Olive Oil and White Bread

by Georgia Beers

  “It’s hard to watch your parents age,” Jillian said. Her own father was still healthy, but weaker than he used to be.

  “And it’s just as hard not to, huh?” Angie added, thinking about Jillian’s mother.

  With a sad grimace, Jillian agreed. “Yup.”

  Feeling the need to change the subject, Angie said, “I’m sorry you missed your softball game.”

  Jillian shrugged. “I’m sure they got along just fine without me. I’d much rather be with you anyway.”

  Angie squeezed her hand. Pushing her empty plate away, she said, “Let’s get some sleep.”

  They barely stepped out of their clothes before falling into bed and sleeping for almost ten straight hours. When Jillian opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming cheerfully through the blinds and the clock radio said it was 12:45 p.m. A split-second of panic sliced through her before she relaxed. Thank god they’d both had the good sense to call in sick from the hospital today, before they’d had an idea of what was going on and how long they’d be. Instead of springing from the bed and bee-lining to the shower, she snuggled down into the soft bedding, pushed her backside into the solid warmth of Angie’s body spooning her from behind, snuggled into the arm stretched out beneath her neck.

  Her body ached from being in bed too long, but she was loath to get up, to leave the closeness of her partner.

  Her partner.

  That’s what Angie was. In every way. Sometimes, when Jillian stopped to think how badly she’d messed up last year, how close she’d come to throwing it all away, she wanted to kick herself. But it turned out maybe that old saying was true: everything happens for a reason. She’d never believed it before, had always thought of the line as some sort of spiritual bunk that people used for situations they couldn’t control or explain. You got laid off from your job of twenty years: everything happens for a reason. A drunk driver causes an accident that kills somebody else, but he walks away without a scratch: everything happens for a reason. The guilty murderer is found not guilty: everything happens for a reason. Oh, please, she always thought. What a load of bullshit.

  The past year had caused her to look at things differently, though, and she realized that if she hadn’t wandered down the wrong path when she did, if the mess with Lindsey had never happened, then she and Angie would never have talked about the state of their relationship, about what each of them was feeling, what each of them was missing, what each of them wanted. And things wouldn’t have ended up the way they were now.

  They were stronger. Solid. Sure.

  It hadn’t been easy. It had been a slow process that had taken months. They went to therapy, individually and together. Angie had been understandably reserved for a long time. She was gun-shy, and she didn’t fully trust Jillian. Jillian knew that, understood it, but still found it almost unbearably hurtful. Angie had spent her first couple of weeks back home in the guest bed, not yet ready to share such close quarters with the person who’d sliced her so deeply. Again, Jillian understood. That didn’t keep her from crying herself to sleep most nights.

  Eating crow was exhausting.

  Jillian smiled now as she thought about that. She’d been determined to eat as much as necessary to get her life back. Thank god Angie wasn’t the kind of person who would enjoy torturing her. She didn’t take pleasure in holding Jillian’s mistake over her head. In fact, she seemed almost uncomfortable during those times when her lack of trust hung over them, especially since she told Jillian she accepted some of the blame for running their relationship off the rails. They dealt with those painful moments as best they could, and finally—unexpectedly—things changed. Angie came into the bedroom one night with a magazine and said simply, “I miss sleeping with you. Can I come in?”

  Jillian had looked up from her book, blinked once, and thrown back the covers to let Angie in. Then they’d each gone back to reading, deliberately casual, Jillian trying not to let the enormous grin cover her entire face.

  Another two months went by before they made love for the first time.

  It was tentative at best, each of them exploring one another as if they’d never been together before. They started slowly with hesitant kisses that took long moments to deepen. They moved slowly, seemingly almost afraid to touch each other’s bodies. But they paid attention to one another, actually talked as they moved, were surprised when they found their groove. With blessed release, Jillian’s orgasm also brought an onslaught of tears, of apologies, of I love yous. Angie’s eyes were not dry, and she held onto Jillian as if she’d never let go. And it was that grip, that embrace much more so than the climax itself that made Jillian certain they were going to be okay.

  There’s a difference between sex and intimacy, she remembered saying to Angie. But she understood that they were not mutually exclusive, either.

  To Angie’s credit, she made more effort, paid more attention to Jillian’s sexual needs. It wasn’t something they’d ever worried about in the past, but Jillian knew that was exactly why they’d ended up in the pickle they had. Angie’s libido was not as strong as Jillian’s. It never had been, and it never would be, and that was okay. They talked about it; that was the difference. Instead of making a move, getting rebuffed, and resenting it, Jillian actually talked to Angie. They set up date nights. They planned to have sex. No, it wasn’t necessarily romantic, but it worked. It kept them connected in a way that they wouldn’t be if they continued to neglect the sexual aspect of their relationship. And the open communication meant they enjoyed it more, which surprised them both.

  Now Angie stirred behind her. Jillian felt her slowly wake up, gauged the change in her breathing. The arm draped over Jillian’s side shifted as Angie’s hand snaked up and closed gently over Jillian’s bare breast, pulling her body back more tightly against Angie’s. Warm lips moved across the side of her neck, nuzzled her ear as Angie’s fingers toyed with a nipple.

  Jillian’s body went from zero to sixty in mere seconds, another strange side effect of their reconnection. It took almost nothing for Angie to turn her on. Not that she’d ever been difficult, but she felt like a teenager again. All Angie had to do was give her a certain look and Jillian’s underwear dampened in anticipation. Now she moved to turn onto her back, but Angie held fast.

  “No, stay,” she whispered in Jillian’s ear. “Just like this.” She continued her mouth’s assault on Jillian’s neck, ear, shoulder. The arm under Jillian’s neck shifted, and that hand took over with Jillian’s breasts, kneading and pumping, while Angie’s other hand slid slowly down her torso, over her stomach, and into the thatch of hair at the apex of Jillian’s thighs. Both women were already breathing raggedly, and Jillian was once again amazed at how quickly they were ready for one another. Without preamble, Angie’s fingers slicked through Jillian’s wetness, gently yet firmly, pressing and stroking in exactly the right way.

  “You’re so sexy,” Angie said in her ear, causing Jillian to gasp a breath and do what she could to separate her legs and give Angie better access. “So sexy and so beautiful and so mine.”

  The possessiveness was also new, and hot, and it only served to push Jillian’s arousal higher as she reached behind her to clamp her hand around the nape of Angie’s neck. Then Jillian’s climax overtook her and forced a strained groan from her throat, every muscle in her body seeming to pull taut like an overstretched rubber band. She gripped Angie’s hair and rode out the orgasm, came down slowly, laid her hand over Angie’s between her legs to stop her movements.

  “Oh my god,” she said softly a few moments later as they lay recovering, Angie placing tender kisses on Jillian’s temple. “I think my bones have disappeared.” Angie chuckled against her hair. Jillian turned her head to look into Angie’s dark eyes. “I love you,” she said.

  “I love you, too.”

  They lay together for a long while, dozing. Angie checked her cell phone every so often, both of them figuring no news was good news, wanting to let Alice and Joe get home and settled before dropping
by.

  “Keith and I have decided on the first of the month.”

  Angie’s voice sounded loud in the quiet of the bedroom. Jillian turned to see her face. She knew Angie’d been ready to leave Logo Promo for months now, and worried as she was about this new venture, she was also thrilled. Angie and Keith were going to start their own company, just the two of them. He would be the sales whiz, she would take care of the business end of things. They’d been ready to make the move for a long time, and Jillian was starting to worry the change was too daunting for Angie. After all, she’d been at the same company for nearly twenty years. This kind of a move wouldn’t be easy for her.

  “That’s fantastic, honey. Really.” She squeezed the hand she held. “I’m very proud of you.”

  “I think we’ll be okay,” Angie said, something she’d said over and over again. “I will take as many of my clients with me as I can, but Jeremy will have his people fight me for them. Keith’s people will most likely stay with him. I don’t foresee a problem with that.”

  Jillian nodded dutifully. She’d heard all of this before, but knew for some reason that Angie needed to talk it all out, process it out loud.

  “I probably won’t make as much.”

  “But you’ll be less stressed out,” Jillian highlighted, just as she had the past three or four times they’d had this conversation. “You’ll be home more. We’ll be able to do more things together. You’ve wanted to manage for years now. This is your chance. You’ll be happier.”

  At that last word, Angie looked at her. And smiled widely. “I’m already happier.”

  With joyous laughter, Jillian rolled on top of her, kissing her soundly. Pulling back, she looked Angie in the face and asked, “How do you suddenly know exactly the right thing to say?” As Angie searched for an answer, Jillian trailed her warm, wet tongue down Angie’s neck, her chest, stopped to lavish attention on each breast before continuing south.

  Any words she’d come up with had died on Angie’s lips.

  2011

  Raise Your Glass

  Thirty-One

  Angie was wired.

  It was going on 10 p.m., and she and Jillian were usually pretty close to fast asleep by now, given that they got up at 5:30 in the morning, but right now, sleep was the furthest thing from Angie’s mind. She sat up in bed. The lights were off, as Jillian was on her side facing away from Angie, dozing. Tango, their two-year-old terrier mix, was curled up between Jillian’s feet, and Angie was once again amazed by how animals gravitated to her. Tango loved Angie—and loved Jillian.

  The TV was on, the volume low. Angie’s laptop was in her lap as she toggled between Facebook, Twitter, and various news sites. Her smartphone was next to her hip, texts coming in regularly from different friends who were doing the same thing she was.

  It was June 24. The nighttime summer air was warm and comfortable, the window near the bed wide open to let it in.

  On the television, New York state senators took turns giving their opinions on the pros and cons of legalizing gay marriage.

  Angie’s heart was thumping in her chest. Her adrenaline felt like it was whipping through her veins. She was excited. She was nervous.

  Never a person who was politically active, Angie was caught up in this particular debate. She very distinctly remembered watching the debate the last time it was up in the Senate. 2009. The middle of the day. Angie had been at work and tuned it in on her computer just to see how the process worked, not at all expecting the legislation to pass. She watched the impassioned pleas of the supporters, and they touched her. She listened to those against, and her stomach turned as she felt belittled and insulted. And when the proposal was defeated, she sat in her office and cried, her tears taking her totally by surprise, as did her indignation, her anger, and her hurt.

  This time felt different, though uncharacteristic superstition forced her not to be too optimistic.

  It was a Friday night. Work had been wonderful—she’d hired a new salesperson in whom she had a boatload of confidence, and overall sales were up nearly fifty percent overall from this time last year. They now had three salespeople including Keith, who was so much happier than he had been that he’d actually turned into a really nice guy. He and his wife, Gina, invited Angie and Jillian over for dinner and drinks at least once a month. How weird it was to go from despising somebody to considering them a close friend. Life was strange.

  Today had also been Jillian’s last day of school before summer, and her entire week had been brutal. She was both excited and exhausted, thus her gentle snoring coming from the other side of the bed.

  Many of Angie’s friends were watching the Senate, too, many of them straight, and that warmed her from the inside. Hope kept texting her opinion on each of the senators.

  Wow, how does Diaz sleep at night with all that hate inside?

  A good question, to be sure.

  Facebook was slow in refreshing, as it seemed everybody and their brother was on and posting. The comments were constant, and Angie felt a weird camaraderie with people she’d never met as she scrolled down the page on her laptop, knowing they were all watching with her. She noticed a comment from Shay. Keeping track through Facebook was about all the contact they’d had over the past few years, and Angie felt a familiar pang of sympathy for Jillian.

  It had been a mistake telling Shay exactly what the two of them had been going through, and why. She had not taken it well. Not surprisingly, perhaps: She saw Jillian as a cheater, no better than Laura had been to her. And somehow she had never been able to get past it. Apparently, she preferred to give up more than two decades of friendship. On more than one occasion, Angie had wanted to talk to Shay about it—really, if Angie had forgiven Jillian, why couldn’t Shay?—but Jillian had made her promise not to. Angie wondered if Shay’s anger stemmed from the fact that Angie and Jillian were still together while Laura had left without a backward glance—and was still with Kerry, the woman she’d left her for.

  Jillian’s pain at the loss of her friend was subtle, but obvious to Angie. Angie wanted to help alleviate it, but Jillian wouldn’t allow it. Maybe it was one of the ways she chose to punish herself for having strayed. Angie left it alone.

  Somebody’s “OMG” on Facebook made her glance up at the TV. A Republican from Buffalo was talking, and Angie grabbed the remote and increased the volume so she could hear. As she listened, an “Oh my god” of her own slipped out. Jillian stirred next to her. Tango lifted his head.

  “What’s the matter?” Jillian asked, her voice rough with sleep. A smile touched her eyes as she took in Angie surrounded by her electronics. “You are so cute, you know that?”

  “Babe, this might actually pass.”

  “Really?” Jillian glanced at the TV, not an easy feat from her flat position. “Who’s that?” She pawed at the nightstand for her glasses—the newest accessory of her forties—and slipped them on.

  Angie grinned at her. “Those things are so damn sexy.”

  Jillian’s blush was visible even by only the television light, and she pushed playfully at Angie. “Seriously. Who is that?”

  “That’s Mark Grisanti. He’s a Republican from Buffalo. He went into this against, but that’s not what he’s saying now.”

  They listened in astonishment as Senator Grisanti said that as a Catholic he was against redefining marriage, but that as a lawyer, he could not justify denying gay couples the rights to which they were entitled.

  “Holy shit,” Angie muttered, floored that somebody had actually followed the you can’t use your religion to make a law rule. Grisanti had gone into this debate as a firm “no,” but instead had voted “yes.” The balance had shifted. The senators knew it, the gentle hum of the room picking up a notch. “This might actually pass,” she said again.

  With a nod, Jillian removed her glasses, rested her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. She was beat, Angie knew, studying her face for a moment. Jillian hated being in her forties. Despised it. But th
ough her smooth skin did show some slight aging—crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, smile lines like parentheses surrounding her mouth—her face was every bit as beautiful as the day Angie had first seen her on that softball field so many years ago. Her blonde hair wasn’t as shiny as it used to be, a bit of gray infiltrated here and there. The shape of her body had altered slightly; she hadn’t put on weight, but things had shifted. She now had some extra belly that drove her absolutely insane. But Angie loved it. “It just means that our plans to grow old together are still in place,” she told her over and over. Jillian continued to complain, but the ghost of a grin every time Angie used that line meant that it was worth it. Not a day went by now that Angie didn’t tell Jillian she was beautiful or attractive or downright sexy. She’d learned that, petty as it might seem to some, Jillian was a person who needed that reassurance from the person who loved her most. It messed with her head if she was uncertain of her attraction. Rather than fight it or try to explain to her how silly her worry was, Angie had learned to accept it and do what it took to make Jillian happy.

  It wasn’t all that much to ask for, really. It was a ridiculously easy fix that Angie wished she’d started a long time ago.

  They’d been together for twenty-two years.

  Twenty-two years.

  Angie could hardly believe it when she stopped to think about it. They’d faced bumps. Hell, they’d faced near-mountains—and scaled them. They’d loved. They’d lost. They’d fought. They’d hurt each other deeply. They’d pulled each other up from the depths of despair. And still, when all was said and done, there was nobody in the world Angie would rather have by her side, and there was no other thought in her head that was clearer than that one. Jillian was her destiny, and she was Jillian’s. Their futures were inexorably entangled. They were supposed to be together. Jillian had said it back then in Starbucks when they did their best to bridge a rift that had seemed like a chasm, almost too big to fix—and she’d been right. They were supposed to be together. Always.