It's Not a Date

by Heather Blackmore

  “Impressive. Did you learn that during a wilderness expedition?” Kade asked as she settled on the throw she’d laid out on the carpet.

  “I did. I know how to trap rodents and snakes for food using only rope and a knife. And I can identify all thirty-two plant varietals best known for retaining fresh water, to help me survive in a pinch. How are you going to help?”

  “Survive in the wilderness?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. Strong cell-phone signal?”

  “Try again.”

  “Um. Stick with you?”

  “And do everything I say? Please. Like that would happen.”

  Kade flicked her head in the direction of the bedroom. “Hey, I’m highly trainable, with the right motivation.” She winked.

  Jen blushed. “You cede control temporarily. Then you take it back. If we’re trying to survive in the wilderness, you’d have to do what I say.”

  “Note to self: no backwoods trips with Jen. Although at least I wouldn’t get bored.”

  “Watching me try to MacGyver our way to safety?”

  “No. Listening to the creative stories your overly active imagination comes up with trying to make me believe one word of what you’re saying.”

  “You doubt my survival prowess?”

  “In Silicon Valley? No. In the Outback? Yes. Had you been able to name a single one of your houseplants, I might have been more inclined to believe you. ‘Greenus plantitus’ was an admirable try though.”

  Jen nuzzled Kade’s neck. “I can light a fire in other ways.”

  “Show me.”

  * * *

  As they lay in bed that night, Jen said, “Will you tell me about Cassie?” Touching two fingers to Kade’s lips, she stopped what she knew would be an immediate protest. “Not what happened to her. But what you remember about her. What you did together, how you met, what she was like. The good things.”

  Kade idly toyed with Jen’s fingers. She seemed to be studying them as she touched each knuckle, vein, scar, bone, and freckle, but Jen suspected she wasn’t really seeing anything. “After my dad lost his job, he couldn’t find work in our town, so we moved. Cassie’s family, the Kellers, lived two doors down from the place my parents rented. Mrs. Keller brought over some cookies to welcome us, and Cassie came with her. We were both eleven. Most of the kids in our neighborhood were either much older or much younger, so we naturally gravitated toward each other.

  “We did everything together. We were both tomboys, so we mutilated dolls, shot baskets, played foursquare and capture the flag with other kids, flew wooden airplanes and boomerangs, batted balls, played catch, climbed trees, poked tadpoles, everything. For birthdays and holidays, we’d ask our parents for the same things so we could play together. Tennis rackets, skis, skateboards.

  “She had three siblings, so there was always a kind of barely controlled chaos at her house. Whereas at mine, after he lost his job, my dad became militant about sticking to routines and schedules. He became more and more strict, whereas Mr. and Mrs. Keller were go-with-the-flow kind of people. I think I just felt freer around them since my house was full of rules.

  “I was very much a rule-follower, whereas Cassie was a rules-are-meant-to-be-broken kind of girl. Adventurous. Friendly and outgoing. Very inclusive. Similar to you, I think. If she was with a group and saw a kid off to the side, alone, she’d be the first to invite the kid to join them.

  “She could have been best friends with anyone, but for some reason, she chose me. And while she was alive, the world shone a little brighter.”

  Jen could hear the affection and wonder in Kade’s voice. For all the heartbreak Kade had experienced, Jen felt profoundly glad for the many years of close friendship Kade had found with Cassie.

  “Were you in love with her?”

  Kade gave a short laugh. “I’ve asked myself that. Probably, but I certainly didn’t know it at the time, and even now I’m not convinced. She was so boy-crazy in high school, she was never on my radar in that way. I definitely loved her, but I’m not sure I was in love with her.”

  Jen planted a kiss beneath Kade’s chin. “Thank you for telling me about her.”

  Kade adjusted their positions until Jen was on her back with Kade’s head on her lap. “What about you? Who have you been in love with?”

  “Nancy Drew.”

  Kade nodded. “Granted.”

  “Elizabeth Bennett.”

  “I was thinking nonfictional.”

  “Oh, ruin it. Hmm. Let’s see. Robert Downey, Jr.”

  “Nonfictional people you actually know.”

  “Well, there was Jody Green from my softball team.”

  “Softball. Really? And did you drive to the games in a Subaru?”

  Jen smacked Kade’s shoulder.

  “Ow. Sorry. Okay, Jody Green. High school? College? City recreation?”

  “My coach in high school. I had a huge crush on her.”

  “Four out of five lesbians crush on their softball coaches. I’m talking love here. Doe-eyed, ’til-death-do-us-part, Juliet-and-Juliet kind of love.”

  “Jody Green.”

  “You and Jody had a thing?”

  “No. She was married to Mr. Green, my science teacher.” Jen deflected the pillow that was tossed at her face and laughed. “I’m still waiting for my Juliet.” Jen tried to tug Kade higher, so Kade readjusted until her arm rested across Jen’s torso and her chin lay against Jen’s shoulder.

  Kade closed her eyes and lightly caressed the skin above Jen’s sternum. “Juliet’s too young for you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When Jen woke, she immediately knew from the slight chill she felt beneath the sheet that Kade wasn’t in bed. Jen had needed to throw back her usual covers and stick with only the top sheet in order to sleep, since Kade emanated tremendous heat when snuggled against her. Alarmed at the thought Kade might have left without saying good-bye, Jen didn’t even bother to hit the bathroom before grabbing the closest shirt and throwing it on as she sped down the hallway to the kitchen.

  Even before she entered, Jen could smell maple syrup and coffee. She rounded the wall and found a spatula-wielding Kade minding Jen’s griddle, in which two pancakes were cooking. She surmised they were the first to be poured, because a nearby bowl contained a generous amount of batter. On a rear burner was a small pot of what appeared to be a strawberry compote, because although she wasn’t close enough to view the bottom, she could see strawberry smears along the inside. On the counter sat a can of whipped cream, a bottle of champagne, a carton of orange juice, two champagne flutes, and the butter dish.

  When Kade saw her out of the corner of her eye, her expression of concentration morphed into a captivating smile that took over her face, giving her a youthful, happy glow. Stunning, Jen thought. Kade walked up to Jen and kissed her firmly but quickly. “Good morning. Perfect timing. I planned to get you up in a minute. Mimosa?” Kade peered at the pancakes again and flipped them before working to pop the champagne cork.

  “How did you know that one of my all-time favorite breakfasts is strawberry pancakes with whipped cream? And that I’d take a mimosa over a Bloody Mary any day?”

  Before pouring the champagne, Kade took another peek at the griddle. Apparently deciding the pancakes weren’t ready, she continued with the beverages. “I asked Holly to find out from Jeremy what you like for breakfast.” Then Kade looked anxious for a moment and added, “She would have done it in a very roundabout way and, knowing her, probably asked him what everyone on the team likes, putting it in some sort of business context. She wouldn’t have made it sound like I wanted to know.”

  Jen advanced on Kade and took her face in her hands. “I wouldn’t care. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.” She kissed Kade sweetly and stepped back to look into her sparkling hazel eyes, which shimmered more gold than green this morning. She reached for some of the dark strands of hair that rested below Kade’s collarbone and sifted its soft silkiness through her fingers. “You’
re beautiful.” She took her time with another kiss.

  Kade broke it off, flicking her head toward the stove and looking truly apologetic. “Sorry, I’ve got to—”

  “Go, Julia Child. I’ll be back in two seconds.” Jen escaped for a bathroom and tooth-brushing break, and to throw on some shorts. By the time she returned, mimosas were poured, new pools of batter were cooking, and two pancakes were on a plate next to the compote.

  “I wasn’t sure how much whipped cream or maple syrup or butter you like, so you’ll have to apply your own,” Kade said, keeping an eye on her cooking.

  “The only way I’m eating both of these is if you promise to sit and eat with me when those are ready. The rest can wait. Otherwise, you’re taking one of these.”

  “Deal.”

  Jen proceeded to pour copious amounts of maple syrup and strawberries both in between and on top of the stack, and she shook the can of whipped cream gleefully. “This looks so good.” She sprayed it into a big happy face, starting with an outside circle for the head and ending with the smile. She was no artist, but she thought it was a pretty good self-portrait at the moment. Then she took a seat and waited, resting her chin in her hand. Watching Kade at work, whether in the kitchen—self-professed non-cook that she was—or otherwise, was a pursuit Jen didn’t think she could ever tire of.

  Once Kade had prepped her own stack, which housed only a small dollop of whipped cream, she joined Jen at the table. She held out her mimosa to Jen. “Thank you for the best Saturday I can remember having in…” She appeared to work backward to the solution. Then she winked. “How about, thank you for a lovely day?”

  Jen smiled and extended her beverage. “It’s been delightful. Unanticipated. And speaking of lovely, thank you for this breakfast.” They clinked glasses and began eating, though Jen’s progress rapidly slowed.

  She was fighting an internal dilemma that had begun as soon as their weekend together had started: work to convince Kade not to bind them to an arbitrary period or stick to the agreed-upon terms. Kade had been clear from the get-go as to what she could and couldn’t give. Had they not bound their twenty-four hours and instead left it open-ended, Kade would almost surely have never agreed, and they wouldn’t have shared their wonderful day together.

  But now that it was coming to a close, Jen wasn’t satisfied with the agreement. Or at least she wanted to strike a new one. She could get on board with sticking to “one day” if they could set up another one, and another after that.

  The more she thought about each forward tick of the universal second hand counting down their time together, the poorer her appetite became. This made her feel worse, given everything Kade had done to make this morning special for her. Try as she might to keep the tears at bay, she was losing the battle.

  “Jen, what’s—”

  Jen cut her off by setting down her fork with a clang. She clasped her hands, unable to make eye contact. “Kade. Listen. You’ve been amazing in every way this weekend, and I don’t regret any of it. You’ve been forthcoming about what you’re capable of offering, and I’ve gone ahead and spent time with you under your conditions, fully aware of our agreement. And now that it’s coming to an end, I’m sad. I’m sad and I’m frustrated and I’m…wanting more.”

  She looked at Kade then, because it was too important not to. “I want more. I don’t say it to make you feel guilty. You’re carrying plenty of that. But I…” She searched for the right words. Say them and be done. Lay it out there. “I really like you. And I want you to know that.”

  Jen needed closure, and she needed it now. Drawn-out good-byes wouldn’t help either of them. She stood next to Kade’s chair and offered her palms to Kade. Kade slid her hands into Jen’s and stood with her, their eyes seeming to search the other’s for a sign telling them what to do next. “Take your time, finish breakfast, don’t clean up, leave it for me. I’m going to shower and get to work to try to take my mind off you, which I know will be an utter failure.”

  Jen touched the pad of her thumb to Kade’s lips and gently caressed them, tracking the movement with her eyes. She released a sigh, involuntarily conveying the disappointment of not being able to get through to Kade how much could be between them, if only Kade would consent. “You’re an extraordinary woman, Kadrienne Davenport. Never forget that.” Jen kissed Kade sweetly, softly. Not a kiss of passion but of farewell.

  Then she left the room.

  * * *

  Noon spin class was a spectacular fiasco. The instructor was the guy who loved house music—strong beats and no words. It was a storm of electronic tones that sounded like noise to Kade. She couldn’t get lost in it. And what she really wanted above all else was to get lost, to move her mind onto any other subject than the one it was currently fastened to like the jaws of a pit bull.

  Normally she could push through his class by requiring more and more from her body, leaving no room for any thoughts other than begging for the current hill climb to end or quenching her thirst. Today, every beat of the bass pounding through the speakers sounded like “Jen, Jen, Jen,” and every crank of her hand to increase the level of pedaling difficulty came with illogical thoughts of whether Jen would be waiting for her on the down slope.

  Showering afterward was a dismal experience as well, since it brought back the one they’d shared last night after another round of making love. Having sex, she amended in her mind, attempting to distance the weightier characterization. They’d lathered, rinsed, teased, and tasted each other until the water ran cold and they had to warm each other back up in bed. Kade recalled all too well Jen’s demanding mouth at her breasts, each thrust of her fingers, each spoken request that Kade tell her what she wanted and where she wanted it, her gasp as she came, Jen’s hands and body keeping her upright, supporting her, holding her.

  Kade had no one to blame but herself. She should have left well enough alone after Maui. Seeing Jen again, working with her, talking with her, laughing with her—Kade enjoyed it all too much. She was like a kid in winter, skating on a lake’s thin ice after a storm, knowing better but thrilling at the freedom and sensation, the twirling and propelling, the joy.

  She hadn’t sufficiently gauged how deeply Jen had taken root in her soul over a year ago, hadn’t accounted for it when agreeing to spend this weekend with her. She’d simply glided on the frozen water with Jen because she wanted to. It was as close as Kade had ever come to being in a relationship. But Kade knew it would come—the din, like thunder, signaling the impending crack below their skates. If they continued seeing each other, the only certainty in Jen’s future would be a break in the ice that Kade would somehow cause. She didn’t know how or when, but she felt its inevitability.

  The only answer was to rid herself of thoughts of Jen, and the first and most obvious step was to contact Charles and resign from Creative Care’s board.

  Kade didn’t care that it was Sunday. Having known Charles for over a decade, she could call any time. Her attempt went straight to voice mail, and she left a message asking him to call her back. She followed up with a text as well, asking to talk. The sooner she could get off the board, the faster she could put Creative Care and its CEO behind her and return her attention to Matlock Ventures.

  * * *

  Jen was struggling. Nana’s life was now built solidly around routine, because people with dementia tended to feel less stress when they knew what to expect. But with Jen’s demanding schedule, it was often difficult to adhere to routine. When she visited after work, she usually did so after Nana had eaten dinner. Tonight, Jen wanted to eat with Nana, to share in some sort of breaking of bread with a family member as a kind of healing measure against her schism with Kade, and it was turning out to be a mistake.

  Nana didn’t recognize her and didn’t trust the food she was trying to feed her. Nana loved mashed potatoes, but she wouldn’t accept them from Jen. Often when Nana was this out of sorts, it meant a poor night’s sleep or physical discomfort, such as a bladder infection. Jen was clos
e to having to call Candace, the caregiver on duty, in from the other room to see if she’d prove more successful in getting Nana to eat.

  “I want to go home,” Edna said.

  “You are home, Nana.”

  “Take me home.”

  “Grandma, you’ve lived here for forty years. I’m not sure where you want to go.”

  “Why won’t you take me home?”

  The conversation repeated on a seemingly endless loop before Jen tried a different tack, knowing that arguing with a person suffering from dementia wasn’t necessarily the best course. Instead of slumping and showing such an obvious sign of frustration, Jen remembered to try to think from Edna’s point of view. She sat up straight and smiled, presenting herself as interested and helpful. “What’s at home that you need to do?”

  “Joseph’s home alone with no one to take care of him.”

  Jen surmised that Edna was thinking about Jen’s father as a boy. “He’s been growing into such a great person, Edna. He’s so happy to have you as his mom.” Jen was trying to move Edna’s focus away from what seemed like concern over her parenting skills.

  “He needs to be fed.”

  “You know what? He’s not home right now. Tonight he’s at your sister’s, remember? And she’s already fed him.”

  “She doesn’t cook like I do.”

  “You’re right. She doesn’t. That’s another reason he’s so lucky to have you.” She held the fork to Nana’s lips again. “These are definitely not as good as yours, are they?” Edna finally took a bite.

  “No,” she said after swallowing.

  As Jen continued to feed Nana, she began to feel better. Every time she visited, she ran into a different challenge, at times minor, at other times massive. Whatever her expectations might be for a particular visit, they would almost surely be upended somehow. And while she definitely hadn’t planned to become a caretaker in her twenties, it came with its own rich set of rewards. Jen had always been an empathetic, compassionate girl, and being able to help her beloved grandmother during this stage in her life made Jen genuinely happy.