by Amy DeMeritt
I smile at the “old man in a rocking chair joke” because he is definitely not in “old man” shape. He looks very strong and healthy. Bailey also lets out a small giggle and answers for us. “It’s not too warm.”
The deck has five rocking chairs that are similar in design, but each one is slightly unique. They are made from natural tree branches with little knobs of irregularly cut off sub-branches. They are beautiful.
We sit and rock in silence for a minute or so, before Bailey interrupts the silence. “We took a hike today to grandma’s story garden in Hawk Eye Woods.”
“Did you? That’s good. Did you tell her a story?”
“We did. And we had wine and a picnic with her.” Her grandfather smiles and looks off into the clouds in a forlorn sort of way, before saying, “Your grandmother looked forward to your story hour more than anything else. She loved to sit in her own garden and tend to the plants or feed the bunnies and squirrels, but that little garden you two made together in the woods was her favorite place in the world. She’d be very happy to know you have returned and are sharing it with someone so special to you.”
Bailey and her grandfather fall into a reminiscing session for a while, telling stories and laughing together. They include me when they can, but mostly I sit back and listen. Many of the stories they share I have already heard from Bailey, but some are new and make my heart jitter in adoration for Bailey. Unsurprisingly, Bailey sounds like she was the perfect child that every parent dreams of before their little terrors start to grow up and gain a personality and fight for independence.
After sitting on the deck talking for a little over an hour, a car pulls up in front of the house and a man and woman both climb out of the car. Bailey looks over at me with a serene smile, and says, “Looks like you get to meet my parents today too.” She takes my hand and looks back to the curb, where her parents are pulling a box and a large canvas grocery bag out of the trunk.
I’ve seen pictures of her parents, but seeing them in the flesh is a little different. Bailey gets her auburn hair from her dad, but her eyes, high cheek bones, and shape she gets from her mom. It’s actually amazing seeing how similar in appearance Bailey is to her mom – seeing them standing next to each other is a little surreal. They almost look like twins separated by a couple decades.
After Bailey’s parents greet her and her grandfather with a hug, they both turn to me with an intrigued smile on their faces. Just as Bailey is about to speak to make introductions, her dad extends his hand for me to shake and says, “You must be Piper. We’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name and the character profile Bailey has given us on you.” I smile and laugh a little.
After a little bit of small talk, we follow them inside with their packages. Bailey’s parents brought dinner, and as they are unpacking the food, her mom asks us to stay and eat with them.
The next few hours are more of the same as it has been all day – storytelling and remembering Bailey’s grandmother. It’s really nice. I don’t think I have enjoyed the company of any previous girlfriend’s family as much as I do Bailey’s family. While they all talk, I get an idea of where some of Bailey’s personality traits and habits come from. Bailey has always been extremely close to her parents and grandparents and they all shine in her in one way or another.
More than once, I’m surprised at how normal they make me and Bailey’s relationship feel. Not once do any of them make some weird comment about gay rights or how it must feel to be a same sex couple in public. I can’t begin to count the number of times friends or past girlfriend’s families have made weird comments like that out of some unnecessary self-conscience need to appear ok with homosexuality. Sure, sometimes those comments fit in the conversation and make sense and aren’t weird. But most of the time it’s pretty easy to see that they are uncomfortable, but want to appear comfortable.
When we’re on our way back to her place, Bailey takes my hand and holds it on her lap while she drives.
“Piper, thank you so much for today. I don’t think I can express in words the depth of what you gave me today.”
“Well, we are equality speechless, Bailey. Today was beautiful for me as well.”
Chapter Seventeen
I’m just walking through my door after work and after running a couple quick errands, when my cell phone starts ringing. I quickly discard my grocery bags and dig through my purse for my phone.
I quickly answer, “Hello?”, as I bend down to pick up a bag of groceries to put away.
“Hey babe, are you busy tonight?”
I smile and straighten up, leaving the groceries on the floor and giving my full attention to Bailey.
“I’m not. I just walked in the door with a load of groceries to make some dinner. What do you have in mind?”
“Oh, I wish I would have known you were going shopping. I could actually use a few things. Anyway, I have good news and want to share it with you in person. Can I come over after work?”
“Do you really think I would say no?” I laugh and Bailey releases a small giggle. “Yes, Bailey. Bring your sexy little ass over here after you get off work. I’ll chill a bottle of wine and make us some dinner.”
“Ok, great. I’ll be there in about an hour. I love you.”
“Ok. I’m going to hop in the shower so just come on in if you get here sooner and I don’t answer. I love you.”
After I get off the phone with Bailey, I quickly put the cold food away and head for the bathroom. It was extra hot today so I’m feeling pretty sweaty and gross and just don’t want to subject Bailey to that.
Bailey has been in an extra good mood for the past couple weeks, but hasn’t opened up yet about what. When I questioned her on it, she just smiled and shook her head, saying, “This piece of good news requires a prop to have its full gravitational pull, so I have to wait a little longer to share it.” It was very cryptic and mysterious, but it was also very intriguing. I think most people would have nagged and nagged till she caved and gave the news without her prop, but I enjoy a bit of mystery. I can hold out to discover the answer to something for a very long time.
When someone asks me a riddle that I can’t figure out, I can go weeks mulling it over in my mind without the slightest desire to ask for the answer.
I haven’t even allowed myself to consider any possible scenarios so that I can fully appreciate and enjoy the news when she gives it to me.
When I get out of the shower, I quickly dry off and then hang the towel on the rack to dry. I walk to my bedroom in the buff and just as I’m walking through the door, I spot an Easter egg sitting in the center of my bed. I cheese really big and reach for the egg.
I crack open the pastel green shell and inside are three small pieces of white paper with black printed ink that have been cut like puzzle pieces. I try to read the pieces, but there’s not enough text on either piece to get an idea of what it’s about.
I look around and find another Easter egg sitting on my dresser. I let out a small laugh and quickly open the second egg. More puzzle pieces. I quickly spread the pieces out on my dresser and try to match them up. Three of them fit together and it looks like the pieces are part of a formal letter written to Bailey.
I quickly get dressed and do a quick scan of the bedroom. I don’t see any more eggs. As I walk down the hall towards my living room, I am careful to look at each little corner and doorway to make sure she didn’t tuck any more eggs in the hall.
When I get to the living room, Bailey is sitting on the couch with a giant Easter egg on her lap. I let out a happy laugh and Bailey grins.
“Do you know how hard it is to find Easter eggs in the middle of the summer?”
“Harder than finding a bathing suit in the middle of winter for some reason.” I sit down next to her and she leans over and gives me a small kiss on the lips. “This is the largest Easter egg I have ever seen. Where did you find this thing?”
“Some junk warehouse in Glenhurst that carries a bun
ch of seasonal leftovers from other stores. After trying a few dollar stores and craft stores, I remembered the place carries some really off the wall stuff year round. When someone picks an odd themed event, that place usually comes through when we can’t find what we need anywhere else. I don’t know why I didn’t think to try there first.”
“Well, I am itching to crack that thing open. Do I have to guess what these puzzle pieces mean?” Bailey laughs and shakes her head. “No, those were just to get you excited before you came out here. I thought I was going to have to try and trick you into getting me something from the bathroom or something so I could try and hide them. When you said you had to get a shower, I decided I better rush over and take advantage of you being occupied. I just barely made it back out here before you opened the bathroom door.”
Bailey places the egg on my lap and its weight is surprising. I press both palms against the sides and the plastic gives and the top slightly separates from the bottom. I lift the top of the egg off and my wide grin gets even wider.
I pull the bottle of wine out and inspect its label. It’s from my favorite vineyard, of course, and it just happens to be the same reserve bottle that I shared with Bailey a few months ago when she made me dinner and we had our first writing brainstorm session.
I set the bottle aside and lift out a bag of coffee beans and moan. “Bailey, this is an excellent coffee. And expensive. This is a single source organic bean grown in the Himalayan mountains. Do you know how amazing this coffee is?” She smiles in a such a happy affectionate way.
“I asked Naomi for help in picking it for you. She said, and I quote, ‘Get her that one and she’ll want to make love to you till you just can’t take no more.’”
I laugh hard and nod my head. “You are dangerously close to having your clothes torn off you right now.” Bailey visibly swallows and blushes a little bit. I lick my lips and stall my desire for a moment to inspect the last item in the egg. It’s a gift wine tube, but it doesn’t have any weight to it, so there’s not another bottle of wine hiding inside. I open the lid and reach my hand inside.
I pull out a copy of Time magazine and look at Bailey with a quizzical look. She laughs and says, “Open it. I have it marked.” I look at the magazine in my hands, and sure enough, there is a blue sticky note sticking out of the top. I flip to the page and immediately gasp.
“Bailey, this is your article! You were published in Time magazine? Oh my god. This is amazing!” The article is the first she wrote in the series her editor approved on the discussion and argument on how vastly oversimplified societies assumptions and understandings are on how humans love and determine gender.
I set the egg and all of its contents on the coffee table, and before I can reach for her, Bailey is climbing on top of me, straddling my lap. I rest my hands on her hips and she wraps her arms around my neck.
“You have no idea how hard it has been not to share this with you sooner, but I really wanted to see your face when you opened the magazine.”
“Bailey, I am so proud of you. This is an amazing accomplishment. Plus, it is extremely brave to take on such a wider audience with this kind of article. I’m just so happy for you.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. You inspired me to write that first article and have since helped me develop several others. Oh, and the best news, they want to also reprint the article from last month that I did on gender identity and said that they may also want to buy rights to reprint the third in the series after we go to print.”
“Wow, Bailey, that is fantastic. We should get this one framed. Wait, we need another copy. We’ll put the front cover next to the opened magazine spread with your article.”
Bailey smiles really big and firmly presses her lips against mine for a moment, before asking, “How hard would it be for you to be able to take a week off of work soon – very soon?”
“Well, considering I haven’t used any vacation time yet this year, I’d reason that it should be very simple. Why, where are we going?” Bailey smiles and pulls me into a very sexy kiss. When she pulls back, she says, “California, like we talked about before. I can’t wait to get you on a beach in a skimpy little bikini and lust over you.”
I smile and run my hands down her thighs, back up them, around to her butt, and squeeze her cheeks. I pull her more firmly against me and Bailey smiles really big.
“Is that bag of coffee I bought you still working on you?” I laugh and wrap my arms around her as I shuffle forward. I carefully stand and Bailey gasps and holds on tight, wrapping her legs around me. “Oh my god, Piper.” She giggles and holds on tight, while slightly biting her bottom lip, as if she’s both excited and terrified that I’m going to drop her.
I carefully walk us back to my bedroom and set her down on the edge of my bed. Bailey leans back on her hands and says, “Baby, are you sure you don’t need to eat dinner first? Once we start, I’m not going to want to leave this room till we’re both drunk on the smell of sex and pheromones. So, I don’t think we will be leaving this bedroom for several hours.”
She looks my body up and down in a hungry way and I see her thighs slightly twitch together. She is very ready. I smile and shake my head.
“Starve me for a week and I will still pick your body over a meal.” I bend down to kiss her and Bailey wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around the backs of my thighs, pulling me down on top of her.
Bailey and I make love so many times that I lose count. Some of the positions we find ourselves in, I think would have impressed a pretzel. The room is now pitch black, the air hangs heavy with the smell of sex, and my head is definitely swooning, as if I am drunk. I’m lying on my back with Bailey between my legs, her hand on one hip, and her head resting on the other. She’s passed out.
I run my hand through her hair and she doesn’t even stir. I smile to myself as I ponder how lucky I am to be in this moment. I have always been in love with the idea of meeting the love of my life by chance. Most people meet through friends, work together, or meet through online dating. It’s not as common for couples to meet by chance – just bumping into each other on the street, grabbing for the last copy of that new movie release at the same time, or waiting on a stranger in a coffee shop. It’s even rarer for same sex couples to meet by chance. It’s harder to know if that cute woman you just met is into you or just friendly – it’s not like we walk around with badges sewn on our clothes that read, “Yes I’m a Lesbian, and yes I’m single, so, please ask me out.”
Granted, some of us are easier to pick out than others, but we are still always taking a greater risk of being shot down with a, “Uh, no, I’m straight,” than a guy is likely to be shot down with a, “Oh, thanks, but I’m not available.”
Bailey sleeps for about an hour and then reaches for her stomach and stretches. She looks up at me and lets out a small whimpering sound, and says, “Baby, I’m really hungry.”
We climb out of bed, throw on some tee shirts, and head to the kitchen. I open the fridge and Bailey walks up to stand next me, wrapping one arm around my waist. We stare in the fridge for a couple minutes trying to figure out what to eat.
While we stand, staring into the fridge, Bailey gently kisses my cheek and I look at her and smile. She is smiling in a really happy way and it makes my stomach flutter with joy.
“I love you, Piper.”
“I love you, too. How about a frittata?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
We get to work chopping veggies, shredding cheeses, and whisking up eggs. After we have the mixture in the oven to bake, we go sit on the couch.
I pick up the magazine off the coffee table and settle back into the couch to read the article again, probably for the tenth time. When it was first published in Bailey’s magazine, I went straight to the corner news stand by work and bought a few copies. I read the article at least four times that same day. And that’s after I had already read it several times before it went to print.
Bailey snuggles in cl
ose to me as I read her article. When I finish, I look at her, and she is smiling in such a happy serene way.
“Bailey, I really am so proud of you. So, when are you going to write a novel?” Bailey sits up and laughs a little bit. “A novel? I don’t know. You really think I’m good enough to write a book?”
“Unequivocally, yes. Bailey, you have serious talent and you have so many stories to tell.”
She leans her head back to think for a minute and smiles. When she turns her head to look at me, she asks, “Are you up to doing a writing brainstorm session tonight?”
I smile and stand up. I walk into the kitchen, pull out the bottle of wine I had chilled earlier, and bring it and a couple wine glasses into the living room. I grab a couple notebooks off my bookcase and a couple pens and sit back down.
“Ok, we have about fifteen minutes till the frittata is done then we can pick back up again after we eat.”
Bailey smiles at me in an affectionate way, takes her notebook and pen, and then sits up straighter in an excited way.
When Bailey goes into brainstorm mode, it’s almost as if her eyes become the lens of an old movie projector for her own brain. Her eyes are open, but you can tell she isn’t quite seeing the world in front of her anymore. She’s seeing internally, images that I can only guess at and dream of being able to see.
For the next fifteen minutes, Bailey tosses out the story bits to me and I furiously write them down to try and keep up with her. When she pauses to write something random down on her own paper, I quickly skim what I wrote to make sure it is legible and make sure I didn’t miss anything she said.
When the oven timer dings, I have five pages of fragmented or completed thoughts that Bailey tossed out of her beautiful mind. I set the notebook down and head to the kitchen.
The slice of frittata seems lonely on the plate so I also cut up an apple and split it between our plates. When I come back into the living room, Bailey is reading through the notes I took for her. I sit down and Bailey looks at me with a smile and laughs a little bit.