Anchored: A Lesbian Romance

by Jen Clarke

  “We have enough problems to deal with. I don’t even know how we’re going to replace that ship that was in the window.”

  “We’re replacing it?” I blurt out before thinking. At Julie’s look, I add, “I mean, it’s pretty hard to keep clean.”

  Julie raises her hand, exasperated. “Did you call those window people?”

  “Yes, two of them will be by later today. I told them to leave the estimates at the bar.”

  “Okay,” says Julie, swirling her soda around in the glass. “I’ll take a look when they come in. We’ll get the money somehow. We always do. Thanks for all your help, Ellen. You clocking out?”

  “Doing that right now,” I say, standing up. I still have the box of mozzarella sticks. Even if Julie is convinced no one is ever going to want a gluten-free option, I want to give them a try. After writing my name on the box so nobody throws them out, I stick them in the walk-in.

  I wave goodbye to Rick as I walk through the door. Jake doesn’t see me; he’s talking to Galina. I’m tired, so tired. But I’m excited too. Bri’s coming. As if in response to my thoughts, my phone beeps. I glance at it.

  Ellen, I made really good time. See you soon!

  Shit. I glance at the time on the top of the screen. Talking to Julie ate up more time than I realized. I need to get home and clean. Thank God Denise cleaned up my kitchen this morning.

  Denise... I never responded to Denise. I unlock my car and sit in the driver’s seat. Quickly I type, Denise, the big window is broken, someone nailed it with a rock. The little sign too. The good news is the ship is gone, the bad news is Julie wants to replace it. What’s your ex up to?

  Just then there’s a knock at my car window, making me jump. Grinning at me through the glass is a uniformed policeman, his patrol car pulled up beside him. I shift in my seat, fumble through my keys to turn the car on so I can roll down the window.

  “Hi Officer, is there a problem?” I used to know all the cops as they popped in and out of Town Hall, at least by sight. I don’t know this one. He’s young. Probably my age. When did the cops get to be my age?

  “Ellen Ellis? Don’t you remember me?”

  I peer at him. His badge tells me his last name is “Cooper.” Something’s familiar about him, with his fresh-scrubbed cheeks and the dark hair. Much too wholesome. My mother would love him.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember?”

  “I saw your name on the vandalism report. We had to take a swing through here, so I thought I’d say hi.” He peers at me. “You pulled over to text, good girl!”

  “That’s right,” I say. I’m annoyed by the “good girl” comment and I still can’t figure out how I know him.

  “Last time I saw you, we went to the Barnstable County Fair together.”

  “That’s right!” I finally remember. I wouldn’t say we went together. Growing up, our next-door neighbor had a daughter my age. Kaitlynn and I weren’t close, but we occasionally did things together. The summer before senior year, I ended up going with her and her boyfriend to the Fair. The boyfriend thought I should have someone else to hang out with, so he invited a friend who had grown up to be Officer Cooper.

  “Tommy,” I say.

  “It’s Tom now,” he says, extending his hand. “It’s great to run into you again.”

  “It’s great to see you too.” I manage a smile, while Tom keeps talking, telling me in detail everything he remembers from that long ago day. God, he’s so excited. All I remember is that it was hot and dusty and Kaitlynn and her boyfriend did some not-quite-fighting, the way high school couples do. How can he find so much to say? Bri’s going to show up and I won’t be there. She’ll probably think she came to the wrong place.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I really need to get home,” I say. “I’m expecting a friend.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, I got caught up in talking. Those days were the best. There’s just something about the friends you make in high school.”

  “Yeah, I had some pretty good times,” I lie, hoping to wrap up the conversation.

  “It’s not like now, when it’s so difficult to meet people,” he says.

  That I’ll agree with. “I know. Everyone is off doing their own thing. But I really do need to get going.” I smile, hoping he’ll take the hint.

  “Oh sorry. Well Ellen, I’m sure we’ll see each other around. I’ll be driving by to keep an eye on things. Bye!” He gives my car a proprietary pat with his hand and walks back to the patrol car.

  Finally, I have a moment to respond to Bri’s text.

  Hi,

  I’m running late. Make sure you drive all the way down the driveway. There’s a key underneath the steps. Find the round-flower stepping stone, right by the steps, then kneel down. There’s a hook right underneath where the steps meet the building. Make yourself at home!

  I hit “send,” regretting more than ever my lost chance to do some cleanup before Bri arrived. The windows are still covered with plastic sheeting to keep the cold out for the winter. It’s spring though, plenty warm enough, and I should pull it down before she gets here.

  Officer Cooper is still sitting in his car. I expect he’s doing some cop thing, but when I look in his direction, he’s looking right at me. I give him a little wave and make a point of buckling my seat belt so he can see.

  Chapter Five

  Driving home on Route 28, I’m surprised by the number of cars. The weather doesn’t feel like spring and Memorial Day is still several weeks away, but people are coming back. I turn down a small residential street, then into the familiar driveway of crushed sea shells. The current owners put a lot of money into the main house. Fresh siding, new windows, they even had the entire porch taken off and re-built. Professionally maintained landscaping. Exactly what you’d expect to see in a magazine about life on Cape Cod.

  This isn’t where I live.

  I drive past the main house, past the scraggly yew bushes bordering the back of the lawn. The shell driveway gives way to dirt and pine needles. After I park and get out of my car, I stop and look at Bri’s Subaru. They’ve changed the parking stickers for our school. Bri’s school. I haven’t been in over two years. She has a bumper sticker for Valley Roller Derby and a sparkly rainbow sticker with a smiley face cloud. My old car had bumper stickers before it died last fall. Now I drive my mom’s old Corolla.

  She must have been watching me, because she’s right inside the door. I reach out shyly and she seems shy too—at least she doesn’t rush in for a hug the way she would have a couple of years ago. Until she does and I am literally wrapped in her arms. Ohmygod.

  “It’s so good to see you!” she says.

  “You too,” I mumble. She’s so soft, especially given how angular she is. Warm. My head is between her boobs. Oops. Quickly, I pull away.

  “You look great,” I say. She’s wearing a trench coat and pinstriped trousers. Her hair’s in a short bob and looks freshly dyed. Orange? Red? It’s a weird color, but suits her.

  “You like the hair?” she asks.

  “I love it.”

  Bri smiles, but she’s looking down. She runs her fingers through her hair, like she’s embarrassed. Bri embarrassed? That’s new. “I did it for the vlog,” she explains.

  “Well, it looks really good,” I assure her.

  Bri looks up and her smile grows wider. I smile back, a big goofy grin on my face. I feel like I should be doing something else, but I just can’t believe she’s here. “So, have you been here long?” I ask. She’s still wearing her coat. I look around and that’s when I remember: Bri’s between apartments.

  “Not long at all,” she says. “I just finished bringing everything in. Of course, there’s still a lot left in the car.”

  “Really?” I say. Looking around, I see at least four different suitcases. One of them is open on the couch, clothes are spilling out, draped over the back. A couple of duffle bags. Her keys and gloves manage to take up half the counter. There’s a large paper bag taking up the
other half. How did she fit all this into her car? “Let me take your coat,” I say.

  “I can just put it on the floor,” says Bri.

  “I can find a place…” The last thing I want is more stuff on the floor. Holding her coat, I realize I can’t find a place. There’s no closet, so I have a chair by the door to drape coats. But right now, that chair has what looks like a laptop case and a messenger bag on it. I feel my earlier headache returning.

  “I made really great time…” While Bri is telling me how fast she drove, she’s pulling clothes off the couch and shoving them into the open suitcase. Then she pushes the entire thing to the floor with thud. “Like I said, I am so sorry. I got mixed up on the dates. The sublet’s not free yet.” She stops, pauses a moment, and shakes her head. “Ellen, I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate this.”

  “It’s not a problem,” I say. I finally put her coat on the table and sit next to her on the newly cleared couch. For a moment, we’re both quiet. I’ve been longing to see her for the last two years. That hug was amazing, but the reality of having her in my space is sinking in. “Let me turn up the heat,” I add, because I’m not sure of what else to say.

  “I brought this…” says Bri. She stands up and steps confidently over a duffle and then a suitcase. Reaching for the large paper bag on the counter, she opens it and begins probing the contents.

  I sniff at the air. “Wait, that smells familiar…”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten yet, but I figure this will be good tomorrow…” Bri holds up a bag whose logo I instantly recognize.

  “You stopped at the Black Sheep!”

  Bri grins. “I did! I picked up some fresh bread.”

  “I haven’t eaten all day,” I note, which maybe has something to do with my mood.

  Bri’s still pulling things out. “I also stopped by Atkins. Locally made cheese sampler. Crackers. A jam sample they were giving away with the cheese.” She lifted up a bottle, “I’ve never had this, but it was made by a winery near the Quabbin.”

  “There’s a winery near the Quabbin?” I ask. “When did that happen?”

  “Just last year,” she answers.

  “The things you miss.” I’ve been missing too much. I give my head a little shake. I don’t want to think about it.

  “What do you want to start with?” asks Bri. “Oh, there’s soup too.” She pulls out a quart deli container from a nest of brown paper. “I kept it on the floor of the car so it’s still warm.”

  “Let’s do soup. I’ll get bowls,” I say and stand up.

  “Let me get that.”

  “You brought the food.” I shrug.

  “You’re doing me a favor though,” Bri says, waving toward the couch. “Shoo! Sit down.”

  I watch her work. I have to admit, it feels good to have someone tell me to sit and rest. I can’t resist assessing her skills, somewhat surprised by her efficiency. “You look comfortable in the kitchen,” I note, honestly impressed.

  “Oh stop,” she says, turning around to face me. “I’m just cutting up bread and cheese.”

  “No, you look comfortable with what you’re doing. You didn’t used to.” I smile. “I remember the first time I made mac and cheese from scratch. You looked at me like I was from Mars.”

  “That’s because you made it on a hot plate in a dorm room!” says Bri. “It was witchery.”

  I laugh, pleased she remembered. “It was just mac and cheese.”

  “Without a box,” she says mischievously. “Witchery.”

  I hold my breath as Bri carries the two bowls of soup over to the couch. If I held two bowls like that, they’d go flying. Being Bri, she steps gracefully through the obstacle course on the floor, sits, and hands me my bowl without mishap.

  “This is nice,” I say, when we were halfway done. I can feel the soup filling my stomach and warming me to my toes. “Thank you so much.”

  “I figured it was the least I could do,” she says, waggling her spoon at me. “I mean, it’s not like I really cook.”

  “I’d forgotten how good the Black Sheep soup was,” I say. “Any time you want to show up with it feel free.” Or just show up at all. I smile, hoping she doesn’t see how eager I am to have her visit.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should bring food,” Bri gestures with her spoon. “I mean, you work in a restaurant.”

  Yes, but not a good one. I almost say it aloud, but Bri doesn’t want to hear my complaining. Instead I say, “There’s nothing like this there. It’s very old school. Chowder and breaded fish.” I took another bite of my soup. “Family business.”

  “Oh that’s right,” Bri wrinkles her nose with the effort of the remembering. “It’s a brother and a sister?”

  “That’s all changed. It’s just the sister now.” I take another bite of soup. “The brother’s gone.”

  “He died?”

  “As far as Julie’s concerned, he did,” I say, not quite hiding my bitterness. “He married a woman from California and moved out there.”

  “Julie’s the sister?”

  I nod.

  “She’s mad because he escaped,” Bri nods sagely.

  “That’s right. I always forget you grew up on Cape. Escape is the word for it.” I am never going to escape. I sighed.

  “My parents always said, ‘We expect you to go out in the world. Don’t be one of those local kids who never moves away.’”

  “Oh, like me?” I mean it to be funny, but it comes out snappish.

  Bri turns pink. “You did move away.”

  “I came back,” I say. Another fail at tone. Crap. I could see the hurt in Bri’s eyes. “I’m really sorry,” I apologize. “Work today was just… ugh.”

  Bri nods. “How so?” she asks.

  Her voice was so kind. I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think how to say it. “Okay, I mentioned the brother moving away? God forbid you ever mention the brother’s name in Julie’s presence.”

  “But, he’s gone. Does it come up that often?”

  “No, but, it hangs over everything. As far as she’s concerned, their dad started the place and it needs to keep going, no matter what.”

  Bri nods.

  “Only… it’s an old place, and it’s seen better times. So, she acts kind of crazy and there’s a lot of stress.”

  Bri frowns. “So she doesn’t want the restaurant?”

  I gave silent thanks Bri didn’t chide me on my pejorative use of the word “crazy.” “I think she can’t imagine doing anything else. She’s got a lot of loyalty to her father. He died about two and a half years ago.”

  “Her brother abandoned her when he moved away,” says Bri. “Her father abandoned her when he died.”

  “Yes.” I hadn’t thought of it that way before. “She resents him. Well, I guess she resents both of them. But she also worships her father and wants to keep everything just the way it was when he was alive.”

  I stand up. “Want me to take your soup bowl?” I was not going to complain about work. If Bri was unsympathetic it would be easier, but I’m not sure how much of her kindness I can take.

  After she nods, I take both our bowls and bring them to the sink. I grab the cheese plate, the bread, the jam and a butter knife and sit back down.

  “Which one do you want to start with?” she asks.

  I don’t need to think to decide and just dig in. “This one,” I take a bite. The sharp pungent taste of goat cheese fills my mouth, almost overwhelming the cracker. “This is really good,” I sigh.

  Bri takes one with the same cheese and bites in, but apparently our tastes are different and her mouth wrinkles.

  “Try it with some of the jam,” I suggest, trying not to think about how cute her mouth looks. “It’s a little sweet for me, but it might be more to your taste.”

  “There’s some really interesting stuff going on in the Valley, food-wise,” Bri says. She watches me closely before going on and it occurs to me that she probably wants to make sure I won’t snap
at her again. “I mean, like I said, it’s not really my thing, but I see announcements for all these local food events. Potlucks and stuff.”

  “That sounds great,” I say honestly. “I really miss trying new things. No one wants to do that here.”

  “Is that part of the restaurant being stuck in the past?”

  “Yeah. Everything we serve is pretty close to what was served fifty years ago.”

  Bri nods knowingly.

  “I mentioned we can’t change anything? I mean we really can’t change anything. Julie won’t even put gluten-free appetizers on the menu.”

  Bri scrunches her forehead. “She doesn’t want the liability?”

  “No, she doesn’t think people are interested.”

  “Wait, what?” asks Bri, her voice dumbfounded.

  “Says it’s a fad.”

  “Seriously?” she asks, peering at me through her glasses with disbelief.

  “Seriously. Part of it is the family tried a lot of different things in the late seventies and early eighties and lost a lot of money. Now she wants them to hold onto what they have and not take risks.”

  “Well,” says Bri. “I guess most tourists coming here just want to get a lobster.”

  “We don’t even have that,” I say. “There was a problem with the tanks a few years back and they decided not to repair them.”

  “Wow!” she exclaims in shock. “They really don’t want to spend money.”

  “Nope,” I say, relieved to have someone who shares my opinions on the place.

  “I know there’s not a lot of jobs on Cape, but could you work somewhere else?”

  “Well, the thing is, my mother kind of got me this job. Julie came into Town Hall to do something and my mother found out she was looking for an assistant.”

  “So if you left, it would create drama,” Bri notes.

  “Big time.” How did we get on this? I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to talk about work. Time to change the subject. “So what are you up to? I know you’re not taking classes this semester.”