by Karis Walsh
*
Andy woke up the next morning to find Brooke sprawled across the bed, her head pillowed on Andy’s stomach and the sheets tangled around their legs.
God, she even sleeps like a slob, Andy thought with affection as she gently threaded her fingers through Brooke’s hair, letting the strands drop against her stomach with a feather’s touch.
Brooke stretched her arm over Andy’s thighs and turned her face, trailing soft kisses over Andy’s lower abdomen.
“Good morning,” Brooke said. Andy felt her muscles clench as Brooke rubbed her thigh, and she fought to keep her hips from straining toward Brooke’s hand.
“We should get out of bed so you can have your coffee,” Andy said reluctantly. “And we have one hell of a mess to clean up.”
Her sentence ended with a short gasp as Brooke’s fingers found her wet and ready to be touched. “In a minute,” Brooke suggested, lazily trailing her hand through Andy’s wetness. “And last night was worth all the dirty dishes, wasn’t it?”
Andy murmured her agreement, focused mainly on Brooke’s movements as she slipped between Andy’s legs. “We should do the same thing for Christmas. Even if Nancy has the baby before, she won’t be able to travel that soon.”
Andy’s hand rested on Brooke’s head and she could feel Brooke still. “Maybe,” Brooke said. She went back to kissing her way up Andy’s thigh, but Andy suddenly shifted her hips out of Brooke’s reach and sat up in bed.
“What do you mean maybe?” Andy asked, her voice hardening as she shut down the arousal that had been her sole focus only moments before. She was suddenly torn back to their first time, waking up alone after Brooke’s panicked flight from her bed. She had thought her heart was breaking when the Brooke who had been a stranger left her. How much more would it hurt now after she had been foolish enough to fall in love?
Brooke frowned. “I just don’t know what I’ll be doing at Christmas. The fuss over my wedding will have died down, so I might be ready to be back with my family.”
“You might not really want to be with me, you mean,” Andy said, getting out of bed and pulling on the first items of clothing she could find. She was angry with herself for letting Brooke lead her on when clearly all she wanted was a fling. And she was angry at Brooke for not having enough respect for her to be honest about her feelings. She might be inexperienced as a lesbian, but she wasn’t ignorant as a woman, or as a friend.
Brooke shook her head, but she didn’t deny the truth of Andy’s words. “You promised me,” she said quietly. “You said I could have until Christmas to decide.”
Andy simply stared at her before stalking into the bathroom and slamming the door. Last night had been a promise in her mind. A promise to love and care for this woman. If Brooke hadn’t felt that too, then maybe it was better for her to leave. Andy spent most of her shower convincing herself she really believed that, and the rest of it calling herself a fool. She had gotten too close, and she had been stupid. She knew the old story. She was Brooke’s first, her experiment. And now she would go on to explore her sexuality, beyond Andy’s reach. Go on to build a new life without Andy in it. Andy had read too much into the relationship, and she would be the one to suffer.
*
Brooke made their morning lattes and left Andy’s on the counter, trying not to feel too hurt when Andy simply dumped it down the drain and washed the mug. It was as if she had sucked all of her pain and anger inside and left an Andy-sized chasm in the apartment. Brooke would even have preferred a screaming fight over this deep silence. At least then she might have been able to admit the truth behind her reluctance to make plans for Christmas. The truth about how scared she had been last night by the depth of her feelings for Andy. While Brooke had been trying to give herself space and keep her distance, she had somehow grown powerfully attached to Andy. If such intense feelings could sneak up when she was unaware of them, what would happen if she committed fully to a relationship with her? How could she keep her identity separate when Andy could exert such an influence over her?
They spent an hour cleaning the apartment, somehow managing to spend as little time in the same room as possible. Afterward, Andy simply took her coat and left without a word, skipping her usual practice. Alone and sad, Brooke gathered the clothes Andy had hidden in her closet the day before and tidied them into a corner of the living room, trying to make her presence felt as little as possible in Andy’s space. She debated whether she should simply go, but she hated the thought of leaving without at least saying good-bye.
She was eating a lunch of leftovers when Andy finally returned. She shut herself into her bedroom without acknowledging Brooke, and it took her a few minutes to work up the courage to knock on the closed door. There was no answer, as she had expected, but she pushed in anyway.
Andy was lying on her bed, one arm draped over her eyes. “Did I say come in?”
Brooke sat on the bed next to her. “No, but we need to talk.”
Andy didn’t speak, so Brooke tugged at her arm. “Look at me, please?” When Andy did, Brooke almost regretted having asked. Even in her angry withdrawal, her expressive hazel eyes revealed the depth of her pain.
Brooke took a deep breath and pushed on. “That night of the concert, after you were with Lyssa, you made me a promise. You said no matter how unreasonable I was, you would give me until Christmas to decide.”
She knew it was a dirty trick to bring up Andy’s guilt-ridden night with Lyssa, but she was desperate. “Are you going to keep that promise, or do you want me to leave?”
“That’s not fair,” Andy said, her eyes reddening with unshed tears.
“You decide. You can let me stay while I work things out in my head, or you can ask me to go.”
“I promised, so you can stay,” Andy said through clenched teeth. “But get out of my room.”
She covered her eyes again, and Brooke reached out a hand to touch her but stopped short of doing so. She left the room and quietly closed the door.
Chapter Twenty-one
Brooke was making a chili and cornbread casserole for dinner when Andy finished her morning practice. She moved to the side so Andy could wash her mug at the sink, neither one speaking as they tried not to bump into each other in the small space.
“Are you almost finished with that?” Andy asked testily, crossing her arms as she leaned on the counter and watched Brooke spooning the cornmeal mixture over the chili.
“Am I in your way?” Brooke snapped.
“No,” Andy answered. “Christ, I just thought we could go for a walk. I’m not trying to pick a fight.”
“Oh,” Brooke stared at the casserole as she put more care than was really required into smoothing the top layer. “A walk. That sounds nice.”
She covered the dish and put it in the fridge before taking some warmer clothes into the bathroom so she could change there while Andy shut herself in her bedroom to do the same thing. Brooke brushed her hair and tried to cover the dark smudges under her eyes with some concealer. She hadn’t been sleeping well since their fight, and from the look on Andy’s face, she hadn’t either. She missed Andy’s friendship and longed to return to the peace they had known before their all-too-arousing, and terrifying, night together. They met in the hall, and Andy set off without another word.
Brooke gamely tried to keep up with Andy’s long strides without breaking into a jog as they marched along the familiar streets, but by the time they reached Broadway’s retail area she was cranky and breathing hard.
“Can I at least get some coffee?” she asked, stopping by an espresso stand.
Andy walked on a few yards then circled back when she realized Brooke wasn’t following. “No. We don’t have time.”
“Why are you being so mysterious?” Brooke asked suspiciously. “Is this another therapy setup? Or are we going to meet a hit man?”
Andy rolled her eyes. “If I were hiring a hit man, I wouldn’t bring you with me. Just come on,” she said, grabbing a reluctant Bro
oke’s hand and pulling her along.
At least Andy slowed her pace slightly so Brooke didn’t have to fight to keep up. She let her hand remain in Andy’s grasp for almost a block before gently releasing the contact. Even when they were bickering on the street, she still craved Andy’s touch. That realization just made her more irritated, and she punched Andy in the arm.
Andy swung to face her, her arms spread wide and an exaggerated questioning look on her face. “What was that for?”
“I’m mad at you,” Brooke snapped, walking ahead in rapid strides so it was Andy’s turn to play catch-up.
“Well, the feeling’s mutual,” Andy muttered as they left the shops and restaurants behind and continued along Broadway. They walked in silence until Andy turned off the main sidewalk.
“We’re going to school?” Brooke asked as they passed a sign for the Seattle Central Community College. Andy simply shrugged and led them into one of the buildings.
“May I help you?” the young man at the reception desk asked as they approached.
“My friend here has an appointment with the director of the Culinary Arts program,” Andy said.
“You must be Brooke Stanton,” he said, and Brooke managed a nod. “I’ll let her know you’re here. You can look through these while you wait,” he offered, handing Brooke several brochures.
Andy led the way to a small cluster of chairs and dropped into one. Brooke followed slowly, flipping through the glossy brochures.
“Cooking school?”
“I just thought you might enjoy it,” Andy said. “You have a talent for combining flavors, and it seems to make you happy.”
Brooke sat on the edge of a chair next to Andy. “How long have you been thinking about this?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
Andy shrugged. “Since Thanksgiving. You’re so passionate about cooking. I thought it would be a good career to explore.”
“So you explored it for me.”
“No,” Andy said slowly. “I just looked up some local schools, and this seemed like a good program.”
Brooke wanted to shred the brochures she held, but she tried to stay calm. She couldn’t stop the memory of her dad and Jake telling her she should be a paralegal, listing all the reasons they thought it was perfect for her. “Did it ever occur to you to talk to me about it before you made up your mind?”
“You’ve barely spoken to me since Thanksgiving, so I didn’t have a chance to bring it up,” Andy said in a clipped voice. “If you don’t want to do it, then don’t.”
“Whether I like the idea or not isn’t the point,” Brooke said in frustration. She wasn’t sure if she was more furious because Andy kept trying to control her life, or because she seemed so unaware of what she was doing. Even though Brooke felt a thrill of anticipation to learn about this school, she mainly felt a fierce need to protect herself. Her ties to her family and Jake had been strong enough to give them too much control over her life, her decisions. She hadn’t thought it possible, but her feelings for Andy threatened to eclipse them all. How would she be able to withstand Andy’s influence, without losing her identity completely?
“Then what is the point, Brooke?”Andy asked. “It’s not like I signed you up for classes, only a stupid interview.”
“Just like you arranged for me to meet Jonas.”
“Well, okay. Let’s bring that up again,” Andy said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “I thought we had moved past it, but apparently not.”
“And I thought you had learned not to go behind my back and try to run my life.”
“I’m not…” Andy growled and dropped her head into her hands. She sat up again, and her voice was calmer when she spoke. “We’re arguing in circles, Brooke. Let’s just get out of here and forget this happened.”
“No,” Brooke said, feeling dangerously close to shouting. “Because it will happen again. You can’t stop yourself from controlling your life, your family, me. I can’t take it anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Andy said, her voice flat. Brooke opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted.
“You can go on back now,” the young man called to her. “Second door on the left.”
Brooke stood up. “Don’t wait for me, Andy,” she said, struggling for composure. She’d rather not break down and sob during her interview. “I’ll see you at your apartment.”
*
Andy’s anger slowly dissipated as she walked home alone. It was obvious Brooke didn’t want a relationship with her, not in the way Andy had hoped. Although she would have preferred to simply leave for her evening rehearsal and avoid another confrontation with Brooke, Andy made herself wait so they could finally finish what they had started. She was calmly gathering her music together when Brooke returned.
When she heard the apartment door open, she left her music room and found Brooke in the hall, holding a large manila folder to her chest.
“I have to leave, Andy,” she said simply.
Andy nodded. She had been expecting this, especially after Brooke’s final words at the school, delivered with such deadly calm. “I’m sorry, Brooke,” she said, her own voice emotionless. “I wanted to surprise you with this idea, but I was wrong. And I’m sorry you can’t tell the difference between someone who wants to share your life and someone who wants to control it. Between someone who wants to help you discover your passions and someone who dictates what they should be.”
“You don’t know where the line is yourself,” Brooke said. “You make a decision, even with the best of intentions, and then you try to force it on me. I’m scared of…”
Brooke paused, and Andy raised her hands in frustration. “Of what, Brooke?”
“Of you. Of losing myself in you. Of having you take over my life so I can’t tell where your decisions leave off and mine begin.”
“All you have to say is no, and I’ll back off every time,” Andy said. How could Brooke believe she’d do anything less? And she couldn’t help who she was, either. She made plans, set goals, listed action steps. She should have consulted with Brooke along the way, but why not take care of some of the details first?
“When you care about someone you want to be part of their life,” Andy continued. “Not a dictator, and not an observer. Maybe what you’re really scared of is finding a job, or a woman, you really care about. Because then you’ll need to commit, be an adult, without using your indecision as a crutch to keep you from growing up and taking charge of your own life.”
Brooke took a step back as if she’d been slapped. “I know I haven’t reached your level of perfection, Andy, but I’ve been making tough decisions since we met,” Brooke said in a quiet, but steady voice. “The hardest so far is saying good-bye to you.”
Andy watched until Brooke shut the apartment door behind her, and then she returned to her music room, the one place where focus and hard work were all she required to maintain control. If she could only concentrate hard enough, she’d be able to convince herself that the empty silence in the apartment was peace and the ache inside was merely relief at the abrupt return of her solitary equilibrium. It wouldn’t be easy—it never was—but it was the best she could do.
Chapter Twenty-two
Brooke woke in the morning lying on her old purple bedspread and stared at the ceiling of her childhood room. She felt disgusted and angry. She had returned to her parents’ home the night before with only vague explanations for her sudden presence. She knew they expected more than her cranky excuses, but she had been so angry over Andy’s treachery. If she had started talking when she had too little control over her emotions, she would most likely have revealed her feelings for Andy. She hadn’t wanted to come out to her parents as a by-product of their fight. Other than an abrupt refusal when her mom suggested she call Jake, Brooke hardly spoke as they moved her boxes, hastily packed when she knew Andy would be out of the apartment at her scheduled rehearsal, into her old room. She had claimed a headache, not entirely fictitious, and shut
herself away for the night.
Andy had accused her of refusing to grow up, and Brooke had proved her right by running home to her parents and hiding under the covers. After all the drama and defiance over her cancelled wedding, her insistence on starting a new life on her own terms, she had instead come in a full, miserable circle. She had locked herself in her room like a moody adolescent, complete with whiny tantrum. After all of her efforts to change, she was back on her bed like a confused teenager.
But not confused about everything, she admitted silently. If her time with Andy had given her anything, it was a clear answer about being a lesbian. Brooke didn’t know whether their relationship had a chance, and she still fumed over the last ambush, but she knew without a doubt her sexuality was a constant. Her parents deserved to know that much at least.
No, Brooke thought, sitting up in bed, I deserve to tell them, so I won’t have to hide anymore. Maybe she hadn’t taken a leap backward, but instead had come home so she could find enough courage to resolve some of the lies she had been telling in order to please her family. Then she could move forward, free of the past. No more hiding a relationship, whether it was with Andy or someone new. No more hiding behind her equivocation when she was very aware how her body responded to a woman’s touch. To Andy’s touch. Brooke got out of bed and searched for something nice to wear. She clung to her anger from yesterday, using it to drive thoughts of Thanksgiving night from her mind.
Brooke found her parents at the dining room table, drinking coffee in silence. She stood in the doorway and cleared her throat.
“Good morning,” she said when they turned to face her.
“Good morning, dear,” Evelyn said. “Can I make you some pancakes?”
Brooke had to laugh at her mom’s attempt to make the situation seem normal. She almost expected her to ask if Brooke had finished her homework. “I thought we could go out for breakfast,” Brooke said. “We should talk.”