“Happy Easter,” her mother said, kissing her on the cheek as she opened the door.
“Same to you.”
It was early to be eating, but she preferred to get this over with. Just being in her parents’ presence tended to stress her out. They were great, she adored them, but sometimes she just didn’t like them that much.
After greeting her dad, who was in an apron and T-shirt, she came in and helped set the table. They sat down, and Whitney closed her eyes as they said grace. Her mother poured wine while her father set the salad on the table. They served themselves from the bowl while her parents asked about her life.
Even though she lived in town, she only saw them every few weeks. She had gotten more than enough of them while she was living here after she came back from Iraq.
“How’s your place?” her mother asked.
“Still good,” Whitney said. “I like living alone. And Valentine keeps me company.”
The three of them looked over at the dog, who was sitting quietly on the floor next to her. “Are you sure we can’t give her any scraps?” her dad asked.
“No, I don’t want her to learn to beg.”
“I still wish you were living with some nice girl,” her mother said. “That would really keep you company. What about the one you were seeing before?”
Whitney took a sip of wine, hoping it would calm her down. “Mom, we’ve been over this a million times. Marsha broke up with me, remember?”
Her mother heaved a sigh. “Yes, I remember.”
“So why do you keep bringing her up?” Whitney asked.
She would have thought the pain Marsha caused at the time would be enough—but no, she had to relive that hellish day over and over thanks to her mother’s questions.
She’d barely been off the plane when Marsha had come over to see her. The reunion had started out as well as Whitney could have hoped. With her emotions all over the place, Whitney had looked to her as a safe harbor in a storm. She shook her head. Make that a tornado.
That day, Whitney had fallen into Marsha’s arms, clinging to her needily. Their kisses had been desperate and passionate—at least for Whitney. Marsha’s stiffness had barely registered. Marsha had taken her to her room and they’d taken off their clothes.
Whitney still remembered exactly what Marsha had said. “Um… I’m sorry, Whitney. I thought I could handle this, but I can’t. This isn’t going to work.”
Her mother’s voice brought her back to the present. “Now that you’re feeling better, you never know. Maybe she would take you back.”
“Mom, I didn’t do anything wrong to make her break up with me,” Whitney said flatly. Why did she keep bringing this up? How could her own mother be so cruel? “She left because of my injury.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It seems that she left because you were hiding in our basement for months on end.”
“You weren’t there! You don’t know how it happened!” Valentine’s head bumped into Whitney’s right hand, and she forced herself to take a breath. “And my hiding was more like a result of her leaving.”
Her father broke into the conversation. “Either way, Whitney, we’re happy if you’re happy. I don’t care if you’re single or not as long as you’re taking care of yourself.”
“Of course.”
“How’s work going?”
A more neutral subject… Whitney hoped. Her parents thought she was foolish for occupying her time with a job. The service compensation would have been enough to live off, especially if she’d kept living with them, as they wanted. She donated every penny to charity instead. Those people deserved it far more than she did.
“It’s great,” she said. “They’re letting me use more of my skills. They had forgotten that I could do flair bartending.”
“What’s that?” her father asked. “Those little juggling tricks that you do?”
“Yes, Dad.” Whitney willed herself to not say the rest of the sentence. The little juggling tricks I went to school for two months to learn.
Whitney had started off by playing with the juggling balls she’d had when she was a kid. She had picked them up again one day after she’d been lying around in the basement for longer than she cared to think about.
She’d tossed one ball back and forth to start, just seeing what she could remember. It wasn’t much, but it had given her something to focus on. Keeping the balls in the air meant she had no attention to give to anything else that was happening in her life.
From one ball, she had graduated to two, then three. She had juggled them until the basic cascade pattern came as naturally as breathing. Then she’d learned other tricks—the windmill, the shower, two balls in one hand.
She only had three balls, so eventually she’d gone out to buy more. Going out of the house alone for the first time in months, she had gone to store after store until she found what she wanted. Going around in the world, talking to strangers, all without assistance… It had been an emotional day.
So Whitney had learned to juggle four balls, and then five. She got on the Internet and learned tricks. She challenged herself. Juggling gave her purpose in life. She was far from the world’s best juggler, but she did things that could make the average person stop and stare. When one website mentioned flair bartending, she looked into that.
She had a giant advantage in flair bartending, where the others were only beginning to learn to juggle. The rest of the dramatic tricks were easy enough once she got the hang of them. She put the same passion into learning everything else.
Heat Wave took full advantage of her talent. Whitney was able to showcase all of her skills at the nightclub.
She wouldn’t have expected her parents to understand what it meant to her, and yet she was still disappointed. They saw what she had gone through after coming back from her tour. They knew more than anyone else how hard it had been. She would have hoped that they might have understood a little bit.
As her mother set the main course on the table, Whitney said, “Looks great.” Her mom was a good cook, despite any other negative qualities she may have had.
“It is good,” she said, cutting off a piece of ham. “I’m sure your dog would love to try it.”
“No, I don’t want her begging.”
“Oh, come on. It’s just once. It’s Easter, after all.”
“Mom, she’s my dog—”
Her mother had already had the food on the fork. Valentine ate it greedily and looked at her for more. Whitney shook her head. Valentine was well-trained because Whitney had put the effort into training her. She had to stop bringing the dog over here, or her parents would undo all the work she had put in.
Even as they served the dessert, Valentine was still looking up. She put her paws on her chair, begging for more. Whitney shook her head again. She just knew that now Valentine would be like this for ages. That one little taste had given her ideas.
With a sigh, she patted her dog’s head. Valentine looked up at her with those big brown eyes. At least she could give Whitney comfort.
“You’re not stressed out again, are you?” Whitney’s mother asked. “You must know your father and I are just worried about you after all you’ve been through.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
“Please, leave it alone.”
It was with more relief than pleasure that she went to her car at the end of dinner. She had never been a huge fan of her parents, but her feelings seemed to get worse with time. Or maybe life with Valentine got easier and easier, and that was why Whitney preferred the company of her dog.
She got behind the wheel, too stressed to drive right away. She wanted a minute to herself, so she pulled out her phone and checked for messages. There were a bunch from one conversation. As she slid it open, she had to smile. Of course it was the group chat. She scrolled through the messages, where some of the others were talking about Easter with their families.
Selena: Guys, my grand
mother really wants Marren and I to get married.
Marren: And I think her mom wants us to magically have a baby.
The positive messages made Whitney smile, while the ones about the less accepting families reminded her that she wasn’t alone. She read every last one, and then typed to the others. I’m just heading home. Can’t even tell you what my parents are like, but I sure am glad to be leaving. Plus, Valentine needs some dinner.
It seemed like she was making friends. That was a first in the years since she had come back from the Marines. She smiled to herself, feeling content. But her good mood disappeared as she went up through the messages and saw Yolanda talking about her dinner with Jessie and the rest of her family. She couldn’t forget how she had offended Yolanda. Multiple times.
She grabbed the gearshift and put the car in reverse. She clutched the steering wheel with both hands, gripping it with tight knuckles as she pulled out of the driveway. Valentine looked at her, ignoring the open window.
She shot her dog a glare. “I’m fine, girl. Don’t look at me like that.”
Valentine kept staring as they drove, finally giving in to the window’s appeal a few minutes later. Sometimes Whitney would have sworn Valentine understood things that were well beyond a dog’s capabilities—and even judged her for them. More likely, she was reading into it way too much.
Whitney did fine at judging herself without the pup’s help.
Seven
As soon as Yolanda got back to her place, she pulled Jessie out of the bike basket. Her tears had dried, and aside from the slight pinkness in her cheeks, she was back to her normal, cheery self. Riding together tended to do that to her.
Yolanda brought her into the house, where Truman immediately descended on her. “How was your day, Jessie? How were those women that you met?”
“They were fine, Truman,” Yolanda said, answering for her daughter. “I told you Jessie would get along with them. They loved her.”
Truman rolled his eyes. “Of course they loved her. Who wouldn’t love her? I just wanted to check that she didn’t hear anything age-inappropriate. Little pitchers have big ears.”
“It’s fine,” Yolanda said. “Do you mind cleaning up? I’m just going to get changed.”
He nodded, so she headed downstairs. She pulled off her shirt, which was sweaty now. It was hard not to compare her thin frame to the ones she had been with all day.
If she were to choose, she would say Whitney had the best body among them. Even only seeing her fully clothed, she could tell. Whitney was lean, with a proportional chest and a slim waist. Plus there was those blue eyes and the way the contours of her face made her look like she was always deep in thought.
Yolanda shouldn’t have been surprised at this point by one more person assuming she was gay, but this time it had particularly hurt. She sat down on her bed, scrolling through the messages in the group chat without really paying attention.
She smiled sadly at the messages. Whitney wasn’t there—she was probably having dinner with her family right now. Yolanda wondered what she was doing, what she was thinking. Why had she been so quick to assume Yolanda was a lesbian? Why did so many people jump to that conclusion?
And why did it bother Yolanda so much that it kept happening?
She sighed as she lay down and flipped through more text messages. Maybe there was something in here that could give her some insight. She wondered if she could ask somebody why it was such a persistent theme in her life.
She looked through her messages, wondering who she should ask. This was embarrassing, but it kept happening, and she couldn’t stand it any longer. If there was something she was wearing or saying that would give people that impression, she could stop doing it. Maybe it was something simple.
As she looked through her old messages, the answer quickly hit her. Rochelle would know the answer. She had known her for so long, and Rochelle had seen her through all of her hard times. She would be able to tell Yolanda, because she had seen it happen to her again and again.
Before she could convince herself to stop, she typed out a message. Hey, Rochelle. I have a question, and I need an honest answer.
Rochelle replied right away. What is it?
Yolanda: I was wondering if you could tell me why people keep thinking I’m a lesbian.
This time, Rochelle took a minute to respond. Um… Are you sure you want to know?
Yolanda stared at her phone, unsure of the answer. If Rochelle had just told her, she would have been fine, but this kind of lead-up made her nervous. She hovered her finger above the screen, trying to will herself to say yes. Before she could, a voice came from upstairs.
“Yolanda!” Truman called. “We’re having dinner!”
Dropping the phone, Yolanda went up the stairs. She threw on a shirt. Truman, Ella, and Jessie were already at the table, dressed in their Sunday best. Jessie looked adorable in the new dress she had picked out herself.
Yolanda was filled with affection as she looked around at the three of them. The four of them were a family now, even if they were a nontraditional one. Some people might not quite understand how they operated, like Whitney when she asked if it was messy. There was nothing messy about this. She loved Truman and Ella in a friendly way, and Jessie was her whole reason for living.
Before sitting down, she set up her iPod in the speaker dock. “Everyone good with Metallica?” she asked.
While Jessie cheered, Truman gave her a raised eyebrow. “How about something a little quieter? I liked that animal thing you made me listen to the other day.”
“Animal Collective? Sure.”
Psychedelic pop filled the room as Yolanda sat down. She served herself a small amount of food. Truman and Ella talked about what they had been doing over the long weekend, while Jessie chattered to Yolanda about the dogs she had met on the hike. Yolanda found it hard to pay attention. Her mind was still on the text she had left unanswered.
She hardly ate, listening to Jessie instead. Pretending to, anyway. She pursed her lips, playing with the food on her plate.
“The big dog was yellow and the little dog was brown,” Jessie said, gesturing to show how big they were. “I want to see the dogs again, Mama. I want to play with them!”
“Maybe you’ll see them again,” Yolanda told her.
“I want to play with piggy and monkey, too.”
“Finish your dinner first.”
She kicked the bottom of the table. “I want to play!”
“Finish your dinner and then you can play with whatever you want.”
“I can play with the dogs?”
Jessie frustrated her, but Yolanda had to smile even as she rolled her eyes. “The dogs aren’t here, Princess. You can play with anything besides the dogs.”
“Why the dogs aren’t here?”
“Why aren’t the dogs here,” she corrected gently. “They’re not here because they live with other people.”
Jessie crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. She looked just like a miniature version of Yolanda. “I want to see the little dog!”
“You like that one better now?”
“Yes, it’s nicer.”
Ella broke into their conversation. “She met a lot of dogs today.”
“Just two.”
“You don’t have to be so snippy about it,” Truman said. “You seem moodier than usual.”
Yolanda shoveled a bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth. “I’m not. I’m in a good mood, actually, because I didn’t work today.”
“If that’s a good mood, I’d hate to see you in a bad one.”
Yolanda drew lines in her potatoes, staring at her plate. “I feel great.”
As Truman shifted his attention to Jessie, Yolanda thought again about the owner of the little dog. Maybe she had been too harsh with Whitney. No, she had definitely been too harsh. All Whitney had done was politely and respectfully ask a question. Yolanda should have been flattered, really.
Whitney had no idea at the ti
me that she was yet another in a long line of people questioning Yolanda’s sexuality. Given that Yolanda was in a gay club at the time, it was almost a reasonable assumption.
Next time she saw Whitney, she would have to be nicer to her. She was a nice girl, really. Yolanda should help her set up the bar again sometime. As she thought about her, a shiver went through her. The effect radiated through her body, seeming to peak in her groin. She inhaled sharply, surprised at herself. What was going on there?
She took another bite of potatoes and then threw the rest in the trash. “I’m done,” she said.
“Let’s watch some TV,” Ella said.
“We can watch a movie?” Jessie said brightly.
Yolanda smiled, even though part of her was groaning. It was always a kids’ movie when Jessie was around, which wasn’t exactly her style, but it was worth it to see her reaction. Even when she wanted to see the same thing for the hundredth time, being around her little princess was worth it.
After watching Finding Nemo yet again, it was finally time to sleep. Yolanda was hardly tired, since she normally went to bed much later. But she would enjoy going to bed at a decent hour for once. She climbed into her bed, picking up her phone to look at her messages again. She reread the one from Rochelle. Did she want to know? Did she really want to know?
Not right now, she decided. She wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t know what she was waiting for, but this wasn’t the time. Tomorrow she would get Rochelle’s answer.
She pulled the covers over her head and slept.
Eight
Whitney pulled into a space in the underground parking garage. Valentine allowed her to pick her up and carry her as she took her to the elevator. She needed a quick walk, so she reluctantly put her down once they were outside.
When they got back, she switched on the TV. Finding Nemo was playing on the movie channel, and she put her feet up to watch it. It was already halfway through, but she had seen it enough times that she could almost quote it word for word.
Tonight, she didn’t laugh along with the familiar lines. Her mind was still on the events of the day. For a long weekend, this really hadn’t been too pleasant. She would rather have been at work. The group thanking her for her service was bad enough. One after the other, going on and on… The way Yolanda had explained it, and the adoring way Jessie had looked at her…
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