by Lea Santos
A persistent sense of foreboding shadowed her thoughts, though. There was the small matter of preparing for the faculty get-together and explaining why she had tricked Emie and gone the ghoul route with her hair and makeup during the trial run. But…she’d figure that out as she went along. Emie couldn’t hold it against her forever, could she? She was a reasonable, intelligent woman. She’d listen to Gia’s motives before casting her aside.
Please let her listen.
Gia took all three porch steps at once and lifted her knuckles to rap on the door. Before she could knock, something caught her eye. She froze, fist in the air.
An envelope.
White. Sealed. Taped at an awkward angle on the glass.
And right in the middle, in Emie’s neat drafter’s printing, was her name. Gia.
Her heart didn’t thud; it didn’t race. Rather, it seemed to stop dead, and everything inside her went ice cold. Emie had left a note on the door, which could only mean she didn’t want to see her. Not good. Was it an eviction notice? A Dear John letter? Hate mail?
Gia unfurled her fist and pulled the envelope off the glass. With shaking fingers, she ripped open the top. The unmistakable scent of lavender wafted from the stationery and socked her in the gut. It smelled like Emie. Something stiffer weighted the bottom of the envelope. Gia peered in and frowned—Emie’s credit card? Baffled, she unfolded the note and read:
Dear Gia,
I’m not feeling well today, must’ve been the extra-hot sesame beef. I’m not up to visitors and I certainly can’t go shopping. Please, go without me. I’ve listed my sizes below. I’ve also enclosed my credit card so you don’t incur any expenses on my behalf. I’m sorry. Get whatever you think is best. It doesn’t matter to me. I trust you. I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope you’re still willing to do the makeover.
Emie.
Gia crumpled the letter in her fist and glanced up to Emie’s shrouded bedroom window. Bad sesame beef? Yeah, right. Emie couldn’t even bear to see her in person. She disgusted Emie.
Hell, I disgust myself.
Her eyes stung. A soul-deep ache started in her throat and radiated through her body. She hung her head, feeling beaten and desperate. She would beg, she would change, she would die…for this woman. Couldn’t Emie feel that? Gia had never meant to hurt her. And yet, she had. Not once, but twice. Maybe this was her karmic destiny.
You hurt enough people in the past, G. Now it’s your turn to hurt.
“Emie,” she whispered in a ravaged tone, unwilling to buy that eye-for-an-eye explanation. God help her, she couldn’t bear to lose Emie now.
*
“Gia?”
Hearing her name, she turned from the Precious Memories window, where she’d been staring at—or rather through—the wedding display for the last however many minutes. She didn’t even know how long. She blinked at the tall, willowy, indisputably stunning woman weaving toward her through the passing shoppers.
“I thought that was you,” Iris said, tipping her shades down to peer over them.
“Oh. Hey, Iris.” Even dressed down and wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap, she looked every inch the supermodel. Her attempt at looking incognito would’ve amused Gia if she didn’t feel like her heart had been ripped from her chest with a meat hook. “What are you doing?”
“Just shopping.” She angled her head to the side. “You?”
Gia’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The truth? She’d been scuffling through the mall like a listless vagrant for the past three hours, cursing the person who had written that crap about “it is better to have loved and lost, blah, blah.” She’d looked at clothing for Emie but hadn’t had the heart to buy anything yet. She knew she was a goner when she found herself standing in the Hallmark store reading every single card in the From Me to You line. One of them had even made her eyes blur with tears. What was she doing?
Losing her goddamned mind, that’s what.
She lifted her arms halfheartedly, then let them drop. “I really screwed things up with her, Iris.” The insufficiency of the words that finally tripped off her tongue frustrated her. Even so, a small bit of the weight on her shoulders lightened just for having verbalized the truth.
A quiet moment passed, with stroller moms and mall-rat teens passing them in a blur of chatter and packages. Iris twisted her lips to the side while she studied Gia’s face. “Look, Gia,” she said finally, “you’re a really nice woman, but Emie is my best friend. My soul sister. I absolutely won’t stand by to let anyone hurt her.”
“Neither will I,” Gia said, firmly.
Iris remained protective. Wary. Claws out. “What do you want from her?”
“What do I—?” Gia moved closer. “I’m in love with her,” she rasped, clutching her hands into fists. “Sick in love with her.” When Iris didn’t speak, Gia huffed and added, “What do I want from her? Everything. All of her. Forever. I want to make her happy.”
Iris crossed her arms and blew out an exhale. “That’s what I thought. But, geez, woman, I was starting to wonder.” She swung her arm over Gia’s shoulder and steered her toward the food court. “I’ll make you a deal. Buy me a cappuccino and biscotti and you can spill your troubles to me. Then I’ll tell you all the ways you and Em are total idiots.”
Fifteen minutes, two coffees, four biscotti, and a jumbled, incomplete explanation later, Iris raised one perfectly tweezed brow and planted her elbows on the table. “You have no idea how relieved I am to know you didn’t really think that freakazoid makeup job looked great.”
Gia grimaced. “It was awful, yeah?”
“Ghastly.”
“That’s what I was going for. At least I succeeded at one thing.” Sighing, Gia ran a hand over the top of her head and let it rest at her nape. She stared at the best friend of the woman she loved. “But she wasn’t supposed to like it, Iris. She was supposed to realize…something. I don’t know. I can’t even remember now and who cares anyway? It’s over. She loved it. I can’t believe how badly I screwed up. Fuck.” She hung her head.
“Gia,” Iris ordered in a droll tone. “Look at me.”
Gia complied.
“Here’s the thing you aren’t getting.” She knocked a knuckle on her temple. “Emie didn’t like the makeup job, dummy.”
Gia blinked. Twice. “But she said—?”
“Get real, sister.” Iris spread her arms wide. “She hated it. She despised it. How could she not? I won’t even tell you the words she used to describe it.”
Shock zinged through Gia like metal balls in a pinball machine. Pandemonium broke loose in her brain.
Emie said—
Gia thought—
They made a deal to—
But what about—
Iris took advantage of Gia’s moment of dumbfounded muteness to sip her cappuccino, eyeing her over the paper cup’s rim.
“Then…why did she say she loved it?” Gia sputtered finally. “Love.” She aimed a finger at Iris and narrowed her gaze. “I distinctly remember her using the word ‘love.’”
Iris wiped her lips daintily and looked at her like she was a hopeless, hapless imbecile. “Because, news flash, dumbass. She loves you.”
Her heart bungee-jumped. Could it be true? Even so, claiming she loved the horrid makeup job didn’t make sense. “That doesn’t explain why—”
Iris stopped her with a palm held high. “Em somehow got it implanted in her brain that you only became attracted to her when she transformed into Elvira on a heavy makeup day.” She zigzagged her hands through the air at the ridiculous notion. “Something about a kiss.”
Gia ground her teeth. “I knew I shouldn’t have kissed her.”
“Oh, no. You should’ve kissed her. Hell, you should’ve ripped her clothes off and made her scream Jesus. You just shouldn’t have kissed her with her Monster Mash face on. That, my friend, was your crucial error.”
Gia fixated on one part of her statement. “You’re saying it was okay to kiss her?”
“Hell, yeah. Or it would’ve been, a couple weeks ago.”
“But she said she only wanted to be friends,” Gia said, in a lukewarm effort to defend her lack of action. “She told me she didn’t want entanglements or something like that.”
“Um, forgive my blunt response here, but, duh!” She widened her big green eyes. “Emie said that to maintain her dignity.”
“Huh?”
“Swear to God, you are two of the most clueless women I’ve ever known. This is like a fucking science project.” Iris sighed. “It’s like this. Emie refuses to believe that a woman like you would be attracted to the real her. Which, of course, you inadvertently reinforced by kissing her while she was in full war paint last night.”
Gia didn’t even address the “woman like you” comment, though it registered in her brain. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve been telling Emie how amazing she is since the day I arrived in Colorado.”
Iris gentled her tone and gave Gia a small, sympathetic smile. “Yes, but based on the way you two met, you can hardly blame her for doubting your motives.”
Ouch. Gia pressed her lips together. The truth stung. Parts of Iris’s explanation made sense, but a couple crucial puzzle pieces were missing. “There’s one thing I don’t get in this whole fiasco,” she said.
“What might that be?”
“If she supposedly loves me, why does she want to impress that hag, Elizalde?”
Shock registered on Iris’s face, then she hung her head back and laughed out loud. When she looked back at Gia, tears shone in her eyes. “Gia—God! You’re so dense, you may as well be a man. You and Emie are a perfect match. You’re both insane.”
Gia tried for indignant, but only managed befuddled and forlorn. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She reached across the table and grabbed Gia’s hand, her tone measured and distinct, as if she were speaking to a child. A not-too-smart child. “Emie doesn’t want Elizalde, punkin. She wants that bitch to be attracted to her so she can turn her down flat. Humiliate Vitoria like the idiot did her. Get it?” She paused to let it sink in. “The whole point to this ridiculous makeover scheme is so Emie can seek revenge. I thought you knew that.”
“What? No.”
“Yeah. Incidentally, I’ve never approved of any of it.”
Holy shit. It made sense. One corner of Gia’s mouth, then the other, creaked up into a smile. Emie loved her.
She loves me.
They just had to find a way to bushwhack through the rainforest of their combined stupidity and everything would be fine. Right? Except Gia still had to make over Emie for the “event,” and how exactly would she pull that off? Her smile dropped. Emie still planned to go through with this revenge scheme, and though Gia was vehemently opposed to the whole idea, the last thing in the world she wanted to do at this point was boss Emie around. She frowned. “How am I going to get out of this, Iris?”
She shook her head. “I’ve supplied the inside track, Gia, but you’re going to have to dig yourself out on your own. If you truly love her, focus on her. Then you’ll figure it out.”
“But, do you think she’ll”—she swallowed past a raw throat—“forgive me? For the makeup job? Everything?” Gia rested her forearms on the table and wound her hands into a tense ball.
Iris leaned forward and patted the knotted fists. “Last tip for ya, smartie. Lose the black lipstick.” She stood and hiked her bag onto her shoulder. Donning the “I’m-not-who-you-think-I-am” sunglasses, she smiled. “Thanks for the java. Good luck.”
*
By the time late Friday afternoon rolled around, Emie had resigned herself to facing Gia again. Eh, what the hell? She’d never really expected fireworks between them anyway. She just had to make it through the next hour…and the dreaded faculty get-together…then she could burrow back into her safe, predictable life and forget that this summer ever happened. As for Gia, Emie felt certain she’d quickly move on to bigger and blonder things.
So be it.
The teapot began to whistle. She whisked it from the heat and poured boiling water over a peppermint tea bag. Gripping the string, she dunked the bag absentmindedly in the mug. Her gaze strayed out the kitchen window toward the carriage house, willing Gia to appear so they could get on with it. Be done with it. To hell with it.
Sigh.
No sign of her. Big surprise. She’d long since learned that wishing for something didn’t make it come true.
With a bone-deep bleakness, Emie carried her tea into the living room mainly to get away from the draw of that damned kitchen window. She curled up in the corner of the couch and picked up the latest issue of Newsweek, thumbing through it without interest. The blood-red orb of the setting sun dropped behind a stand of aspen trees, casting long, dark shadows through the window into the room. She didn’t bother to turn on a lamp. She reveled in the darkness. In her next life, she hoped to come back as a bat. Or perhaps a mushroom. Anything that thrived in darkness.
Anything different from who she was this go-around.
Knock, knock, knock.
Gia.
Emie chucked the magazine aside and glanced toward the kitchen. Despite direct orders from her brain to the contrary, her throat tightened with anticipation. The really sick part was how much she wanted to see Gia. Still. She unwound from the couch, pulled her bathrobe tighter around her neck, and headed for the back door. Opening it, she looked directly into Gia’s gorgeous honeyed eyes, then dropped her gaze. “Hi.”
“Hey.” A long uncomfortable pause ensued. “How are you feeling, querida?”
Feeling? she thought, glancing back up. The reddish light from the sunset burnished Gia’s smooth bronze skin and cast a fiery luster to her long hair. The diamond in her earlobe reflected it, too, like a ruby.
Feeling? she thought again. What was that about? Ah, yes. Bad sesame beef.
“Better,” she lied, clearing her throat. “Thanks for asking.” She stood aside and motioned Gia in. As Gia crossed the threshold, both of them careful not to touch, brush up against each other, make any contact whatsoever, she noted the garment bag Gia carried, along with another bulky shopping bag. Curiosity got the better of her. “What did you buy?”
“An outfit”—Gia lifted the garment bag, then lowered it and raised the other sack—“matching shoes, hose in case you wanted them, purse, accessories, and…some cosmetics.” She set both packages on the table.
“Cosmetics?” Emie frowned, nudging her glasses up. “Don’t you think we got enough the other day?”
“Don’t worry. This is all my treat,” Gia said, with a small, winsome smile. “You’ve really done me a favor giving me a break on the rent. I just wanted to say thank you.”
Emie didn’t have the gumption to argue. “You’re welcome.”
“Plus, I thought we’d try a slightly different look for tonight and…we needed a few extra things.”
“Oh. That’s fine.” But if Gia’d bought her a tight suit with leather lapels and cuffs, she’d die. Or cut the damn thing to shreds. “Want some tea?”
“Got a beer?”
Emie grudgingly smiled as she walked to the fridge. “If you were in kindergarten, you’d get a failing grade for ‘gives appropriate answer to a question.’” She lifted a bottle off the refrigerator shelf and handed it over.
“Well, I never was a stellar student.” Gia twisted off the cap and pitched it into the trash. “And I’m not in a tea sort of mood tonight.”
What sort of mood was she in? Emie wondered. And why? Against her will, the beautiful scent of Gia—soapy, sugary, womanly—entered her sensory plane and gripped her heart. The very heart Gia had stolen when Emie hadn’t been guarding it well enough. Hot tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back and bit her lip.
In one fluid motion, Gia set the bottle on the table and swept her into a heartbreakingly gentle embrace. One hand spanned her back, the other cupped her head and tucked it against her chest. Emie reached up and pulled her glasses off her fac
e. They stood like that for a long time, silent, swaying, her arms stiffly at her sides, Gia’s wound about her. She felt Gia press her cheek, then her lips to the top of her head.
“Sweet Emie,” Gia whispered. “I know you’re nervous about tonight. And I haven’t made it any easier for you. You deserve so much more than that.”
“I-I’m fine,” she lied. Her arms slipped around Gia’s small waist, and she let the tears run soundlessly down her face to soak Gia’s shirt. Why did she have to be so nice? The jerk. Emie just wanted Gia to hold her forever. Was that too much to ask?
“I promise I’ll make it perfect for tonight, yeah?” Her lips brushed Emie’s hair once again. “I think you’ll like how I make up your face this time much better.”
“Last time was okay,” she muttered, apathetically.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Y-you didn’t?” What about that kiss? She blinked against Gia’s chest. “I got the impression you liked it.”
“It was okay. But”—she felt Gia shrug—“not you. This look will be you. I promise.”
“Not too much me. I have to attract Elizalde, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
Emie sniffled once deeply, then pulled away and smeared at her cheeks. “I’m sorry for that. I always get weepy when”—my heart is breaking—“uh, when I’m not feeling well. I’ve already shampooed my hair.” Emie spun, picked up her mug, and headed for the front of the house.
“Okay. Why don’t you wet it and wrap it in a towel?” Gia scooped up the bags and the beer and followed her. “Are you going to wear your glasses tonight?”