by Lea Santos
“To what?” Iris shot her a narrowed scowl.
“To win her back.” Paloma’s two best friends stared at her as though she’d asked them to run a hit.
“Huh?” Iris looked baffled and dubious all at once. “With a sixteen-year-old journal? Oooo—kayyy.”
“What exactly do you intend to do?” Emie asked.
Deanne grabbed her coffee cup, turning it around and around between her fingers. “See, I don’t want her to take me back because she feels obligated or just gives in. I need to show her she can trust me. That I’m worthy of her love.”
Iris leaned in and snapped her fingers twice. “Deanne, you’re a woman. Speak chick. You aren’t making a bit of sense.”
“Okay, Jesus, give me a chance. Man, you two are a rough audience.” Deanne cleared her throat. “I’m hoping that particular journal will tell me what I did right the first time.” She pressed her lips together. “It’s a long shot, I know. But I’m going to win her back by…doing whatever I did to make her fall in love with me in high school. Again.”
There, she’d said it. The room hung in suspended animation. Both women stared, open-mouthed. Then, as though a magic romance fairy had sprinkled her beguiling dust over them, their surprised expressions softened into something downright dreamy. “Awwwwww,” they sighed, before exchanging one of their über-chick looks that had always made Deanne nervous.
“DV, you big romantic fool.” Iris sighed. She punched Deanne in the arm, but her face showed approval. “You’re going to recreate your courtship?”
Huh. Deanne hadn’t imagined she could sum up her brilliant plan in so few words, but there it was. “In a nutshell, yes.”
Iris clicked her tongue. “You really do love her, in your own infuriating way, don’t you? That’s so sweet.”
“I love her more than life itself.”
“Just don’t resort to that Flock of Seagulls hairdo you tried. That was an epic fail.” Iris smirked.
“Okay, read the Cyndi Lauper journal.” Emie’s expression was warm. “But if Paloma finds out and flips, you’re on your own.”
“Absolutely.” Deanne hung her head. When she’d recovered from the acute flush of relief, she looked up. “Thanks for understanding.”
Emie patted her hand, and Iris said, “You never quite know what you have until you lose it, huh, Deanne?”
“Not true. I always knew.” She quirked her mouth to the side. “I guess I just didn’t know how to show it.”
Chapter Nine
From Paloma Perea’s neon-swirl, Cyndi Lauper journal, end of September, 11th grade
Oh my God, I think Deanne Vargas is going to ask me to homecoming!!!!! I totally didn’t know if we’d get back together this year after the split. Man! I get pissed every time I think about Daddy making me and Deanne break up for the summer because he thought we were “getting too serious.” Jump back—we haven’t even been to third base! It sucked totally!!
I heard Deanne went out with Renee Montoya over the summer, and I was depressed to the max. I played my soundtrack from Endless Love over and over, crying and missing her. I hate thinking there was ANY other girl, but I’d rather it be anybody other than skanky Renee. If her bangs get any taller, her head will need its own zip code. Gag me!!!
Anyway, Deanne’s, like, the baddest chick in the whole school, and I want to go to homecoming with her! No—I want to marry her!! Wait—lesbians can’t really get married, right? Well, who cares. WE would be married. Wouldn’t we have the cutest little daughters?
Paloma Vargas.
That sounds awesome.
Paloma + Deanne 4ever
I’ve been stressed since school started that Deanne found someone new. Iris says I shouldn’t worry. I’d die if Dee took someone else, though. Noelle Ruiz (witch) said she’d heard Deanne was asking Renee (skank). So, I’m not for sure she’s gonna ask me. But Kathy Pirelli overheard Jenna Gaston talking to Deanne’s friend, Reyna What’s-her-face—that other track jock—and Kathy said Jenna told her she heard something like Deanne was going to have Reyna ask me tomorrow at lunch. Totally rad!
Anyway, I think Deanne will ask. She sent ME a carnation on sweetheart’s day. The frosh delivered them during third hour, which was bitchin’ since Noelle (witch) is in my class. She was, like, totally ragged off about it. She kept staring hard at me through those spidery stiff eyelashes. I’m sorry, I don’t like that chick. She’s, like, the total biggest home wrecker in our class.
One other cool thing. Emie said Deanne was totally scoping me out before sixth yesterday. I knew she was standing there with Reyna, so I kind of played like I didn’t see them so Deanne wouldn’t think I was a dweeb. It’s so hard not knowing what she feels. I should be totally assertive and have one of my friends ask her if she wants to get back together, but it would bite if she said no, and then I’d look like a TOTAL freak. I guess I’ll just wait and see if Reyna asks me to go to the dance with Deanne. Then, I’ll know once and for all.
I’m in love!!!!
If Mama and Daddy don’t let me go, I’ll sneak out, swear to God. This is MY LIFE, and, I mean, GOD, I’m 16 years old. When are they going to start treating me like an adult??? It’s so tedious!
Anyway, I’m so spazzed! I’m going to starve next week so I can lose five pounds before the dance. I want a red dress, too. This month’s Glamour said red is the new black, whatever that means. Daddy will probably have a cow. Ugh!
I have to study, but I totally hope Deanne asks me!!! Getting asked to homecoming is practically like getting an engagement ring!!! I’d know for sure she still liked me then. Everyone would. Totally awesome!
Deanne set the journal on the center console of the patrol car and glanced around the deserted lot where she’d parked against the closed factory building. The radio had been quiet. She usually spent downtime stopping cars and contacting suspicious people, but she’d been back at work for nearly a week, and this was the first chance she’d had to dig into the journal. Plus, work was the only place she knew Paloma wouldn’t bust her.
Deanne snapped off her red shoulder lamp, dousing the interior of the cruiser in darkness, and then just sat there with her head buzzing. Teens were so…weird. Of course, she liked knowing Paloma had considered her the “baddest chick in the whole school.” A cocky grin lit her face. Paloma had puppy-loved her, even back then. What a feeling.
But P’s teenage angst was exhausting to read. Amusing, too. Deanne didn’t remember them being quite so…well, teenaged. Paloma dotted every “i” and “j” with a little heart. Seriously. A puffy little heart.
Nobody escaped that gawky stage, she supposed.
Odd how the years, a mortgage, and a few kids could alter a person’s perspective.
Deanne could, however, relate to Paloma’s constant “she loves me, she loves me not” agony over their budding relationship. She’d felt just as needy and unsure about her, especially during that interminable summer apart before junior year. Her gut swirled with the awful memory. At age seventeen, panting with hormones, three months without Paloma Perea had been Deanne’s private version of hell. But their love had endured then, and it would again.
Deanne fingered the neon cover, shaking her head. Had Paloma really thought Deanne would’ve chosen another girl over her? And Renee, of all people?
Everyone knew she was a skank.
Dee barked a laugh, followed by a tired groan. She was seriously losing her luggage on this surreal trip down memory lane.
The truth was, she’d spent that whole miserable summer hanging with her track buddies, trying not to look like the lovesick pup she was. But now she understood Mr. Perea’s concern. Beyond the whole gay thing, the man had probably taken one look at Deanne’s face and feared for his daughter’s virtue. Rightly so. At seventeen, it’d been physiologically impossible to keep her brain out of Paloma’s pants. She’d wanted Mr. Perea’s little girl something bad.
Still did…
Deanne shook the enticing thoughts from her brain.
Enough reminiscing. What had she learned from the journal that would help her win Paloma back? First, young Paloma had yearned for confirmation that she was Deanne’s girl. That need probably hadn’t changed much. Also, she used to think an invitation to homecoming was akin to an engagement—
Whoa. Deanne went completely still. Brainstorm.
Big brainstorm.
She checked her Ironman watch and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, a wholeheartedly cheesy plot formulating in her head. Oh, yeah. This idea was made-for-TV corny, but that lent it an odd charm. Did she dare? Deanne’s embarrassed laughter rang loudly in the patrol car.
If the dreamy expressions on Emie’s and Iris’s faces at the coffee shop had been any indication, Paloma might be able to appreciate this ridiculous gesture, purely for its sappy intent. It could work if Deanne didn’t take it too seriously, and really, how could she? Plus, Paloma was worth every ounce of potential humiliation she’d feel if this didn’t work.
But it would. It could.
It just so happened that her old pal, Reyna Falcon, was the high school track coach now, and coincidentally, homecoming was two weekends away. Divine providence…
Snatching up her cell phone, Deanne dialed information for Reyna’s number. She’d bet, for the promise of a hosted and catered pay-per-view sports night, she could bribe Reyna into asking Paloma if she’d go out with “the baddest chick in the school” again. Just for old time’s sake. Reyna had always been a good sport, the first to jump all over a dare. What the hell? Deanne had everything to gain—Paloma and their life together—and nothing to lose except her dignity.
Definitely dice Deanne was willing to roll.
*
Almost two weeks back at work, and Deanne was living up to her promises. Paloma had to give her points for that. Dee had taken an afternoon of sick time to accompany her and Teddy to the doctor. She got the boys dressed and fed on the mornings Paloma had yoga class. She asked about Paloma’s day, brought tea to her room every night, chose home life instead of overtime. Deanne had even helped her pick out her very first college classes.
Paloma could slowly, surely, feel trust for the woman she loved seeping back into her soul. If she weren’t ten times bitten, a hundred times shy, she might have to admit that, yes, the wake-up call she’d given Deanne had actually worked.
Even though, Dee had been acting so…odd lately.
Not only had she begun playing albums from their high school years, but there were the flowers. On Monday, the daisy was on Paloma’s nightstand with a note from Deanne saying how much she loved her. Tuesday, blue bachelor’s buttons had been in the bathroom sink. The note spoke of trust and commitment and second chances. Wednesday’s green carnation and Thursday’s yellow tulip? The shower and the kitchen counter, respectively. One note about Pep, the second about Teddy. Today’s blood red rose had rested atop the pillow on Deanne’s side of the bed, and the note—
Phew, that note.
Paloma’s face flamed. Let’s just say she’d keep that particular missive aside for her own private pleasure, thank you very much.
But, yeah. Something was definitely up with Deanne.
Paloma was discussing just that with Iris and Emie that Friday morning, when they’d gotten together to browse the attendants’ wear catalogs Iris had checked out from the lesbian wedding planner’s office. The three friends stood by the dinette and stared at the vase of flowers. Paloma had arranged them on the table with the closed notes for her friends’ examination. Deanne had even folded the letters in that silly, tucked-corner way they used back in junior high.
“See?” Her sweeping gesture took in the whole display. “Isn’t it freaky?”
Iris picked up a neatly folded note and turned it over in her hand. “I don’t even remember how to fold stuff like this anymore,” she mused. “But you used to live to get these from Deanne.”
“Uh, yeah. A zillion years ago when we were young and stupid.”
“So? Don’t be so stuffy and grown-up, sheesh. It’s sweet,” Emie said. “You don’t have to be a teenager to appreciate sweet.”
Paloma quirked her mouth. They weren’t getting her point. Maybe this would help. She planted her hands on her hips. “You know what was playing on the stereo when I woke up today? ‘Stairway to freakin’ Heaven.’”
“Oh, isn’t that the first slow song you and Deanne danced to? That’s perfect!” Emie exclaimed, clapping.
“Good song, but it got really fast at the end, remember?” Iris crinkled her nose. “You never knew whether to dance all jerky and fast or just say ‘thanks for the twirl’ and split. Not the easiest slow-dance song, if I remember correctly.”
Paloma couldn’t help but chuckle. Okay, so the nostalgic music was rather charming. But strange, too. “Listen to me, you guys, I’m serious. The day before, I ate breakfast to strains of ‘Always and Forever,’ and last Monday before bed, the woman actually played Rick James’s ‘Super Freak.’”
Iris muffled a laugh against the side of her fist.
“Paloma, it’s cute,” Emie assured her. “Why so worried?”
She treated them to a good-natured glare. “I’m beginning to think Deanne smacked her head instead of Teddy.”
Iris and Emie exchanged a smile.
“If you want my opinion, I think it’s romantic and you’re overreacting,” Iris said.
“I agree.” Emie grinned.
“Traitors.” Paloma pulled a face. “You’re no help.”
Iris patted her hand. “What’s wrong with a little romance, Pea?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.” She crossed her arms. “I suspect she’s trying to butter me up.”
Iris rolled her hand. “And the problem with that is?”
“I don’t”—she sighed—“if you must know, it’s kind of working.”
“Aha!” Emie smirked. “Just enjoy the attention, Paloma. Romantic gestures aren’t meant to be analyzed to death.”
Iris flicked her hand over and studied her nails with nonchalance. “How’s it going since Deanne went back to work?”
Paloma’s heart fluttered with an unfamiliar feeling of hope and anticipation. “Great so far. It’s been exactly how I always knew it could be. But…it’s lulling me into a feeling of false security.” Heat prickled over her skin, followed closely by chagrin. “I’m starting to forget how bad things had gotten and focus on whether or not it would be wise to jump her bones.”
“Do it!” Emie urged.
Paloma bit her lip. She wanted to. So much. If only Deanne had acted this wonderful from the get-go. “What if it’s the calm before the storm?”
Iris rolled her eyes. “Damn, Pea. Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe the storm already ripped up your coast and moved on? This might just be the clean-up part, you know, like after a hurricane.” She reached out to touch the red rose. “Think of these flowers as Red Cross volunteers who’ve come to patch things up and rebuild docks.”
Paloma and Emie started laughing. “Oh my God, Iris is waxing poetic. We need to get to that commitment ceremony, and soon.” Paloma snapped her fingers softly and held out her hand. “Enough. Give me those catalogs.” They’d hemmed and hawed, then decided on dresses. Simple dresses, and nothing in baby-shit brown. “We have to make sure you don’t costume us like bright little crumpets for the ceremony.”
“Oh, but check this out.” Iris opened a catalog to the picture of a very brief, very tight fuchsia gown with wide holes running up both sides. She sucked in her cheeks. “Better crumpets than strumpets, my pals.”
The old friends erupted into laughter again, just as the doorbell chimed. Still chuckling, Paloma headed toward the sound. She opened the door, expecting a neighbor or FedEx, anyone but a woman she couldn’t place but vaguely recognized. She stood there looking uncomfortable. Though she wore a baseball cap, gray showed at her temples, and she had the deeply weathered face of one who’d spent her life outdoors. Their high school mascot was embroidered on the jacket of her tr
ack suit.
Paloma smiled. “Yes?”
The woman grinned, looking younger than Paloma had initially thought. “Wow, Paloma Perea, you haven’t changed a bit unless you count being more gorgeous than ever.”
That voice! Her jaw dropped. No way! It was Deanne’s old high school buddy in disguise as an actual grown-up. Reyna…Reyna…What’s-her-face. That’s it!
“Reyna!” She pushed the storm door open and stood aside. “Come in. I haven’t seen you in, holy shit, years!”
Reyna removed her hat and smoothed long fingers through her flattened hair jock-style—once, twice, three times, front to back. “It has been a while, that’s for sure.”
Paloma pulled Reyna into a quick hug, then pulled away, curious about her sudden reappearance. Just seeing Reyna made Paloma want to don leg warmers and rip a sweatshirt so it hung off one shoulder. She felt like she’d stumbled back in time.
I’m a maaaaaniac, maaaaaniac…
“Deanne’s running errands. You remember Iris Lujan and Emie Jaramillo, right?” She turned toward the breakfast nook without waiting for an answer. “Hey, you guys, come here.”
They bustled through the archway, and Paloma couldn’t help but notice that her friends didn’t look nearly as surprised as she felt to see a life-sized high school flashback standing in the living room as if it was normal.
Iris strode forward. “Well whaddya know, it’s Reyna What’s-her-face.” She shook Reyna’s hand. “Good to see you.”
Reyna chuckled, slanting Paloma a glance. “I forgot Paloma used to call me that. It’s Falcon. Reyna Falcon.” She nodded to Iris. “So, face-to-face with the most famous person from our graduating class. My wife has your Cosmo cover tucked in our yearbook.”
“That’s where I stuck mine, too.” Iris deftly deflected the compliment with a casual toss of her hair. “I might be the most recognizable, but Emie’s making a much bigger contribution to the world. She’s a research scientist.”