by Harper Bliss
“Shall we see who that is, little fella?” I pick him up and cradle him in my arms. He really couldn’t be a more perfect kitten. He seems to love humans as much as we adore cats.
I open the door and see the postman. “Special delivery for you, Miss Baker. Please sign here.”
“I told you before, Gunther. The name’s Laura.” I shoot him a grin as I take the pen he offers. I get a lot of mock-ups and other graphic design samples delivered, so we’ve become acquainted enough to be on a first-name basis.
“Sure thing, Laura,” he says the exact same thing he always says, but always goes back to Miss Baker at his next visit.
He hands me the package, which is just an envelope. At first I think it’s a bill I forgot to pay, but when I look at the label I see it’s from Mr. Caan, the town lawyer.
“Must be something to do with Aunt Milly,” I tell Socks, as I realize that it didn’t take me very long to pick up the habit of talking to my pet out loud.
I put Socks on the sofa and he starts mewling immediately. He’s such a sucker for affection—at night he sleeps on the pillow, right next to my head. “I thought it was your nap time.” I give him a few quick scratches on the top of his head which seem to satisfy him. “You’re such an attention whore.”
Inadvertently, he makes me smile. He lies down with his head on his paws but doesn’t close his eyes, as though he wants to keep tabs on what I’m doing.
I sit down next to Socks and open the envelope. Inside, I find a letter from Mr. Caan’s office and the envelope Aunt Milly asked me to drop off there not long after I moved to Nelson.
The letter says that Millicent Johnson wanted me to receive this letter two weeks after she passed away, which reminds me that it has been two weeks already.
I tear it open and read. It’s written in minuscule handwriting, the lines of the words jagged, as though written with a shaky hand. The ink color changes in the middle of the page. It must have taken her a while to get this down on paper.
Dearest Laura,
Some things are better said in a letter. I feel my time here is quickly coming to an end and I want you to know two things. These are my beliefs. They are things I didn’t feel entirely comfortable talking to you about in person, but they need to be said.
1) My brother, your father, is not worth one single minute of agony. I have made my peace with the fact that he and I are no longer on speaking terms (also because of someone I loved!) a very long time ago. This may be harder for you but as you get older, it will get easier. I want you to know this. You will care less and less until you’ve cut that man out of your heart completely. I truly wish you can accomplish this because there is nothing wrong with you, Laura. It’s all him and Phyllis. They’ve brainwashed themselves and I’m sure they’re convinced that, through some twisted logic, they’re doing good by following God’s word. But it’s not you who is not worthy of them, it’s they who are not worthy of you. You are a beautiful person, and I can surely attest to that, and it’s THEIR incomprehensible, giant loss.
2) This one is harder for me to put into words, but I will try. I don’t have children, but I consider you one of my own. I want for you what I would want for any of my children. I want you to be happy. Though I know that’s hard after everything that has happened to you, you must try. This may require you to take a leap of faith, but I’m convinced that you’ll know when the time is right. Healing is important, but you can’t let your life pass you by. You have so much more life left to live and I, for one, refuse to believe that what happened to you decreases your chances at happiness. Take the leap, dear Laura. Do it for yourself. You deserve it.
All my love,
Aunt Milly
I stare at the letter for a long time. I gave Aunt Milly very broad strokes of what happened. She knew about the accident, but not about the abuse. The way it’s written, however, feels as though she looked straight into my soul and knew everything. And then proceeded to tell me exactly what I needed to hear. I read the letter a few more times, let the words sink in deeper and deeper with every pass, until I can’t ignore its message any longer. I’m taking the leap. The time is right.
Twenty-Six
Tess
“I couldn’t believe it when you called.” I still can’t believe it. “Are we still officially calling this a date, Miss Laura Baker?” Below my chair, Laura’s kitten pushes himself against my shins time after time.
“It’s a date,” Laura confirms. When she called me two days ago to ask me out, no hesitation in her voice at all, she said that it would have to be at her house because she couldn’t bear to leave Socks alone yet.
“Wine?” she asks. She has dressed up in a white blouse, a step up from her usual t-shirts.
“I don’t have to drink,” I reply. Though I’m much more nervous than I thought I would be and I could do with a drop.
“I bought it especially for you,” she insists. “I may have a tiny sip myself.” She pours me a glass, then sits. “Why is this so nerve-racking? We’ve known each other for months now.”
“Because we’re calling it a date,” I say, knowing exactly how she feels.
Laura busies herself with pouring us each a glass of water. I relent and pick up the kitten.
“He needs a lot of attention,” Laura says. “But he’ll get tired soon enough.”
Socks purrs like crazy and I can’t help but press him against my chest. After I’ve put him back down, I search for Laura’s gaze, and hold it for an instant. “I’m nervous too,” I admit.
“First date jitters. That’s normal, right?” Laura stands again.
“Laura, please, just sit down for a second.”
“We should have done this at a restaurant,” she says, a gasp in her voice.
“I don’t care if we have takeaway pizza. I didn’t come here for the food.” My heart’s already thudding in my chest, and the evening has just begun. I don’t feel the slightest pang of hunger—except for Laura. Though I’m getting way ahead of myself again.
“I’m truly relieved you have such low gastronomical expectations.” Laura manages a smile. “I’m not exactly a domestic goddess.”
“My mother still cooks most of my meals,” I say with a giggle.
“She could have cooked for us,” Laura jokes.
“She would have in a heartbeat if you’d asked her.”
“But we’d have a chaperone.”
“And we’re a little too advanced in age for that.” The moment of banter brings a smile to both our faces. “I’m really happy to be here, Laura.” I broaden my smile, hoping to convey the warmth I feel inside.
“I took the leap,” she says cryptically. “Aunt Milly made me do it.”
“Aunt Milly?” Is she seeing ghosts now?
“She left me a letter. It got delivered two days ago. The first thing I did after reading it was call you.”
“Must have been some letter.”
“Short, but very powerful.”
“It was Aunt Milly who brought you here and now she got you to ‘take the leap’ so to speak. Looks like I owe your aunt a lot.”
“You and me both. Who knows where I would have ended up if not in Nelson?”
“Maybe in cowgirl Sherry’s claws somewhere. She’d be reading you poetry under the stars.”
“Are you sad she never got to perform a private poetry slam for you?” Laura asks.
“Is that a euphemism?” I ask, snickering, as I feel the nerves drain out of me.
“No.” Laura shakes her head. “Or I guess it could be.”
“I’m not the slightest bit sad, Laura.” She seems more relaxed as well.
“I was jealous, you know? I practically pushed you into her arms, but I was so jealous.”
Confession time already. I like what I’m hearing very much. “That’s interesting.” I can’t keep the glee out of my voice.
Laura pauses, then speaks. “So, as this is our first real date, we should get to know each other better.” She sounds very o
fficial all of a sudden. “We should tell each other things we don’t know about each other yet.”
“Okay… But that sounded as though you were reading it from a piece of paper and, unsuccessfully I might add, rehearsed that line in front of the mirror all afternoon.”
“I haven’t dated in a long time. I don’t really know what to do.”
I suppress the urge to rush to her for a hug. “You don’t have to do anything. You’ve done the hard work already. You picked up the phone and called me. From here on out, it’ll be a walk in the park.”
She takes a deep breath. “Let’s start again. We can begin by you giving me a hand in the kitchen, for example. But, I do have one rule. I absolutely do want us to get to know each other better, but no heavy subjects tonight. I don’t want to talk about my parents or about Tracy. This is a new beginning for me and I don’t want to look back.”
“Deal. So… what should I expect when I follow you into the kitchen?”
“A battlefield,” Laura says and gets up to show me.
* * *
We’ve moved to the sofa where, after dinner, Socks has taken up residence on Laura’s lap. I crave for her fingers to stroke me the way they do him. But, truth be told, I’m already so elated just to be sitting here with her.
“Tell me your happiest memory,” she asks then. The top button of her blouse has come loose a while ago, but I haven’t told her.
“Oh no,” I groan. “Ask me a less philosophical question.”
“Okay.” Her eyes glint with mischief. “As you can see I’m trapped under something tiny and I’m in the mood for a small glass of wine. Would you pour me one, please?”
“The lady shall be served pronto.” I know where she keeps the wine glasses, so I get her one and fill it halfway.
“Here you go.” When I pass her the glass, I linger in her personal space, and gaze deep into her blue eyes. “At your service.”
“Thanks.” She shuffles her weight around enough for Socks to lift his head and utter an offended high-pitched meow. “Apologies, my lord,” she says. “Just trying to get comfortable under your crushing weight.”
“He’s really taken to you.” I sit back down. I’ll have to wait for my moment, and it may not happen tonight, but I want that kiss she instigated a few weeks ago. “I can see why.”
She draws her lips into a slow smile, takes a sip, looks at me, and asks, “Why do you like me so much, Tess?”
“Quite frankly, because you’re the only other single lesbian in Nelson and I’m sick and tired of being alone.” Goodness me. Why did I ruin this moment with a stupid joke? It was going so well. God knows what it took Laura to ask me that question.
But she seems unfazed by my silliness and just says, “Exactly what I thought.”
“I can spell it out for you, if you’d like.” I look at her while she sips from her wine.
She shakes her head. “No need. I’m not that insecure.” She sits up, takes another sip and puts her glass down. “Sorry, Mister, I’m going to put you here for a bit.” She moves Socks off her lap and puts him on a pillow next to her. Then she shuffles to the edge of the couch, looks at her hands for an instant, before reaching for mine.
“You’re a country girl,” she says, “how come your hands are so impossibly soft?”
My heart is thudding wildly. There’s a question I hadn’t expected. “Gloves, I guess,” I mutter, while moving as close to Laura as I can without our knees touching.
She lifts my hands to her face and stares at them, as though considering my response, then presses a kiss to the back of each one. “Thank you for waiting,” she whispers.
My throat has gone very dry, but I need to say this. “It didn’t feel like waiting. When you know, you know.”
This brings a smile to her face. “When did you know?”
When I accidentally cornered you in the supermarket, I want to say, but this is no time for more silliness. “A long time ago.” It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment. Like so many things in life, it was a gradual process. In the beginning, it manifested itself as the unshakable desire to spend as much time with her as possible. Then the flirting started, followed by Laura Baker becoming a permanent fixture in my mind.
“Well then.” Laura bites her bottom lip, sucks it into her mouth. “Time to finish what I started two weeks ago.” She doesn’t close her eyes when she leans in, slants her head, and brings her lips to mine.
I taste wine and smell her flowery perfume. Our hands are still intertwined. Our lips are barely touching, but my whole body is coming alive—as though it’s cheering for me. I try to let Laura set the pace for as long as I can control myself. Her lips linger longer, are starting to open more and then the tip of her tongue slips in. Our hands are clasped together and our mouths are exploring each other and my heart is about to burst out of my chest. I feel the kiss everywhere, I feel my ears glow red and my cheeks flush and my toes curl with anticipation, but it’s so much more than just an added physical connection. I know what Laura had to overcome to do this—though, I suspect, I don’t know half of it yet—and if Aunt Milly were still alive, I’d be writing her a thank-you letter first thing in the morning.
Laura lets my hands slip from hers and grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me closer. Our tongues venture farther, deeper, and the goosebumps that the initial, careful pecks instigated turn into a red hot flame licking over my skin. I haven’t been touched in a long time and my unmet desires are starting to catch up with me.
I push her down onto the sofa, our chests meeting in a soft crash, her hands all tangled up in my hair. When we finally break from the kiss, I need to catch my breath because of the emotional intensity of it.
Our eyes meet. My lipstick has been smeared all over Laura’s lips and another button of her blouse has come undone.
In a flash, she pulls me close again, on top of her this time, and we kiss again and again, our tongues now freely dancing in each other’s mouths. She sucks my bottom lip into her mouth, and I latch onto hers with my teeth. It’s glorious and beautiful and, surely, the gateway to all the things I want to do with Laura, but I pace myself—I really try—and let her control what happens next.
The only noise around us is the sound of our lips coming together or apart, though I may also hear my heart beat in my ears, and feel the wetness gathering between my legs. This time, when we break from our kiss, I let my lips trail down her chin to her neck, and kiss her there. And I must have lost myself for a few seconds, because next thing I know I’m kissing the hollow of her neck and am peppering kisses where her blouse has come open.
“Tess, Tess, please.” Laura’s hands are on the side of my head, breaking the spell I was under. “Come here for a minute.”
I crawl upward while my skin sings with desire. “Too much, too soon?” I ask.
“I want you, Tess. I need you to know that. But we’re going to have to take this slow.”
“No problem.” I hope my smile is understanding and not too leery.
“We can kiss all you like, though.” Laura doesn’t seem worried, and she surely has a sparkle in her eyes.
I push myself up more, until I’m on my knees next to her. I plant my hands behind her shoulders and slip one knee over her lap. “Kissing it is.” I look down at her, at that smile that’s becoming more confident by the minute. “And remember what I told you a while ago,” I say, before bowing down to kiss her again. “I’m not one to put out on the first date, anyway.”
We both burst out into a giggle and when our lips meet this time, there’s still desire running through my veins, saturating every cell of my being, but it’s accompanied by a happiness, a deeply satisfying sense of contentment, that I haven’t encountered in years.
Twenty-Seven
Laura
I see no way of telling Tess that the sex Tracy and I had was most likely one of the main reasons I couldn’t bear to walk away from her. Not even after I had to spend three nights in the hospital with a broken rib
and a punctured lung.
“She fell down the stairs,” Tracy told her family and our friends who came to visit, “you know how clumsy Laura can be.” Then she’d sit by the side of my bed and hold my hand while she looked into my eyes with such sorrow, sporting such a genuine display of regret that, even though my broken bones had only just begun to heal, I was ready to forgive her already. Because she had made a mistake. An unfortunate, inexcusable mistake in a fit of rage that was uncharacteristic for her. She didn’t know what had come over her. It would surely never happen again, because she loved me so much and how could she deliberately want to hurt the person she loved most in the world? She would see a therapist, get that crooked wiring in her brain fixed as soon as possible.
At first, I believed her. Because that really wasn’t the Tracy I knew, the Tracy who looked into my eyes and didn’t even need to say anything because I could see in her fierce, strong glance how much she adored me. The woman whose face had contorted into an angry grimace when she shoved me onto the floor and let her shoe land against my ribcage, was not the deliriously happy smiling woman I had married two short months earlier. This was surely someone else.
When I was released from the hospital, Tracy waited on me hand and foot. She was tall and strong and carried me from the bed to the sofa, made me endless cups of tea and prepared me a home-cooked dinner every night. As soon as the pain started to recede and I was up to it, she lay next to me in bed and ran her fingers over my skin—those fingers that could ball into a fist in a split second—while she had that glint in her eyes which I couldn’t resist. And when she spread my legs and went down on me, I always—even then—came with such obliterating force that, for a moment, I could forget the ugly version of her that existed. Because sex with Tracy was my weakness and the chemistry between us was palpable in the air. It consumed me so much that I lost my perspective—that I believed her when she said she would rather take her own life than ever hurt me again. Until she did.