more wine. “Now back to me.” He pouts his lips. “Why is it so difficult for Vasily and me? Look at you and Dolores. You lesbians make it look so easy.”

  I pour Jeremy a generous helping, then shake my head. “Please. You just enjoy the drama that comes with making it so hard on yourself.”

  “But I really like him, Soph. I don’t think he even realizes how much.”

  “Then tell him. Make it so clear to him, he doesn’t have a choice but to respond.” The conversation Jeremy and I have been having for the past hour keeps going around in circles. He’s acting like a school boy with his very first crush.

  Jeremy sighs. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”

  “Then let me tell you this, my friend.” In the past, I’ve always patiently listened to Jeremy’s tales of men he really, really likes, and all the reasons he has for not disclosing that information to the object of his affection. Today, my patience seems to be running very thin. “If it’s meant to be, it will happen. Just stop making it all so complicated. You like him. From what you’ve told me, I gather he likes you. What’s the problem?”

  “You know my relationship track record.” Jeremy shakes his head. “It’s not that good.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Besides, I think it’s about time you settled down. You’ll be forty-five in two short years. Don’t you get tired of all that drama all the time?”

  “That’s not the point, Soph.” Jeremy doesn’t take offense at me mentioning his age. He must really have it bad.

  “It is the point.” I find his glance. “Look at me and Dolores. We are the most unlikely couple. If that is possible, why wouldn’t it be possible for you and Vasily, who have nothing standing in your way, apart from your egos and a, frankly, silly fear of commitment. This is the part you’re meant to enjoy the hell out of. The butterflies. The tingle in your belly when you’re about to call him. The way your heart leaps when he turns the corner. Don’t overthink it. Just go for it. Because life is short and, hm, who was it that told me you should get your pleasure where you can? It was this friend of mine…”

  Jeremy folds his features into a smile. Then he starts toying with his phone.

  “Call him. Now,” I say. “What have you got to lose?”

  As if by magic, a phone starts ringing. It’s not Jeremy’s. It’s mine.

  “It’s Dolores.” I know it’s silly, but my heart starts hammering in my chest. It’s a big step for her to tell June.

  “Sophie, are you at home?” There’s a funny crack in her voice.

  “I’m at Vesuvio’s with Jeremy.”

  “Stay there. I’m coming over.”

  Before I have a chance to ask how things went, she hangs up, leaving me with a slew of questions.

  “And?” Jeremy arches up his eyebrows.

  “I don’t know. She’s coming here.”

  “Ooh,” he coos. “Exciting. Do you want me to go?”

  “No, but I do want you to at least message Vasily. Don’t play so hard to get. It will get you nowhere.” Because it’s all so brittle, so easy to splinter and just slip through your fingers when you’re not paying attention, I want to say. “Don’t squander this chance you have.”

  * * *

  By the time Dolores arrives, Jeremy is frantically texting back and forth with Vasily, a constant smile playing on his lips.

  “Give me some of that, honey,” Dolores says, pointing at the wine, even before she kisses me hello.

  “That bad?” I ask.

  She slips onto one of the high stools, gives Jeremy a quick nod, and says, “Worse.”

  “What did she say?” Jeremy’s attention is no longer focused on his flirty text message conversation.

  “At first, she thought I was joking. That it couldn’t possibly be true. When I assured her we were really together, she accused me of taking advantage of you. Of abusing your grief in the worst possible manner.”

  “Christ.” I take a big gulp of wine.

  “That’s harsh,” Jeremy says.

  “I suppose I should have expected to lose some acquaintances over this, but not a friend like June. Someone who knows me so well. At least enough to know I would never do that.” Dolores’ voice fractures. She looks at me. “You don’t feel taken advantage of, do you?”

  “If anything, I took advantage of you,” I say.

  “It’s all a matter of perception,” Jeremy chimes in. “You’re the older lesbian, Dolores. Sophie is the younger, vulnerable girl who got her heart broken when her boyfriend died. It’s an image that’s not easy to get past.”

  “But she’s my friend.” Dolores looks lost. She usually looks so good, so well-put-together, when she goes out to meet a friend.

  “Maybe she just needs some time,” I offer. “This has been our reality for a while, but I guess when you’ve just been told, it’s quite shocking.”

  “I believe she used the word scandalous.” Dolores drinks more wine. She shrugs. “Who needs a friend like that?”

  “I’m sorry.” Under the table, I put a hand on her knee.

  “Shocking or not, I believe I’m entitled to some open-mindedness from a woman I’ve known forever, especially after everything that has happened.”

  I glance at Dolores who, even with the lines around her mouth set in a stern frown and the sparkle in her eyes dimmed, still is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The world is far from ideal and the relationship we’ve decided to have, that has chosen us, and helped us overcome the sharpest pains of grief, won’t be accepted by everyone.

  * * *

  Later, at Dolores’ house, when we’re lying in the bed where it all started, I ask, “Will you be able to sleep?”

  Dolores pats my head that’s tucked cozily into the crook of her shoulder. “
I will. And you know why? Because I know what we have between us and I know it’s the opposite of all the things June thinks it is.”

  “We’ve weathered worse storms,” I murmur.

  “Much worse.” Dolores strokes my cheeks. “I did try to put myself in her position. I imagined June telling me that she had started a relationship with her son-in-law after her daughter had died. I know what it sounds like, what it looks like. I can even understand, but what we have is not a gimmick, it’s not a joke, it’s not the one-line plot of a trashy porn movie. Perhaps I failed to make her see that, to make her fully understand what you mean to me. Like Jeremy said, it’s all a matter of perspective, but it’s also so much more than that. People can be so quick to judge, even when they know your story. June knows our story. To be reduced by her to… a scandal. That hurts.”

  “Well, our love is scandalous, of course.”

  “It’s scandalous and delicious and soothing and healing and glorious and beautiful and important,” she says. “It’s all these things.”

  “But to some you will also be the cougar lesbian who seduced me when I was at my most frail.”

  “While it was you who kissed me.” Dolores chuckles. “Twice.”

  I push myself up a little so I can see her face. “What did you think when I kissed you? Finally?”

  Dolores shakes her. “All I thought about was how much I had grown to love you and depend on you. That’s all.” The sincerity in her tone touches me. “Because isn’t that what this is, after all has been said and done? It’s love. It’s as simple as that.”

  While I kiss Dolores on the lips, I consider that maybe I should have a little chat with June.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I ring June’s bell three days after her conversation with Dolores, figuring that should be enough time for her to have absorbed most of the shock.

  “Sophie? What are you doing here?” I fully understand her surprise at me turning up at her doorstep. I’ve been to her house a couple of times before with Ian, of whom June was very fond, but we certainly never turned up out of the blue like this.

  “Good evening, June. I think you and I should share a bottle of good wine tonight. I hope you’re free?” I didn’t tell Dolores I was coming here. I’m sure she wouldn’t want me to do her bidding for her, but she can tell me all day and night that June’s judgment about our relationship doesn’t affect her, I can clearly tell it does.

  “Er, well, yes. Come in.” She opens the door to me.

  Once seated, each with a glass of wine in front of us, I launch into the speech I have rehearsed all day.

  “I know you loved Ian, June. You knew him his entire life, watched him grow up. Dolores is your friend, which made Ian your friend. But no one loves him more than Dolores and I do. And what we have between us doesn’t taint his memory, not for us. Ian’s death brought us together, but—”

  June doesn’t let me finish. She holds up her hand. “You don’t have to spell it out for me, Sophie. I don’t need a lecture.”

  But I need to say this, I think. Not just for you, but for myself as well. “Okay.” I shouldn’t forget that my only objective for this visit is convincing June that Dolores didn’t take advantage of my grief.

  “It’s not as if I didn’t know something was going on with Dolores. When we talked, it always felt as if she was leaving something out. I thought it was the loss of Ian making her act a little funny. It made sense that way. But when she told me about you and her. Not in a million years had I expected that.”

  “I know it’s a little shocking.”

  “A little?” She expels a quick breath. “You think you know someone…”

  “That kind of works both ways, don’t you think?”

  June narrows her eyes. “I’m not finished, Sophie. Let me speak.”

  I almost say “Yes, Ma’am,” but manage to swallow it with a big gulp of wine.

  “Of course it’s shocking and upsetting. To think it had been going on for months. All behind my back, of course. For which I might be grateful if it wasn’t such a big thing for Dolores.” June takes a deep breath, drinks from her wine.

  By now, I’ve learned not to interrupt.

  “Do you love her… the same way she loves you?” she asks in a stern tone. I wonder where the big spotlight is that cops use in movies to get their suspects to confess.

  “I do. I love her. I was the one who started it all. Dolores is just… so many things. You know her, so you know.” There goes my eloquence. Fat load of good rehearsing that speech did me.

  “Then that’s all I need to know.” Her voice softens. “You turning up here says enough anyway.”

  I sigh with relief.

  “Not everyone is going to be as easygoing about this as me,” she says.

  “Easygoing?” I give her a big frown. “That’s what you call easygoing?”

  “I just want Dolores to be happy. That’s really, truly, all I want for her. After losing Angela and then Ian, she deserves a little bit of happiness. A little bit of comfort. Something that makes her feel good. Not everyone will feel the same. Being with you might make her feel good, but having to battle other people’s opinions about it won’t feel so good.”

  “I’m well aware.”

  “Hold on for a minute, will you.” June rises and disappears from the living room.

  When she comes back, she’s holding a cardboard model of a very futuristic-looking house. Seeing it is like a dart puncturing the spot in my belly where most of the pain first settled. She doesn’t need to tell me it’s Ian’s. I know.

  “He made this when he was only a boy. Twelve or thirteen, I think,” June says. “He already knew he wanted to be an architect. He made that dream come true, and not many of us do, Sophie. Most of our childhood dreams don’t come true.” She holds it out to me. “It’s yours now.”

  I feel tears pressing up. It’s June’s way of saying she’s willing to accept my relationship with Ian’s mother.

  * * *

  That night, in bed—I couldn’t bear to stick to my own silly rule of no sleep-overs two nights in a row after my visit to June—we lie in silence for a while. My head rests on Dolores’ chest and I can hear the sound of her breath. Her hand strokes all the way from the nape of my neck to the small of my back, up and down and up and down. It reminds me of how I used to lie in bed like this with Ian. Almost exactly the same way as I’m lying here with his mother, except that Ian’s arms were longer and when he caressed me, his hand went all the way to my thighs.

  Some things are the same, but most of them are very different. Because I’m different. I’m no longer a girl who will be caressed by Ian’s long fingers, who will press her cheek against the dark, curly hair on his chest. I’m the girl who will always remember him and love him. And I’m the girl who won’t do it alone.

  I think of the model June gave me. Dolores broke down a little when I showed it to her. I told her it belonged in her house, not in my flat. He made it here. In his room, where we put it, back in its rightful place. In the room of a boy who dreamed of becoming an architect, and who became exactly that. What else did he dream of? I wonder, as I listen to Dolores’ breathing, to the rustle of the sheet below her elbow as she keeps stroking my back. The usual things, I guess. Ordinary dreams of an extraordinary man. A man who lives on in the love Dolores and I share. Because no matter the dreams he had left, they’ll never come true now. But, as my cheek sinks deeper against Dolores’ flesh, I dare to guess that, in that brief moment between his losing his balance and his head hitting the sidewalk, he would have dreamed that I’d find some sort of peace after his death. All I want is for him to know, somehow, somewhere, that with Dolores, I have.

  Epilogue

  At the party Dolores and I are throwing to commemorate what would have been Ian’s thirty-seventh birthday, she’s the one who gives a speech. Not everyone who felt compelled to come to his previous birthday is here, but it’s close enough. Alex and Bart have brought their little girl, wh
o is sleeping in a cot in my office upstairs. Dolores’ colleagues from the gallery are there. Jeremy and his on-and-off boyfriend Vasily. All of mine and Ian’s friends. June and a bunch of Dolores’ arty friends. I invited my parents and for the longest time my mother insisted she and my dad wouldn’t miss it, but she bailed at the last minute, which is not un-typical, I guess.

  Booze has been flowing copiously for an hour or so and I, for one, am quite tipsy. I bought a new dress. I can keep my shoulders upright without having to make too much of an effort and the chit chat flows from my lips much better than last year, when I hardly said a word to anyone. When Dolores and I were still so broken, we ended up fumbling in the pantry, hiding away, trying to salvage something that couldn’t possibly be salvaged.

  Today, we’re no longer hiding.

  “Thank you all for coming and raising a glass in Ian’s memory.” There’s a little crack in her voice, but these days, when her voice tends to break, it’s not with the wretched grief that it used to show. Ian’s death destroyed us, but we have started to rebuild. “I’m rather fond of the idea of making this a yearly tradition. Last year, when Sophie and I decided to have this party”—I’m standing right in front of Dolores and she fixes her gaze on me—“it was really because we had no clue what else to do with this day. With what it reminded us of. However, a year has gone by, and while all wounds have decidedly not yet healed, things are different now, just like they’ll be different again one year from now.”

  Dolores blinks once and looks into the crowd again, but I can’t keep my eyes off her.

  “So you are a lesbian now?” Jeremy asked a couple of weeks ago, after I broke my lease and moved in with Dolores officially.