Faye's Story: Crave Series, #2

by Heidi Lowe

  "It's a valid question, Faye. I just want to know where I stand."

  "She cheated on me, then married her mistress in our wedding venue," I shriek.

  "You didn't answer my question," she says levelly.

  "Didn't I? I just listed two extremely compelling reasons why your question is absurd."

  "Absurd, perhaps. But love doesn't give a crap about that."

  Whether it's the revelation or my reticence to give her a straight answer that has angered her, I can't say. But I don't want us fighting about any of it; fighting about Nikki.

  "Melanie, listen to me," I say, taking her hand. "Nikki and I are over. She can't come back, no matter how much she wants to. Too much has happened."

  "Faye, you–"

  I press a finger to her lips to cut her off. "I like what we have. I want this. Please believe me." I kiss her hand, fighting to hold back my tears. "Tell me you believe me."

  "I do. I do," she says hurriedly, before wrapping her arms around me. I'm not sure if she means it or if she's saying it to appease me.

  She doesn't ask her original question again for the rest of her time here. She knows that, despite my wanting to be with her, I am not ready to answer that question truthfully.

  "Happy birthday, Mommy!" Emily bounds into my room the following morning, and leaps onto the bed, a drawing in her hand. Melanie is long gone, having left before dawn. That's the agreement. She doesn't stay over, not while Emily is in the house.

  "Thank you, baby," I say, hugging her, still dog-tired.

  "Mama. Look, I drew this for you." She hands me the pink piece of paper. Everyone is holding hands, while their childishly drawn smiles come off their faces. It's not the fact that I'm clearly missing my nose that makes me uncomfortable; it's the fact that the second adult in the picture, holding my hand, is clearly Nikki. The short brown bob, the badly drawn pant suit – her signature look.

  "It's lovely, honey, thank you," I say anyway, and kiss her on the forehead. "What should we do today?"

  I have never made a fuss about my birthday, though Nikki always used to. I purposefully didn't tell Melanie about it. When you hit your late thirties, the fewer people that know it's your birthday, the better. I'll tell her tomorrow, once I survive this day.

  Emily shrugs. "Can we go to the zoo?"

  I chuckle. "Nothing would please me more," I say. Spending my birthday with my daughter at the zoo sounds like a wonderful idea. I think about inviting Melanie, but decide against it. It's too early for her to meet Emily. Besides, we still haven't progressed past the friends with benefits stage of our relationship.

  Once we've had breakfast and gotten dressed, the bell rings. The first thing I see when I open the door is a large bouquet of red roses. There must be at least two dozen of them. They're concealing the carrier's face.

  "Happy Birthday." The voice is instantly recognizable. When the bouquet comes down, I see a smiling Nikki standing before me.

  The sight of the roses brings back the memory I had up until then suppressed. A nauseous feeling swells deep in my stomach.

  Every birthday since meeting Nikki, I've woken to find roses in different parts of the house. A dozen or more, with a little note attached to each one, always starting with "I love you more than...", and followed by whatever random thing she could think of. Some were ridiculous and would make me giggle. The first would be on her pillow, beside me. On the morning of my birthday, no matter what, she would always wake before me and prepare breakfast in bed, before spending the whole day pampering me.

  I know her presence here, on this day, with these roses, isn't supposed to upset me. But alas, that's precisely what it does.

  "Why are you here?" I ask, my voice quivering slightly.

  When she realizes that her little scheme has had the opposite effect – causing me distress as opposed to joy – her grin disappears.

  "I just wanted to bring you these, and wish you a happy birthday, like I always do."

  "That's not your job anymore."

  This seems to agitate her. "Well I haven't missed one of your birthdays since I met you."

  I'm agitated now, too. She's never made me feel this way on my birthday. Does she seriously think her being here is okay?

  "Are you going to take the roses?" she asks after a little while.

  I take them from her reluctantly, and notice that she isn't wearing her wedding ring. I mumble a thank you, and stare at them. "Two dozen. Why so many? A dozen used to suffice."

  She shrugs, looking embarrassed. "A dozen just didn't seem like enough."

  I want her to leave now, because I know what this is all about. She wants me to remember how we were before the disaster that we became. She believes that reminding me about our customs and conventions, happier times, will make me see past the hurt. It's emotional blackmail.

  "I don't know what kind of game you're playing," I say to her.

  "I'm just wishing you a happy birthday."

  "Okay, you've done that now, so–"

  "Mama!" Emily screams, and goes running to Nikki. I was hoping to avoid this scenario. I know it's about to go downhill from here.

  Nikki picks her up and pecks her on the cheek.

  "We're going to the zoo for Mommy's birthday. Are you coming too?"

  "The zoo?" Nikki asks with exaggerated excitement. "I love the zoo."

  "Honey, Mama has things to do–"

  "Actually I don't. I'm free all day. I would love to go to the zoo with you guys." She's looking at Emily when she speaks, but it's really directed at me.

  There's no use telling her that none of this is okay, that I resent her for putting me in such an awkward position. Our last "family outing" ended badly; this one will likely go the same way.

  "Fine," I give in with a sigh.

  We've always received dubious looks from strangers when we go out as a family. They see us with Emily, see that Emily looks the spitting image of me, and know instantly that Nikki and I are a lesbian couple raising our daughter. As the three of us wander the zoo grounds that day, Emily in the middle, holding our hand, a generous offering of sunshine blasting down on us, the curious gawking of passers-by is no less conspicuous now. To them, we're still that married lesbian couple raising their child. They can't see what lies beneath the surface, that this image of the perfect, unconventional family unit is an illusion.

  Emily and Nikki have never been happier. Nikki's a big kid when she's with Emily, and especially in these settings. It's hard to believe this is my birthday and not theirs, because I'm the one who looks miserable. At least, I'm trying my hardest to hold on to the misery I'd felt in coming here. But the truth is, watching them together brings a smile to my face, which I won't let Nikki see. Being here with them warms my heart.

  We stop at the giraffe pen.

  Nikki joins my side as we watch Emily stick her hand through the mesh fence and feed leaves to a baby giraffe, trembling with trepidation, and squealing with mixed fear and excitement every time it comes close.

  Nikki laughs. "Do you remember the last time we brought her here?"

  "How could I forget?" I say with a little laugh. "Her first birthday. She cried nonstop."

  "Sandra warned us that would happen, but we didn't listen. Now look at her. In her element."

  "She still thinks the giraffe will bite her hand," I laugh. Then I call out to her, "Emily, honey, if you keep pulling your hand away he won't be able to eat."

  Done with the giraffes, she runs back to us, and takes us by the hand again. She's leading the way on this trip – we're merely followers. I'm sure she's forgotten whose birthday it is.

  We stop at the duck pond, where one of the workers hands out slices of bread to anyone who wants to feed them. Nikki and Emily take a slice each. I sit this out on a bench, happy to just observe.

  It takes me several minutes to notice that I've been smiling the whole time I've been watching them. I stop myself immediately. I feel myself slipping, getting too comfortable with this false utopia.
None of this is real, and no good will ever come of me forgetting that.

  Mayhem suddenly ensues when a large swan, apparently not satisfied with the rations Emily is giving him, starts approaching her. She screams and runs. Nikki comes to the rescue, shooing the animal away with her foot, before scooping our tearful daughter up and heading back over to me on the bench.

  "Oh, honey," I say, stroking her back as she buries her face in Nikki's shoulder, and holds tightly to her as though afraid that if she peeks out, the swan will be there.

  "She's all right. The swan just got a little carried away," Nikki says softly.

  "Why don't we go and get some ice cream? Huh? Does that sound good?" I say to Emily.

  She nods, still not looking out, gripping onto her mama like she's her savior. This is how it has always been. Mommy the nurturer; Mama the savior. She'll only feel safe in Nikki's arms. Funny, I used to feel that way, too...

  We follow the signs for the restaurants. The lines for the ice cream kiosk are long, but there are several staff members taking orders, so the wait isn't too lengthy.

  "Can I help you, miss?" the young, freckle-faced boy asks when I reach the counter.

  "I'll have a single scoop strawberry, my daughter will have the same, and my wife will have the mint chocolate chip." I haven't consulted Nikki about which flavor she wants, I've just assumed, because that's her usual order. When I look at her to see if she's okay with the choice, she's staring at me, her eyes watery.

  "What? Did you want a different flavor?" I ask, confused by her expression. "I can ask him to get a different one."

  "You called me your wife..." she says in a dreamy sort of way.

  I frown. "No, I didn't. W–why would I do that?" It's as though a mental voice recorder replays my speech verbatim, and to my horror I hear the words: "My wife will have the mint chocolate chip."

  I look away quickly, feeling my face burning. "It was an accident. A slip of the tongue."

  We don't say anything while we wait, and I'm thankful when the ice creams finally arrive. We wander slowly, eating our sweet, sticky treats. There's tension in the air, the silence between us so heavy it's killing me.

  How could I have been so stupid! How could I make a slip up of that magnitude and not notice?

  Emily walks ahead of us a little, making a complete and utter mess with the ice cream.

  "It's the most beautiful thing I've heard in months," Nikki says finally, without looking at me.

  "It was an accident," I say, a sharpness to my tone.

  "I know. But I love that you made it."

  "It won't happen again."

  Now she turns to look at me, though I won't do the same. I can see her just fine through my peripheral vision.

  "I wish it would. I wish–"

  "Stop!" I say. She's doing it again. Goddammit, she's doing it again. "I don't want to hear any of it. And I don't want to fight with you on my birthday. We've never done it before, so let's not start now."

  "Okay. I'm sorry." And once again she's apologizing for almost pouring her heart out to me. Once again I'm forcing her to suppress it. "Thank you for letting me spend the day with you."

  I say nothing, just walk ahead to catch up with Emily.

  That night, I dream about Nikki. We're still married, she hasn't cheated on me, but I feel some kind of resentment towards her. Dreams are funny like that, where you don't know the reason for your dislike of someone, just that you're justified in it.

  We're at home and I can just feel that something's off. When she kisses me, I have reservations. When she smiles at me, I don't trust it. I've dreamed about her many times since we broke up, and it's always the same. It's like my brain hasn't accepted the fact that we're no longer together, yet my subconscious knows something's wrong with the scene.

  I don't know what any of it means. And I don't want to think about it.

  NINETEEN

  "I have no idea what this film is about," I confess to Melanie, when our lips separate for the hundredth time tonight. We're sitting in my living room, curled up on the couch, while a romantic comedy plays in the foreground.

  She laughs. Her arm is draped about my neck, like we're teenagers on a date. "That's because we've spent the whole time kissing. Our romantic comedy is way better anyway."

  It really is as though we're foregoing the movie to create a love story of our own. We've been eating each other's faces throughout the film, chatting and making our own jokes. The movie is redundant.

  "This is nice," she says, looking at me. "Just relaxing like this, watching bad movies, eating junk food."

  I cast an eye to the half-empty bowl of potato chips on the coffee table. "Yeah, it is."

  What I don't say is that I'm glad the movie is coming to an end, because after all this kissing, my body is screaming for her. I'm not sure how much longer I can wait. And communicating this to her without sounding like a nymphomaniac would be a challenge. Lately it seems as though the nature of our relationship has changed, without either of us addressing it. We've been doing this, whatever it is, for three months, and I've noticed that recently we've spent more time talking than having sex. Something's changed in the way she looks at me, too, which frightens me. I'm familiar with that look; I've seen it once before. I saw it for the first time seven years ago, when Nikki and I first met.

  She's falling for me.

  I turn back to the screen and watch Sandra Bullock lock lips with Bill Pullman. "So she's in love with the brother now?"

  "Yep. She didn't really love the guy in the coma, she only thought she did."

  "But everyone thinks she's engaged to him?" I did say I wasn't following.

  Melanie chuckles and kisses my forehead. "Don't worry your pretty little head. We'll re-watch it another time."

  We're about to kiss again, and hopefully head upstairs to bed, when a hammering at the door startles us. I almost jump out of my skin.

  "It's after eleven. Who the hell could that be?" I ask her, as if she would have the answers.

  We're both apprehensive when we get up to check. More hammering follows.

  "Let me answer it. Just hang back a bit," she orders, suddenly authoritative and in full protector mode. I don't argue.

  "Who is it?" she calls out. I can hear the fear in her voice.

  A beat, then, "Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

  "Nikki?" I say, alarmed. I step past Melanie and open the door. Nikki sways before me on the doorstep, smelling of booze. "What the...what are you doing here?"

  She pushes her way inside, sees Melanie and stops. "What, she answers your door now?"

  "Nikki, it's the middle of the night–" I start.

  "Yeah, so what is she doing here?" Nikki says, pointing a shaky finger in Melanie's direction. She's drunk as a skunk and about to make a fool of herself, and wake our daughter in the process.

  Melanie folds her arms across her chest, looking incredibly pissed off, like someone who knows their night of passion has just been ruined. "Maybe you should go home," she says firmly. She's doing a much better job of keeping her cool than I am.

  Nikki gives a derisive laugh. She looks like a drunk outlaw in her leather jacket. "Can you believe this woman, Faye? She thinks I should go home." Then her face turns serious. "No, you should go home. I'm already home. None of this is yours. It's mine! My house, my family, my fucking wife!" she screams.

  "Nikki!" I yell, trembling nervously. Is this really happening?

  "You think you can swan in here and claim something I spent six years building? You think you can replace me?" She makes a sweeping motion with her hand, tears streaming down her face. "This is all mine."

  "It was yours," Melanie fires back, eyes narrowed in rage, that softness no longer visible. "Until you cheated on your wife and threw it all away. I would never be that stupid."

  Nikki swings a fist, and I scream for her to stop. She should have saved herself the trouble, anyway, because when Melanie steps out of the way, Nikki loses her balance and t
umbles to the floor.

  I let out a cry and rush to her side. Her nose is bleeding.

  "Get some tissue," I yell to Melanie, who does as I say. When she returns with a fistful, I press it to Nikki's nose and hold it there. She's still crying as she looks at me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "I'm sorry," she sobs, over and over again.

  I help her to her feet and lead her into the living room, where the film credits roll down the screen. I sit her on the couch.

  Between the bawling and the alcohol in her system, her words are slurred beyond comprehension as she tries to, I imagine, tell me what brought her here tonight.

  "You're a mess," I say, looking at her with a mixture of disgust and sympathy, the latter of which I didn't think I would ever feel for this woman again.

  "I know," she sobs. Those words are clear enough.

  "I'm going to check on Emily, see if she's still sleeping. I don't want her to see this."

  It's only when I leave the room and get to the hallway that I remember Melanie. She's nowhere to be found now. I wonder how long she's been gone. I didn't even hear her leave.

  I poke my head in Emily's room. She's fast asleep, thankfully. Before I rejoin Nikki, I check the driveway to see if Melanie's car's still here. Sure enough, it's gone. I can't believe I didn't hear her leave.

  Sympathy gone, I'm furious as I storm back into the living room, fold my arms, and stand over Nikki, glaring down at her. "You show up at my house wasted, you pick a fight with my girlfriend, and now because of you she's gone."

  "I can't do this anymore," she says. Her nose has stopped bleeding, but now it's running. She shakes her head, eyes squinted and wet. "I can't do it. I've tried. You don't want to hear it, but I have to say it, Faye. I have to."

  "No!" I shout, realizing what's about to happen.

  "I fucked up! I made the biggest mistake of my life, and it's killing me."

  "No," I say again, pressing my hands over my ears. But it's no use. I can still hear her.

  "My life doesn't have meaning without you. I thought I could live without you, but I can't. I don't want to. Oh God, what have I done?"