Sweet Lesbian Love Stories

by Giselle Renarde

  Maureen laughed, and Mom smirked, shaking her head as she resumed work on the soup tureen. It was only a matter of time, Maureen knew, before her mother would come back to this topic. And, really, she had nothing to hide.

  “Okay fine,” Maureen admitted. “There’s a girl.”

  Mom looked up first and smiled second. The smile was fake. “Well that’s something. Who is this girl?”

  Maureen regretted mentioning it already. “She’s nobody. Never mind.”

  “Well, she must be somebody,” Mom said. “She can’t be nobody. She must have a name.”

  “Yeah, she has a name.” Maureen traced the wood grain of the tabletop with her thumbnail. Her heart felt sort of frozen, and her brain was buzzing in her skull. There was a reason she’d never admitted her infatuation.

  There were lots of reasons.

  “And?” Mom asked. “Her name is...?”

  Why? Why couldn’t Maureen just make up a name, or say it was nobody’s business but her own? Why did she have to admit it was Carly?

  Dad’s paper fluttered to the table. “Carly?”

  “Yes.” Maureen covered her face with both hands, but she could still feel her mother’s gaze hot against her skin. Every time she came home for a visit, she felt like a teenager all over again. “Yes, yes, I know, I know.”

  “The Carly—from work?” Mom asked. “The girl you fired because she never showed up on time?”

  “If she bothered to show up at all,” Maureen conceded. “And, yes, she was rude to customers, kept her station a mess, and never wore her hairnet. She’s the one.”

  “She’s the one?” Dad scoffed.

  “Not the one,” Maureen said, though if her heart had its way Carly would be everything to her. “Just... I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  Mom furrowed her brow. “I thought she was just a teenager.”

  Maureen swallowed a Marge Simpson moan. “Yeah, well she was when she worked for me, but that was years ago. Why are we still talking about this?”

  Dad ignored the question and asked one of his own. “When did you get back in touch with her? Was she throwing eggs at your window again?”

  “No, Dad!” Maureen was getting seriously irritated now. If she had to be cornered into this conversation, the least she could do was try to redeem Carly in their eyes. “She’s been working in fast food since high school, but she wants to start a college program. I think it would be really good for her and she needs a reference, so...”

  “There aren’t too many people with good things to say about Carly,” Mom said.

  Conjecture. True enough, but that was hardly the point.

  Maureen pushed her chair back, letting its feet screech against the linoleum. She thanked her mother for dinner without so much as glancing toward the sink. The rise and swell of her parents’ bodies was palpable as they followed her down the narrow hallway. They were saying things, guilt-provoking pseudo-apologies and well-wishes, but Maureen tried not to hear.

  Cramming her feet into running shoes, Maureen grabbed her baseball cap and jean jacket from the bench. “Two buses before I’m home—better head out before it gets too dark.”

  There. That should satisfy them—not an apology for storming away, but nobody ever apologized outright, not in this family. Someone overreacts and you just ignore it until the hurt evaporates.

  Maureen hadn’t brought a book, because reading on the bus gave her motion sickness when the weather was warm. All of winter had been spring, and these days she’d been feverish with thoughts of Carly. She denounced every last one, and yet there they were, popping up at work as she wrote her staff schedules or joined her team on the frontlines, ringing up orders at the registers or slapping pre-formed burgers onto sizzling grills.

  Thoughts of Carly popped up when she went to bed, and in those thoughts Carly was right there with her. They writhed together, mouths slanted one over the other, tongues intertwined. Or in the shower, where Carly was naked and wet... and soapy... and wet. Maureen took Carly everywhere, carried the girl around in her pocket, in her mind. There was no escaping thoughts of this girl she shouldn’t love.

  On the bus, Maureen sat alone, and still Carly was right there beside her. In her mind, she relived the conversation they’d had the last time Carly invited her out for coffee. She should have said no. Every time, she told herself to say no, and every time she said yes.

  Every time.

  “Have you looked at my reference form yet?” Carly asked, once they were settled at a cozy table in the corner.

  “Oh.” Maureen hesitated, and ultimately lied. “No, not yet—soon, I promise. Work’s just been crazy and...”

  “It’s okay.” Carly flicked her wrist casually, like an echo of the words she’d just spoken. “The deadline’s not for three more weeks. Take your time.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll get to it soon.”

  Carly smiled—a genuinely appreciative smile that made Maureen feel like dirt. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I emailed everyone I’ve ever worked for. You’re the only one who said yes.”

  Actually, Maureen didn’t recall saying yes, not explicitly, but she hadn’t said no and maybe that was the same thing, to Carly.

  She’d looked at the reference form, of course. It was available online, and she was supposed to fill it out, print it, put it in an envelope, and sign across the seal. That was a comfort, at least. Carly would never see how Maureen had evaluated her.

  There were scale-type questions about the applicant’s work ethic, personality, everything. All Maureen had to do was check a bunch of boxes ranging from “outstanding” to “poor,” and then either attach a separate reference letter or type a brief one in the space provided.

  Maureen was at a loss. Even as she sat across from Carly in that dimly lit café, the only selling features she could see were pretty eyes—hazel, flecked with warm honey tones—and shiny hair, bobbed with a slight wave like the flapper girls from the twenties. Those were hardly the sorts of things you could write on a reference form.

  “So, tell me more about this program,” Maureen had said. “I’d never have pegged you for a... what’s the diploma in, again?”

  Carly smiled reflectively as she broke off the flaky corner of her croissant. “The college has kind of like a specialist stream in domestic violence counselling, where you train to work in a women’s shelter or on an abuse helpline, that sort of thing.”

  “Interesting.” Maureen nodded sagely, imagining she’d figured Carly out at last: product of a broken home, told she’d amount to nothing. Who could say how far it went? “Well, that sounds like a great program for you. I hope you get in.”

  “I’m sure I will, with your recommendation.” Carly munched on her croissant, dusting her chocolate brown hoodie with wispy crumbs and smiling obliviously. “Have you ever thought about going to college?”

  “I did go, back when I was your age.” Maureen tried to laugh, but sputtered instead. “Never finished.”

  Maureen shrugged, trying to minimize something that had always been a source of shame. Taking a swig of coffee, she swallowed too fast and it burned her throat.

  “Why didn’t you finish?” Carly asked, bright-eyed and unabashedly curious.

  “Oh, you know, the usual.” Maureen shrugged again, but Carly wasn’t satisfied.

  “What usual?”

  Here goes. “Love, I guess. I met a girl, decided she was more important than school and followed her out west. My parents were livid, but you always know best at that age, so I did what I wanted to do, and here we are now.”

  “What happened?” Carly probed.

  “Hmm?”

  “With the girl,” she said. “Why did you come back?”

  “It’s kind of hard to... well, Jana had a bit of a habit.” Maureen couldn’t believe she was admitting this to Carly. Aside from her family, Maureen had never told anyone back home. “Didn’t seem like a big deal to start with, but over time it got out of con
trol.”

  “What, like drugs?” Carly asked.

  “Shopping,” Maureen said. “She’d go on these binges, come back with all this junk we couldn’t afford. It was like she had blinders on—she’d go into overdraft buying kitchen gadgets. Here I’m working two minimum wage jobs to put food on the table, and she’s out spending my hard-earned cash on a six-hundred-dollar stand mixer.”

  Carly peeled away at her croissant. “That sounds rough. I’d be really frustrated if someone I loved did that to me.”

  “Yes!” Maureen said, elated that somebody finally understood. “Thank you, that’s exactly how I felt. And angry, too. I started squirreling money away to make sure we’d have enough to pay the rent, but she found that too.”

  “And spent it?”

  Maureen nodded morosely, feeling it all over again. “I worked my ass off for that woman. I would have given her anything she asked for, but to go behind my back? To spend every damn cent?” Maureen laughed, though it still wasn’t funny, even ten years later. “The day we were issued an eviction notice, Jana came home with a forty-four piece flatware set. That put me right over the edge. Like, we’ve got no food and no place to eat it—what the hell do we need more cutlery for? And it was like she didn’t even see me there, like she didn’t see what she was putting me through.”

  “Is that when you came back home?” Carly asked.

  “Yeah.” Maureen took a long sip of coffee, reflecting on that feeling of defeat. She’d failed, in life and in love, and never quite recovered. “I phoned up my parents, explained things. They bought me a train ticket, and there I was, living in my old bedroom until I could afford a place of my own.”

  “Wow.” Carly’s eyes were wide now, full of compassion. “Can I hug you?”

  A gush of warmth flooded Maureen’s heart as she set down her coffee cup. She should have said no, she should have said no, she should have said no... but she said yes.

  They stood quickly, simultaneously, and moved around the small table until they were so close Maureen could smell Carly’s fruity shampoo. Carly hugged her without hesitation, hooking that precious little chin over Maureen’s broad shoulder, squeezing tightly.

  “That must have been hard.” Carly’s firm breasts pressed against Maureen’s, and that exultant sensation made it hard to concentrate on anything else. “Wasn’t an easy decision, I bet.”

  “No, it sure wasn’t.” Maureen sighed as Carly released her, but they stood close, lingering, the dark scent of coffee hanging between them. “You can be irritated with someone, or be angry or even livid, and still love them. The hard part is knowing where to draw the line when they’re taking too much.”

  “Sounds like you made the right decision,” Carly said. Her gaze dipped down to Maureen’s breasts, and then her hand came up and... and touched them, right there in the café.

  This had to be a dream. “What... what are you...?”

  “Crumbs. Sorry!” Carly had finished brushing croissant flakes from Maureen’s sweater before she could wrap her mind around what had just happened. Sweeping more crumbs from the front of her own hoodie, Carly said, “I’m such a messy eater. I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

  Maureen was wonderfully shaken by Carly’s embrace. Her body blazed, jets of desire coursing in a V from both breasts and down between her thighs. Messy... eater? Her knees turned to jelly and she sank into her seat. Could pretty young Carly really be as interested as she let on? Or was that hug just a means to a good college reference letter?

  Even as Maureen stepped off the second of two buses on her way home from her parents’ house, she couldn’t resolve the internal dispute. All she could do was think about that hug, about Carly gently brushing croissant crumbs off her sweater, about the frazzled heat those actions inspired in her core.

  Oh Carly!

  In truth, Maureen had disembarked from the bus three stops early in order to walk by the sub shop where Carly was now working. She had no idea if her crush had a shift that evening, but she did this all the time, going out of her way just to sneak past the fast food restaurant, walking by those plate glass windows slowly enough to get a good look inside, but with enough subtlety not to get noticed.

  She held her breath as she approached the place, then walked quickly beyond the door, perching behind the words “Now Serving Breakfast” painted on the glass.

  Was Carly in there? Was she working today?

  Yes! There she was in her neat blue cap and matching polo shirt with the sub restaurant’s logo above her left breast. She was in the middle of preparing a sandwich for a woman with a small child in arms and a baby in a big stroller.

  Low points for attitude. Carly never smiled on the job. In fact, the first time Maureen remembered seeing the girl smile was after the whole reference matter arose. Lots of smiles, then. For Maureen or for show?

  Hard to say.

  The last thing Maureen wanted was to be taken in by someone who was just using her. At the same time, though, Carly was doing something admirable and ambitious in applying for this domestic violence counsellor program. Shouldn’t Maureen not only encourage but enable the girl, regardless?

  The woman with the stroller was paid up now, and Maureen jogged over to the sub shop’s door to open it for her. She realized too late that Carly had the same idea. When the women hobbled by without thanks or acknowledgement, Carly’s eyes went wide and a quick smile painted itself across her lips.

  “Maureen!”

  “Carly.” Maureen felt like she’d been caught peeping. “Hey, I was just walking by...”

  “Come inside,” Carly said, pulling off her royal blue cap and tossing it on one of the laminate tables. The restaurant was utterly lifeless.

  “Are you working alone?” Maureen asked.

  Carly shrugged as she walked back behind the counter to grab them each a fountain drink. Free food was one of the few perks of working in this industry. “Sunday nights are always dead. People don’t eat their big family dinners at a sub shop.”

  Maureen chuckled, impressed that Carly’s manager trusted her enough to leave her alone. “You’re a keyholder, then?”

  Nodding, Carly set a fizzy drink in front of Maureen. It made her feel like a million bucks that the girl didn’t have to ask which flavour she preferred. “I lock up on Sunday nights and open on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “Nice,” Maureen said. “Sounds like your manager has confidence in you.”

  Carly took a sip of pop and then squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Oooh, bubbles!”

  “Maybe you should ask your manager for a reference,” Maureen went on. “It would be more current.”

  “I did,” Carly said. “I’m getting one from the owner, but I don’t know how good it’ll be. Anyway, I need three, so it’s you, him, and my old guidance counsellor from high school.” Carly looked at Maureen expectantly, gripping her straw and poking it in and out of the squeaky hole in the lid. “Have you starting filling out my form yet? Did you look at it, even?”

  “Yeah,” Maureen said. Her voice sounded high and strained, even to her. “It just takes a while to think up the perfect words, you know?”

  “I’m sure whatever you put down will be great.”

  Carly’s hopeful smile was infectious. It pushed concerns about whether the girl was just using her right out of Maureen’s mind. Well... almost.

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you after we had coffee the other day.”

  Maureen sat taller in her cheap plastic chair. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking about everything we talked about, and wondering if I gave you the wrong impression.”

  Maureen felt frozen, cautious, numb. “Oh.”

  “It’s kind of stupid,” Carly admitted, shrugging. “But maybe you think I want to get into this domestic violence program because my dad abused my mom or something like that.”

  Now she felt itchy and transparent. Her face must be bright red. “No, I... not necessarily...”

&nb
sp; Carly raised an eyebrow and smirked, shaking the ice in her pop against the sides of the cup. “I guess my parents did inspire me to try for this program, in a way. See, when I was growing up, we had these neighbours, Jo-Ellen and Paul, and they were, like, that perfect couple everyone was secretly jealous of, right?”

  “But it was an act?” Maureen guessed.

  Carly nodded. “Big time. We lived right next door to them and we didn’t know anything was wrong until one night there was this banging on our door and it was Jo-Ellen in a panic. My parents made me go to my room, but I could hear my mom and dad and Jo-Ellen talking through the vents. That’s how I found out Paul had been knocking her around for a while. He was ‘smart’ about it, she said—never hit her in the face—and that seemed so sneaky to me, so cruel.”

  “Yeah,” Maureen agreed. “That’s awful.”

  “Gets worse,” Carly said after another sip of pop. “Turned out Jo-Ellen was pregnant. She told Paul about the baby, but he teetered back and forth between angry and excited. The night Jo-Ellen came to our door, he’d been smacking her around a lot—she said the abuse was much worse after she got pregnant—and he kept saying a kid would take Jo-Ellen away from him and she’d love the baby too much and weird stuff like that. He started punching her in the stomach, and that’s when she fought back. Even though he was a lot stronger, she got out of the house and ran to our place.”

  “Wow.” Maureen didn’t know what else to say.

  “My parents convinced her to see a doctor. She didn’t want to because she was afraid she’d have to press charges or something, but ultimately she was more concerned about her baby than herself. She let my father drive her to the emergency room. My dad didn’t come home until six the next morning, and when he did Jo-Ellen wasn’t with him.”

  “Where was she?” Maureen asked.

  “I was a kid, so nobody told me. Maybe at a shelter or with family or something? One day, Jo-Ellen arranged to come back to the house so she could get all her stuff. She had a restraining order against Paul by that time, so my dad tried to get the police to be there. He knew a piece of paper wouldn’t keep Paul away.”