Finally, Caroline placed the knife beside the cutting board and arranged the bread slices on a serving platter. Then and only then did she lift her chin, gaze—with a neutral, pleasant expression—toward the women gathered in her living room.
“Dinner’s ready, everyone,” she announced with a warm smile. “Please find your seats.”
Sydney fell in with the others, following them to the dining room, but she paused when she came alongside Caroline, who stood with the platter of bread in her hands, waiting for the rest of her guests to settle themselves into place.
Summoning her courage, Sydney lifted her hand and, as Theresa had done, she curled her fingers over Caroline’s elbow.
Caroline glanced at her, her brows lifted in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her shoulders, formerly riding high with tension, began to relax a little.
Encouraged by this, Sydney leaned close. “Are you all right?” she asked, voice lowered to a whisper.
Caroline sighed, her eyes trained on her guests. They were drinking, laughing, talking, distracted. They paid no attention to Caroline and Sydney.
Caroline turned, her mouth brushing against Sydney’s ear. “Not exactly,” she breathed, and she was beginning to move forward when Sydney’s hand—soft but firm—tightened at her elbow, stopped her.
“I’m here,” Sydney said, just as quietly. “In case you need…anything.”
And Caroline’s smile in that moment—grateful, as warm as the sun—made Sydney's stomach somersault.
“You’re lovely,” Caroline breathed to her, and before Sydney could respond, she strode into the dining room, leaving Sydney warm under the collar, blushing, her heart a balloon in her chest.
Lovely.
Sydney drew in a deep breath and followed Caroline.
There were beautifully penned place cards positioned next to the white china at every seat, and Sydney’s name was easy to find; she sat down, thankful for the chance to rest.
Amy, seated beside her and sipping her Coke, was gazing at Theresa with rapt fascination—and stars in her eyes.
Sydney, for lack of anything better to do, followed Amy’s stare.
She couldn’t blame Amy for her crush on Theresa. In another time and place, Sydney might have found Theresa irresistible. She was ruthlessly magnetic, lounging against the seat back, holding her wineglass in a way that Sydney could have only described as “cool.”
But out of all the women at the table, out of all the women in the world, Sydney only had eyes for Caroline. Caroline, who had positioned her own place card as far away from Theresa as possible, on the other end of the table, sandwiched between Eleanor and another woman whose name Sydney had forgotten.
The food was already on the table, and there were a lot of things to choose from, but Sydney’s stomach was tied up in knots as she surveyed it all, wondering what she’d be able to eat. She had been vegan ever since she left the Redeemer House. They had had a barn on the property, and Sydney remembered—with pain—how the House owners had treated their chickens.
Caroline didn’t know that Sydney was vegan, and Sydney wouldn’t have told her. She didn't want to cause extra trouble for Caroline, especially not when it was her birthday. But Caroline—who was sitting three chairs down from Sydney—smiled at the girl and rose, her full skirts flaring out as she came to Sydney’s seat and leaned over her shoulder.
“I wasn’t certain if you were allergic to dairy, since you wanted soy milk in your coffee,” she murmured, her breath warm against Sydney’s cheek. “So I made some recipes that are vegan.”
Sydney’s heart hammered faster, touched by Caroline's thoughtfulness as the woman proceeded to point out the dishes on the table that contained no eggs or dairy.
“That’s…so nice,” Sydney said, gazing at Caroline, feeling her eyes water a little. “I mean...wow. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” smiled Caroline. Her expression was pleased, glowing, and before she went to fetch a serving spoon for the peas, she gave Sydney’s shoulder a soft squeeze.
Sydney flushed; she felt as if she was being watched suddenly, and when she looked up, she was surprised—and a little unnerved—to find Theresa gazing at her from across the table, her dark eyes narrowed slightly, almost imperceptibly. She didn't look away when she caught Sydney watching, only raised a brow.
The conversation ebbed and flowed, moving from topic to topic naturally, as the women ate and drank. Sydney focused on her food and spoke very little. These women were well-acquainted with one another, and she felt like an intruder in their midst. Still, she observed her companions, watched the dynamics of the group shift around her. And from what she could gather, no one seated at the table was straight.
It astounded her.
She’d never experienced anything like this before.
Even as, secretly delighted, she reveled in the fact that she was surrounded by queer women, Sydney paid close attention to the interactions between Theresa and Caroline.
They didn’t really exchange words. Instead, they answered questions that others posed one after the other, as if they were taking turns. Sydney knew this was intentional. Caroline’s body language suggested that she was at ease, but there was a certain stiffness in the way she held her head, her shoulders. And Theresa appeared to be a bit on edge.
When nearly everyone had finished her meal, there was talk of dessert, which Caroline promised to deliver after she’d digested her food a little, laughing as she placed a hand to her belly.
Theresa was speaking to Eleanor about some of the entertainment she’d taken in recently. Sydney wasn’t really listening to their conversation—there were several going on around the table—until she heard a name she recognized.
“I have advance tickets to Anna Netrebko’s show, if you’re interested, Eleanor,” said Theresa, taking a long pull of wine.
Sydney hadn’t spoken in quite a long time, hadn't spoken at all to Theresa, but she found herself piping up before she could stop herself: “Anna Netrebko is coming to Pittsburgh? I thought she was still performing in ‘Il Trovatore’ at the Met.”
Theresa looked at Sydney with shrewd eyes, regarding the girl as if she had materialized out of thin air. Chuckling, Theresa tilted her head to one side as she leaned back in her chair.
“You follow opera?” she asked, sounding amused.
Sydney's cheeks reddened. Everyone had suddenly fallen silent to observe the exchange between her and Theresa.
Self-conscious, Sydney cleared her throat. “Anna Netrebko’s the foremost soprano in the world. I love her.” Sydney chose each word carefully, and Theresa chuckled again. The sound was cold, mocking.
“I thought you millennials only listened to Justin Bieber. I would have never imagined you’d enjoy opera.”
Amy, seated beside Sydney, found Theresa's observation hilarious, despite being a “millennial” herself. She snorted with laughter as she watched Theresa, fluttering her lashes and leaning forward on her hand.
Sydney, however, felt a hot lick of shame burn through her. Sydney knew she couldn’t deliver a clever retort, not when she was feeling so vulnerable. But she felt the sting of Theresa’s words to her core and sighed miserably.
When she looked at Caroline, she was embarrassed to see the sympathetic smile on her face.
That was almost worse than Theresa making a joke at Sydney’s expense.
Caroline cleared her throat then, and she glanced across the table as she held the heart pendant Sydney had given her between two fingers. “Theresa, you know we both loved opera at Sydney’s age. It might not be the norm, but the right people will always appreciate incredible music.”
Theresa scoffed. Head tilted to the side, she stared at Caroline. “Where did you get that?” she asked, waving her hand toward Caroline's necklace.
Caroline's fingers stilled, and she smiled faintly. “It was a birthday gift.”
“Hmm.” Theresa’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Sydney noticed that the woman's hand, ly
ing on the table, had curled into a fist.
“A gift.” Theresa's voice was tight. “Who gave it to you?”
Caroline's lips parted, her gaze flicking—only briefly—toward Sydney.
Theresa followed her gaze. Then her mouth became a thin, hard line. “Ah,” she said curtly. “I see.”
Everyone was staring at Sydney. Caroline made a show of asking someone to pass the salad, but Sydney felt raw, exposed.
She ached inside. She was nothing like Theresa, and wasn’t Theresa the type of woman Caroline wanted, craved, longed for? If so, Theresa was everything that Sydney was not. The woman was obviously well off. Her clothes fit her like a glove and probably had designer labels. Several rings glittered on her hands, and there was a white gold chain at her neck; it looked far fancier than the necklace Sydney had given to Caroline. Her haircut looked expensive; her shoes looked expensive. She looked expensive.
And then there was Sydney, with her job at the mall, barely able to keep herself and her dog fed.
This was a joke.
She was a joke.
And she didn’t even have a good punchline.
Sydney couldn’t help but feel sorry for herself. It was painful, how the feelings of inadequacy, of dread, of self-loathing, wound around Sydney’s insides, tightened, and squeezed.
She sat in silence, moved the rest of the food around on her plate until she couldn’t stomach the sight of it anymore. Finally, she set down her fork, pushed out her chair, and stood up quickly.
Caroline cast a glance at her but said nothing as Sydney left the table and headed toward the bathroom.
Several other guests had already left the table, had gone to the living room to sit or stand, talking and laughing quietly. Eleanor and Annie, the married couple, were tangled together on the couch, alongside another woman around their age.
And they were talking, Sydney realized, with a sickening feeling, about her.
They couldn’t see her from their position, and she knew, knew deeply, that she should just keep walking, shouldn’t listen.
But she couldn’t stop herself.
“I think Caroline’s sleeping with that girl. Cindy,” Eleanor said softly.
“Sydney.”
“Whatever.” Eleanor snorted. “Pretty drastic change from Theresa, huh?”
“Well, we've all had our rebound romances, haven't we? And you have to admit—she’s not bad to look at.”
“But…is she even eighteen? It’s a little—I don't know—skeevy.”
“She doesn’t look eighteen to me.”
“Yeah, she looks really young.”
“I could never do it.”
“To sleep with one of your students... I mean, it’s desperate. She probably just needed a bed warmer.”
“I didn’t take Caroline for a desperate woman, though.”
“After Theresa left her, she was pretty out of it for awhile. You've forgotten. I thought she was going to lose her marbles.”
“Well, I doubt she expected Theresa to cheat on her. I don’t think anyone did.”
“Whoa, slow down…” This was the other woman, the one whose name Sydney couldn't remember. “How do you know Theresa cheated on her? I never knew why they broke up.”
“Yeah, I don’t know who the woman was, but Caroline was pretty devastated about it. Theresa just came home one day, said, ‘I’m seeing someone else,’ and left.”
“Oh, my God, that’s horrible.”
“Do you know why I think Caroline invited her tonight?”
“Wasn’t it to get us all together again? Like old times?”
“That’s what she claims, but I don’t buy it. I think she misses Theresa and was sort of hoping they might rekindle things. She was always a lot more in love with Theresa than Theresa was with her.”
“Oh, Ellie, that can't be true. Did you see how they looked at each other? Cold as ice.”
“Love doesn’t just disappear.”
“But if Theresa really broke her heart... You can't come back from something like that—”
“Whatever. I just know that that kid is not who I would rebound with. I hope Caroline isn’t making bad decisions.”
“Maybe we've been too hands-off. We should spend more time with her.”
“You’re right. We've got to talk to her about this. Get it all straightened out. I don’t want her to do something she'll regret.”
Sydney choked back a sob; she wouldn’t let it escape. She bit her lip hard, hard enough to bleed, and she moved quietly into the bathroom, easing the door closed and locking it.
Then she slid down to the floor, wrapped her arms around her knees, and tried to make herself as small as possible.
She was startled out of the bottomless pit she was about to fall into by a knock at the door.
“Just a minute,” she croaked. She stood up and gripped the edge of the sink with white-knuckled hands. She hadn’t shed a tear. Her face looked perfectly normal, though pale, and her eyes were wide. She lifted her chin, adjusted the collar of her jacket, and opened the bathroom door.
Theresa.
Sydney realized that her mouth was hanging open.
Why did it have to be her?
There weren’t enough expletives to convey her inner turmoil.
“Oh, sorry,” said Theresa, leaning languidly against the wall. “I didn’t mean to rush you.”
“No rush,” said Sydney, her voice thick. She began to move past Theresa in the hallway, but Theresa straightened, gazed at the girl with dark, glittering eyes.
The hallway wasn’t bright, and the bathroom was shadowed. So it could have been Sydney’s eyes playing tricks on her, but it seemed as if, in that moment, Theresa was giving Sydney an unfriendly look.
They passed one another, and then Sydney was in the kitchen again, more than a little shaken. She felt herself unraveling from the inside out, could feel her anxiety mounting, rising, cresting, and she didn’t know what to do. She’d taken her anti-anxiety medication before coming up to the party, and she had her emergency pills in her purse for panic attacks, but if she took one, it would make her too tired to function. She’d have to go back home.
Besides, she was here for Caroline. She had to remember that. She was here because it was Caroline’s birthday, and Sydney wanted her to have a good one. If she could focus on that, rather than her own pain, everything would be okay.
“Sydney?”
Sydney turned, and Caroline was standing before her with a martini glass in her hand, her cheeks flushed. Everyone had left the table now—forgoing dessert, apparently—and had gathered in the living room.
Caroline threaded her arm through Sydney’s and led the girl toward the piano. “Why don’t we sing?”
Chapter 16
“Sing?” Sydney looked at Caroline in confusion. “Now?”
“We have to entertain the masses,” said Caroline with a chuckle. She seemed unsteady on her feet—tipsy—as she drew Sydney toward the piano. “Can you play, darling?” she asked, indicating the keys. “I think I may have had too much to drink.”
“Yeah, I can play a little,” Sydney murmured, taking a deep breath and swallowing at the same time. She coughed, then sat down on the piano bench, her muscles taut with tension.
“This one.” Caroline patted the sheet music already open on the piano, and then she set the martini glass down. “Come on, ladies, gather ‘round!” Caroline's voice took on the intonation of a carnival barker. “I’m sure you all know this one…”
In fact, none of them knew “Chattanooga Choo Choo”—at least, not well enough to sing along. So Caroline—who knew the song by heart—sang it alone, and she even performed a few dance steps, to rousing laughter from her friends.
Though Sydney was wound tight, so anxious she could hardly breathe, she couldn’t help but smile at Caroline’s antics. Her voice was, of course, sublime, even while singing such a playful song.
Sydney played on, reading the music as she went, but she kept stealing glan
ces at Caroline. She recognized what she was feeling in her heart, could feel that muscle, covered in old scars, throbbing within her, beating faster.
When Caroline did another soft-shoe shuffle—which wasn’t so soft since she was wearing high heels—Caroline curled her fingers around Sydney’s shoulder to steady herself. Sydney reveled in the touch, in the warmth of Caroline’s hand, but she chanced a glance at Eleanor and Annie, and Eleanor’s eyes had narrowed to slits as she stared at her friend’s hand curling on Sydney’s shoulder.
Sydney couldn’t forget, even in the happiness of the moment and the relative levity of the party, that Caroline’s friends thought—erroneously—that Caroline and Sydney were sleeping together, and that Caroline was making an enormous mistake by getting involved with Sydney.
Sydney had fought so hard to hold herself together in the Redeemer House, and to pursue a normal life afterward…but with a few cruel words from strangers, those careful stitches within her were coming undone.
She tried her best to ignore the onlookers, to concentrate, instead, on the beautiful woman beside her, singing her heart out, whose hand had not yet left Sydney’s shoulder, the warmth from her palm radiating into Sydney.
When Caroline finished the song, Eleanor cleared her throat.
“We should sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you,” she said, but Caroline held up a hand.
“No, no, it’s not time for cake yet. That will end the evening!” And Caroline drew her friend forward. “Sing with me!” she demanded, her voice bright, joyous. Eleanor threw an arm around Caroline’s shoulder. “Can you find ‘Friendship’ by Cole Porter up there?” Caroline asked Sydney.
Sydney riffled through the sheet music until she found it. What followed next was a rousing sing-along. Many of the guests knew this song, though Sydney had never heard it before. They sang through all of the verses, and by the time they were done, everyone was laughing, their faces flushed.
The Longing Page 16