“Yes, it’s beautiful and a much higher quality than anything we’ve ever used,” Ailene interjected, “but for no extra charge, which tells me Davis also gave us a handy little discount on her own fee to keep us within our budget.”
“Lies, all lies.” Davis laughed, but her cheeks colored with a hint of pink, suggesting she’d been caught.
“It’ll be our secret, but don’t think it’s unappreciated.” Ailene signed an order form and handed it back to Davis. “I promise not to drag you back here until after the holidays.”
“It’s no problem. I’m glad to do it.”
“I’m sure you and Ms. Taylor have better things to do with your Friday evening.”
Annabelle felt a jolt. Why had she assumed they had plans? Did she mean together?
Davis looked sheepish, probably wondering the same thing. “Do we?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Then go find something to do. I’m the principal, and I don’t want to hear about either of you working late tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am. Wow,” Davis said, and held the door open for Anna. “Do they teach you that tone of voice in teacher school? The one that sends chills up the spine of children everywhere?”
Annabelle smiled. “Maybe.”
She headed toward her classroom, and Davis followed, waiting patiently while she gathered her things. Annabelle wondered again how they’d developed a level of comfort that allowed them to move so casually in each other’s spaces. Less than six months ago Davis’s mere existence had shattered everything she had loved about her life. Two months ago her presence in this room had shaken her stability and her sense of accomplishment. Now, as Davis peeked into the fish tanks or flipped through a children’s book in the corner, Annabelle couldn’t summon the sheer panic that used to consume her. Of course, the thought of how they’d met could still summon a dull ache in her chest, and the thought of her touching Nic made her stomach roil, but those thoughts were no longer the first ones that sprang to mind. Now, she was mostly consumed with amusement as Davis compared the size of her own hand to the little handprint turkey paintings lining one wall of the classroom.
Davis turned and caught her watching. “Oh, ready to go?”
“I guess so. If I’ve forgotten anything, I can come back tomorrow.”
“You’ve got orders to have fun this weekend, or else you’ll get called to the principal’s office on Monday.”
“She said no work tonight, not all weekend.”
“Come on.” Davis prodded her. “If you can’t survive one weekend of free time, how will you handle a whole week off?”
She sighed, maybe heavier than she’d meant to. Perhaps her facial expression gave too much away too, but whatever the cue, Davis picked up on it quickly.
“Damn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”
“No, you’re right.” She closed and locked her classroom door behind her.
“I know the holiday will be hard for you,” Davis said as she stepped into the beautiful Georgia autumn.
“And you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have holiday memories with her. I guess part of me will want to mourn what might’ve been, but it was a stupid fantasy. She was never going to spend those days with me. I just didn’t know enough not to hope for it.” The shell was back up over Davis’s emotions, her voice cold and hollow, and her eyes more cloudy than clear. Anna understood now that she often tried to pretend her pain wasn’t as bad as hers, like somehow comparing it to the betrayal Annabelle had suffered would lessen the impact of what she’d been through.
“It’s okay, you know?” She brushed her hand against Davis’s. “You’re allowed to be upset. She stole different things from us, but she hurt you as much as she hurt me.”
“She shouldn’t have. I should’ve never let her. I shouldn’t have gotten in so deep without knowing her. I should’ve realized things didn’t add up.”
“And what about me? I shared every part of her life for over a decade, and I couldn’t see it.”
“I didn’t mean to compare our situations,” Davis said.
“Good, because neither of us is entitled to less grief than the other.”
“A lovely sentiment to start off the holiday”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Happy Thanksgiving. Would you like grief with your mashed potatoes?”
Davis laughed. “Okay, now that I would love to see in one of your cookbooks.”
“You never know. I am in charge of making the gravy. I may have to try a new recipe.”
“So you’ll go to your parents’?”
“I think I have to. They’ll worry if I don’t, and I can’t put it off forever. If I don’t do it now, it’ll be Christmas or my birthday or Easter, and I don’t want to miss special occasions with my niece and nephew. They’re growing up too fast, and I don’t see them as much as I’d like.”
“But?”
“I’m not sure I’ll stay all weekend. I don’t even want to stay the night.”
“Is that different from the past?”
“Yes. Even though we lived only an hour away, we used to get there the night before and stay until Saturday. We were one big, happy family.”
“To each her own.” Davis shuddered. “You can still have that, you know?”
“I could try, but at the end of the day I’ll go to bed alone. Here, I have a nice routine of my work, the house chores, hanging out with you. I go whole days without thinking of Nic, but there will be so many memories back home.”
Davis nodded but didn’t cut in. For as much as she could be a smart aleck to distract from her pain or produce a witty retort for just about any awkward situation, she also seemed to understand when to let Annabelle feel the emotions underneath it all.
“It will be such a contrast to all those happy times with her. I always worked hard to make holidays special for us. Now I dread special occasions, and not just because I’ll miss her, but because I feel like even the memories are tainted. When I look at her empty place at the table, I won’t just wish for the old times back. I’ll wonder if they were ever real to begin with.”
“That’s the shittiest part of the whole thing, isn’t it?” Davis said emphatically. “Wondering if the greatest moments of your life ever really happened or if you just imagined those feelings so much you projected them onto her.”
Annabelle frowned at how accurately Davis had summed up her feelings. “I don’t want to spend my holiday with doubts swirling around my head. If that’s what I have to look forward to on special occasions, I wish I could just ignore them completely.”
“That’s what I do.”
“What?”
“I put up with my family on Christmas,” Davis admitted with a grimace, “but for every other holiday I sleep in, then Cass comes over and we order takeout and watch movies all afternoon. No drama, no large groups, no slaving over hot food or making small talk.”
“A year ago I would’ve considered you almost sacrilegious, but this year it sounds pretty nice.”
“You’re welcome to join us.”
Her father would have a fit, and her mother would worry herself sick if she didn’t come home. Plus her absence would put an undue burden on Liz. She had to go home. Part of her even wanted to, but a bigger part of her wished she could spend the day in her pajamas on Davis’s couch. What did that say about the person she’d become? She loved her family, she loved holidays, she loved a busy kitchen and a full house. Why would she consider giving that up to spend time with Davis?
She didn’t have the answer by the time they arrived at her driveway. She wasn’t even sure she’d asked herself the right questions, but that didn’t stop her from inviting Davis to stay for dinner or from being pleased when she accepted.
*
Every time Davis visited Anna’s apartment, the place felt less like a studio rental and more like a home, from the hand-sewn curtains to stacks of books by the worn reading chair to the framed pictur
es of family members scattered throughout the space. She’d lived in her own apartment for ten years and it still didn’t feel this homey. It also didn’t hurt that Anna kept her space tidy. She’d yet to see the bed unmade, even when she stopped by on a whim, and really, who made their bed when they weren’t expecting company? She would’ve thought a house that always looked so perfect would feel intimidating, as if she should fear touching anything lest she leave it out of place, but here she’d always felt comfortable.
Something about Anna’s perfection didn’t make her feel bad about her own shortcomings. She was gracious and genuine, the perfect hostess. If someone had described Anna like that before she knew her, Davis would’ve made plenty of snarky comments, but getting to know her had neutralized even her most suspicious impulses. All the Southern Living Barbie comparisons were gone. Anna might seem too good to be real, but she was the most real thing Davis had had in her life in a long time.
Anna poured them each a glass of sweet tea and slid one across the small table before Davis had a chance to sit down. They chatted easily with the heavy subject of the holidays behind them. They’d become pros at letting the emotion flow, then letting it go. She never got stuck in a funk with Anna around. She loved to hear stories from her classroom. In just a few short weeks of listening to Anna talk about her students, she’d learned that kids really did say the darndest things. She’d even caught herself wishing she had more children in her life because they seemed to work wonders on Anna’s temperament and self-esteem. She was no longer the shell of a woman she’d met in front of the bookstore six months ago. She wasn’t even lost in the ways she’d been when she’d arrived in the city. Davis wished she could take some credit for that, but she suspected Anna was simply and beautifully resilient, which unfortunately made her wonder when she’d move on. While Davis was content with single life, Anna was the marrying kind, a fact someone was bound to notice soon.
She watched Anna move around the small kitchen with confidence. This was clearly her domain. Her hands moved quickly and gracefully as she zested a lemon, and her long, slender fingers never faltered as she easily fileted two sides of salmon. She seemed so focused on the task at hand, her blue eyes never once wandering to the cookbook she’d left open on the counter. She also held up her end of the conversation, something she did a lot more lately. She seemed to speak more freely with each visit, and not just small talk. She opened up about her thoughts and opinions, stating her preferences just as often as she deferred to others around her. She didn’t shrink from disagreements either, though they’d yet to actually argue about anything more important than the merits of various movies or types of music. She couldn’t be made to feel anything less than sheer pleasure at even the corniest country crooner, and while Davis would rather poke herself in the ear with a sharp stick than listen to George Strait’s greatest hits, she did like the way Anna hummed along as she swayed to the radio.
Anna turned around and flashed her a sweet smile. Come to think of it, she did that more often these days, too, and she never failed to impress. At times she could see a sadness deep in her soft blue eyes, the kind that couldn’t be traced back to a single source but rather flowed throughout someone’s awareness, but even that disappeared when she smiled.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Hmm?” The non-verbal response was her attempt to prevent herself from admitting she was actually thinking about how beautiful Anna was.
“You just looked like you had a nice thought.”
“Did I?” She played off the remark, not because it wasn’t important, but because of its truth. She’d been caught admiring her, and she didn’t want to admit that to either of them. Cass’s accusations rushed back. Was some part of her falling a little bit in love with Anna?
That didn’t make any sense.
Well, it made some sense.
Who wouldn’t fall in love with a beautiful, caring, talented, easy-to-talk-to, great cook? Still, it’d be an epically bad idea to let things go any further. Admiration she could live with, but falling in love or even developing a crush would complicate not only their friendship, but her own tentative emotional progress. Women like Anna didn’t fall for women like her. They occupied opposite ends of the relationship spectrum. Hadn’t Nic taught them that?
“Why don’t you spend your holidays with your family?” Anna asked.
“I’ve never fit into their life. Everything’s so neat and organized and mapped out. They’re safe and predictable and cheery, but I’ve never been any of those things.”
“Don’t they love you anyway?”
Davis paused and thought about the question. She’d never had this conversation with anyone. People rarely pressed past the basics, and when they did she always dodged them with a sarcastic comment. A few seconds of faltering in her defenses had her dissecting family relationships. “Yes, I suppose they love me in their own way.”
“Of course they do. What’s not to love?” Anna smiled again, easing some of the tension the mention of her family always brought to her chest.
“We just don’t understand each other very well.”
“How so?”
“They live a very suburban existence. They all have nine-to-five jobs. They mow their lawn every Saturday and vacation on the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Yes, I can see what you mean. They sound like monsters.”
“I know, right?” Davis laughed in spite of her frustration. “This is why I don’t bring it up a lot. It’s silly to complain when you think about parents who beat their kids or disown them for being gay. My family never did a single terrible thing to me.”
“But you don’t connect with them?”
“No, not at all. I kind of hate their life.”
Anna raised her eyebrows as she set a plate of fried okra on the table. The smell of cooking oil and season salt mingled with the undertones of the fresh vegetable below.
“Okay, so here’s an example. My mom’s into Paris. She’s got a bunch of little Eiffel Tower statues, and she’s wallpapered her bathroom in French café scenes, and she’s got a silly beret she wears around, but when my dad offered to actually take her there, she said no.”
“Why?”
“Oh, a million reasons. She’s afraid to fly, she’s afraid of terrorists, she doesn’t speak French, she might get lost, she doesn’t have a passport. Who wants to decorate their house like every day is Bastille Day but doesn’t want to actually go to Paris?”
“I don’t know.”
“People who are afraid of their own shadow, that’s who.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Do you?” Davis asked, surprised.
“Sure. I see why you wouldn’t want to live like that. You’re too vibrant, too passionate to conform.”
She shook off the compliment, trying not to be absurdly pleased Anna saw her as vibrant and passionate. “I don’t see why anyone would choose that existence. Who would willingly wear a tie to work or actually want a subdivision lot with two point five kids in a playpen while you burn antibiotic-soaked beef patties on the grill? No worldview, nothing to challenge you, and no sense of the bigger picture.”
Anna frowned as she transferred the fish to their plates and took a seat. “The way you put it doesn’t sound too appealing, but I don’t imagine that’s how they see it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I lived in the suburbs, I like to cook, I have a steady job, I want kids, but I also think I’ve held up decently when challenged.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—” She struggled to backtrack, but she couldn’t summon much of the anger that usually accompanied this subject with Anna looking so sweet and sincere. “It’s not the trappings that bother me, you know. It’s the ideas behind them. You’re not like them at all. You’re living your own life with a job you love.”
“Do your parents hate their jobs?”
She thought about her father’s office with his little awards and certificates. “No, they actually se
em pretty proud of them.”
“And do they resent having kids?”
“They’re natural parents. They loved the endless T-ball games and helping with homework,” she said with certainty, as Anna’s motive became clear. “I see what you’re doing, and it’s all well and good. They chose what they wanted, and that’s fine for them, really, but I don’t see any reason why I should spend my holidays wrapped up in their life when I spend the rest of my year trying to escape it.”
“I never said you should.”
“You’re going to do that with your family.”
“Yes.” Annabelle nodded thoughtfully. “But I’m not trying to escape my parents’ life. I enjoy our holiday celebrations, or I always have in the past.”
“But you like your life in the city, too. You said so yourself.”
“I spent years with Nic boxing me into this ideal she had for my life, and I’m realizing there’s so much more out there for me. I could easily be swept up in this new life.” She reached across the table and covered Davis’s hand. “But I had things I loved about my old life, too—my family, traditions, cooking. Isn’t there any part of your parents’ life you didn’t want to escape?”
She sat back, trying to focus on her words through the distracting shot of affection Anna’s touch inspired. She’d never let anyone tell her what to do, and if they even tried, she’d made damn sure she did the opposite. She was jaded and stubborn. She looked at things objectively, and that’s why she’d survived alone in the city, but had she taken the attitude too far? Had she inadvertently thrown out some piece of her parents’ life that might have enriched her own? As soon as she allowed herself to consider the question, her answer was immediate. “I kind of like kids, I guess.”
“Really?” Annabelle smiled. “Apropos of nothing, you decide you like kids?”
Does She Love You? Page 25