The Rescue

by Izzy Daniels

  “I can definitely teach you how to use an oven. They don’t call me Ovenmaster for nothing. Oh god, no, no one calls me that. Please just ignore that. So what do you do?” She’s laughing at me and tries to take a sip of her water to hide it but ends up choking and coughing on it. I burst into a fit of laughter while she tries to recover.

  “You okay?” I finally ask. Her face is bright red and there are tears in her eyes.

  “Wrong tube. Nice of you to laugh at my trauma, though, Ovenmaster!” She’s chuckling again. Wow, do I wish I hadn’t said that.

  “One might think that was instant karma for laughing at me. Not me, of course, I’m not like that. But maybe someone out there. Probably Amanda.” I point my thumb in Amanda’s general direction. Brooke’s eyes don’t leave my face. She gives me a skeptical look, her eyes narrowed.

  “Right. You’re not like that. Mmhmm. But to answer your question, I’m a photographer slash website designer. But I am going to school to turn it into a real business. I’ve taken pictures since I was in high school. I started out on the school paper and realized I would rather take pictures of things I care about, the travesty that is school lunches wasn’t really compelling enough. When I took a class on computers, everything was easy. It was like a puzzle and I could solve it. So after I left my hometown, I put my two interests together and started making a little bit of money while taking some prereq classes here and there. Five years later, I’m a full-time college student and sitting across the most beautiful girl in town,” Brooke says matter-of-factly.

  My heart is thumping wildly in my chest at the look in her eyes. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I decide to be silly. I turn around and look behind me, then look all around the restaurant.

  “Huh. I don’t see her,” I say before I stick my tongue out at her. She looks at me in contemplation.

  “No, I don’t think you do,” she murmurs. I don’t know what she means but I’m saved from coming up with a reply by Jack’s enormous body pushing me over and crushing me against the wall of the booth.

  “Sup, ladies! Hope I’m not interrupting! Dude, is that my food? Did you seriously give this wench my food?” He demand accusingly.

  “There’s plenty left for you, you big-headed punk. I’ll go get you yours. Move and let me out.” He gets out but instead of taking his seat again, he follows me to the kitchen. I look back at Brooke to tell her we’ll be right back, but I catch her eyes checking out my butt. My face goes red and I walk faster to the kitchen, dragging Jack with me.

  “So, little Emma, how gay do you feel today?” He says with a wink.

  “Ha ha. Oh god, Jack. I feel really, really gay!” I say with panic creeping into my voice. He starts laughing so hard he braces a hand on a silver counter in the kitchen. “Stop laughing, this isn’t funny. I have no idea what I’m doing! Can you pretend you are actually my best friend and help me!” I implore.

  “Alright, alright. But it looked like you had it under control. Just be yourself. Did you send her signals that you’re interested?”

  “What, like smoke signals?” I’m so far out of my league here.

  “No, like did you smile at her, did you mention you like women, did you flash her your bosom? That one in particular is a definite signal.”

  “Ugghhh, Jack! I think I sent signals. Maybe. I don’t know. We better get back out there.” He just looks at me curiously while I pull the rest of the roll from the warmer and slice it. I put the dip in the middle and push him back out the doors. “Do not say anything, please. Jack? Please do not embarrass me. I think I like her.”

  “Fine. Take away all my fun. Scouts honor, I’ll be a good boy. Can I have a lemonade?”

  “Fine, take the plate and go sit down.” Just as I set the cup down in front of him at the table, a group of six push their way inside the restaurant. It’s my turn to take a table. Jack glances at the group and gives me his shit-eating grin. Oh, crap . Now he knows I won’t be there to babysit him in front of Brooke. He quickly wipes his grin and gives me an innocent expression. I narrow my eyes at him and when I’m sure Brooke isn’t watching us, I run my finger across my neck. His innocent eyes widen and he throws a hand dramatically over his heart. I make a V with my fingers and point to my eyes and then to him. He smiles at me and waggles his fingers.

  “Be right back!” I say to both of them. I rush over to the group at the door to greet and seat them. I look back at the booth and Brooke waves at me. I wave back to her and then turn to introduce myself to my new table. I send up a silent prayer that Jack talks about anything but me, anything else at all. Even farts.

  ...

  I didn’t even get the chance to eavesdrop on them because I got a party of fourteen not too long after and they had me running around. That doesn’t mean I didn’t constantly catch glimpses of them animatedly laughing and simultaneously glancing in my direction. But I wasn’t letting it get to me. That much. When they stood up to leave, I felt both relieved and sad to see Brooke go. But she pulled me aside and casually gave me her phone number. She told me I could call her when I got off work if I wanted. So now I’m sitting in my car outside of the restaurant holding my phone nervously. I squint at the napkin she wrote her number on and check it a hundred times to be sure it’s right. My thumb hovers over send for another full minute before I muster the courage. It only rings twice before her voice fills my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Um, hi. It’s Emma. “ Stupid pause. “From Giorgio’s.”

  “I know who you are, Emma,” she says with laughter in her voice. “I’m glad you called.” Cue silly grin.

  “So, how was the rest of your day?”

  “Pretty good, how was work?” She asks.

  “The usual. I don’t love being a waitress, but it has a purpose.”

  “That makes sense, getting more firsthand experience for running your own place.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Actually, I was sad we got interrupted earlier. I was curious, what do you like about photography?”

  “Hmm,” she pauses thoughtfully. “No one has ever asked me that. I love capturing a moment, a memory, but more than that I love how each picture can tell a story all on its own. And it can be different for each viewer or each viewing. Does that make sense?”

  “Definitely. Do you have a favorite picture that you’ve taken?” I ask her.

  “Oh man, that’s like asking me to choose between my children,” she says. “But, I do have a few favorites. I could show you sometime.”

  “Oh, um, yes that would be cool.” YES!

  “I’m glad Jack ended up being my partner. Why is he such a verbal pig anyway?” She asks, making me chuckle.

  “He’s got a macho dad and older brother, and a slightly macho younger brother. When you get the four of them together, they just spew out every thought they have. Jack just doesn’t have a filter period, though.”

  “I’ve noticed that about him. It’s real charming. I almost can’t believe he’s your best friend considering how different you are. You’re far more reserved and shy than he is an outspoken extrovert.”

  “I know, it's hard to believe, but he’s just very convincing.” I say with a smile at her observations. “Do you have a best friend?”

  “No, after I left home I didn’t stay in touch with anyone. I traveled the states, going from place to place. When you don’t put roots down anywhere, it’s hard to make friends. But I’m here to stay for awhile,” she remarks carefully. “Maybe, we could be friends?”

  “Yeah, for sure. I’d like that, Brooke.”

  “Sweet,” she says enthusiastically. “Well, as friends, I think it’s important that we get to know each other better. First question: what’s your favorite movie?”

  “Wow, so we’re just jumping right in, huh? What a big question. Hmm, my favorite movie is The Princess Bride. What’s yours?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “Nice choice. Well, that’s a great movie but my pick is Notting Hill. I can watch it over and over
again.”

  “Ah, so you’re a romantic kind of girl,” I tease.

  “Guilty.”

  “Okay, my turn. What’s the last song you listened to?” I ask her.

  “Good question. Mary Lambert’s ‘She Keeps Me Warm’ was on just before you called,” Brooke answers with a sigh. “Yours?”

  “I’m a classic rock kind of girl so the radio played ‘Sweet Emotion’ earlier today and I jammed out,” I say sincerely.

  “Aerosmith? Wow, you continue to surprise me, Emma. My turn then. Favorite book?”

  “Hands down all of the Harry Potters. It’s obviously not one book, but you need them all for the whole story. Yours?”

  “I accept your reasoning. While those are great reads, my favorite will always be Pride and Prejudice. I’m just now noticing that I am such a girl,” Brooke says laughingly.

  “I’ve noticed that about you,” I mock her earlier words. “But I think it’s adorable.”

  “Aw, shucks, Emma. I think you’re adorable. Speaking of adorable, what’s your favorite animal?” She inquires. Luckily, she can’t see the major blush on my cheeks.

  “Horses. I’ve never seen one in person but I just like them for their intelligence and beauty. Black Beauty was one of my favorite books when I was little,” I reply. “You?”

  “Wow, I can’t believe you haven’t already guessed. I’m a full-blown lesbian, it’s obviously cats. No worries, young grasshopper, I’ll show you the ropes. Do you have any tattoos? That would really help with the street cred.”

  “Sadly, no. Do you?” I quip.

  “Ha ha, good one,” Brooke says sarcastically while I laugh at my own joke.

  “Alright, so I need cats and tattoos. Any other lesbian advice for me?” I ask, as if admitting that I’m a lesbian is old news. It still makes me nervous, but it feels right, like the final puzzle piece.

  “Oh yeah, I definitely have more. But... I’ll have to show you.” Her seductive voice in my ear causes my heart to thump erratically and an involuntary shiver to take over. I try to respond, but my ability to communicate is absent. She seems to take my pause negatively or she changes her mind because she backtracks. “My flannel collection. I’ll show you my very gay flannel.”

  She continues telling me about all the cliche lesbian lifestyle choices that I need to catch up on, but my mind keeps replaying her words. I can’t help but wonder what else she wants to show me. I’m definitely in deep water, but I kind of want to see where the tide takes me.

  6

  Brooke

  The best thing about Saturday’s? No alarm clocks. Except this one. I set it extra early because Jack invited me over for breakfast with the promise that Emma would be there. He said to come around eight because Emma only stays until eleven before she goes to work. So here I am waking up at six o’clock in the fucking morning because I didn’t want to oversleep. I give myself a few more moments in bed, just thinking about Emma. Her brief moments of forwardness stunned me. Unexpectedly, that made them feel more intimate, like I was seeing a side of her that no one else gets to.

  A thorough shower energizes me and I hurry to get ready. My excitement continues to grow as I shove my feet into a pair of dark wash boyfriend jeans. I slip on a white button up and cover it with a dark crimson long sleeve sweater. A glance at my phone and I realize I’m still really fucking early, so I sit down at my desk to check my email and my favorite comic strips. But my thoughts wander back to Emma, naturally. I’m used to just being forward with girls I’m interested in, but I feel like I will frighten her away if I come on too strong. Yesterday, I didn’t send her a message or call because I wasn’t totally sure if it would be welcome. Would sending her a good morning text be too much? She might like to know I’m thinking of her. Before I can stop myself, I pick up my phone and send her a message.

  Morning, you.

  There. Simple. She’ll know she’s on my mind, but I didn’t tell her that I can’t wait to see her again or anything else that might be too creepy at this point. I catch myself staring at my phone so I set it down. A delightful dose of adrenaline floods my system when I think of her receiving my text. I hope she smiles at thought of me. I hope she texts me back. I look at my phone again, willing it to buzz with a reply. Nothing. Minutes and minutes of nothing. Finally, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and stand up, purposely leaving the offensively-silent tech on my desk. I ambulate myself into the kitchen for bottle of water. I drink the entire contents while leaning against the sink. Texts must be like pots of water: if you watch them they do the opposite of what you want.

  I hear a buzz and I jog back, pick up my phone and check. Nothing! Damn you, phantom buzz. Now that I’ve had so much time to dwell on it, I regret sending it. I could have made it wittier or less intimate. Why haven’t they made an undo text button yet? Just as I set it back down on the desk it buzzes. A real one. I’ve psyched myself out and now I’m almost scared to look at it. I hold it really far away, as if that will soften the blow.

  Good morning, Brooke. Sorry about the delay. I was getting breakfast supplies from the market. Ready for a homemade breakfast? Relief surges through me at her reply. I ignore the fact that I just went full on demented over a text.

  So ready! Can I bring anything? I inquire politely. Her reply is within seconds.

  Nope, just bring your appetite and your pretty face . I reread her words and butterflies find my stomach. She thinks I’m pretty.

  Done. See you soon! I suavely respond.

  I made myself wait another twenty minutes, arriving a polite ten minutes early. Jack’s house was easy enough to find. It’s a white, two-story colonial style house with black shutters and a slanted black and gray roof. Gathering my fortitude, I hop out of the car and trail through the dewy grass. There’s a beautiful multi-colored wreath hanging on the door. From the outside it looks like a well-loved family home. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been around anyone’s family. I debate ringing the bell or knocking and settle for rapping my knuckles firmly against the black door. A brief moment passes before Emma opens the door, but she looks overjoyed to see me.

  “Hi, come in,” she says warmly as she steps to the side to let me through. I carefully wipe my shoes on the welcome mat before stepping inside. The foyer is open and spacious but somehow still warm and inviting. The entrance has white tile, but soft beige carpeting covers a sitting room to the left and an office to the right. I can see lots of trophies lining the hutch of a large dark oak desk and the shelves on the walls. The wall in the office is a really pretty teal color while the sitting room walls are a pale gray. I turn back as Emma closes the door behind me. “Follow me. I’m just getting started, want to help?”

  “I’d love to. That sounds fun,” I say sincerely. She leads me down a hallway to the back of the house. It ends at an enormous kitchen with nice, thick marble counters to the right. Off to the left of the kitchen is a carpeted staircase and the family room. It has overstuffed brown couches and a big flat screen t.v. mounted above a cozy fireplace. Jack is lounging on the couch with a smaller, younger version of himself. They’re both wearing headsets and have video game controllers in their hands. There is some sort of shooting and explosions happening on the screen and the younger one yells and elbows Jack, who then elbows him back.

  I glance at Emma and see her watching them fondly. “Boys,” she emphasizes with an eye roll.

  “Yeah, I see that. Alright, Ovenmaster. Teach me your ways,” I entreat. That earns me a poke in the arm but at least she’s smiling. She flips on the switch to the coffee pot and it burbles pleasantly as it begins to brew.

  “First things first.” She walks into a deep pantry and grabs something off the wall before coming back. She pauses in front of me. She’s so close I can count her freckles. Her face tilts up to me and her eyes stare into mine, her wild waves framing her face. Everything fades around me, my eyes are all on her. Each uneven breath I take fills my lungs with the scent of her, vaguely sweet but with a touch
of spice. I want to melt into her, but before I can, she holds up a floral printed piece of fabric. Her arms move slowly as she brings the loop to the top of my head. The brief reprieve from her piercing gaze breaks the spell as she slides the fabric past my eyes. It occurs to me then, that the fabric is an apron. All thoughts vanish as she leans ever closer, now bringing her arms around me, her body nearly touching mine. I can feel her arms working to tie the straps behind my back and my nerves tingle in response. Her deft fingers slide across the strings, making their way around my waist. Emma’s head tilts slightly back as she looks up at me causing my stomach to drop. I can read the uncensored lust there and I desperately want to lean down and kiss her. My eyes drop to her lips in anticipation but before I can dissolve into them, she blinks twice and the heat is gone. What just happened? Now I’m confused, because if I read her right, she wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted to kiss her. Why is she stopping herself?

  “Perfect,” she says as she takes a step back and admires the ridiculous, frilly apron on me, leaving me reeling from the loss of her nearness. With a clap of her hands she turns around and grabs a few metal bowls from under a cabinet. The sight of her sylphlike body bending pulls me from my bafflement and I watch her as she crouches next to the the stove to grab a griddle from beneath. She’s wearing black skinny pants and a fitted white t-shirt with a pair of black Keds, which seems to be the only things she wears and that is absolutely, perfectly fine by me. They hug all of her curves suggestively and I’m an appreciative audience.

  “Hey wait, why aren’t you wearing an apron?” I indicate her non-apronness when she stands back up. She glances down at herself with a one-shouldered shrug.

  “Well, your level of skill in the kitchen is in question, not mine. But if it makes you feel better, I can put one on,” she says. She grabs another one from the pantry wall and sets it on the counter. She pulls the hair tie off her wrist and gathers her hair up in her hands. With her elbows facing the ceiling, I get an incredible view of the appealing outline of her breasts through her shirt as it stretches across. Flashes of dirty thoughts race through my mind and a wave of warmth spreads through my body. I swallow and glance away. I don’t trust myself to return the favor with the apron, so I walk over to the sink to wash my hands. With some cold ass water .