by Harper Bliss
Annie didn’t feel her age when she was in here. She forgot that in three short years she’d be turning sixty. Annie didn’t mind aging that much. In fact, she was quite fond of the advantages it held. Gaining perspective was the one she enjoyed most. But she had a wife who was twelve years her junior. And then there was that other reason she’d been looking at herself in the mirror more critically of late. A certain someone who kept popping up in her mind, no matter how hard she swam and tried to empty it.
She allowed her brain to conjure up another fantasy—one decidedly not involving her wife. What if Kristin, for some reason Annie couldn’t be bothered to specify, decided to drop Sheryl off at the university and, while she was in the neighborhood, took the opportunity to have a swim in the Newtown public pool, which wasn’t anything special, but this was just a fantasy so it didn’t matter.
Would Kristin be a one-piece swimsuit kind of woman or would she opt for a bikini? Annie didn’t know her that well yet, and it was hard to gauge. Kristin came across as very functional, which would put her in the one-piece camp. But she was also always immaculately decked out, which meant she found looking good important, which could perhaps persuade her toward donning a bikini.
It didn’t matter. Annie didn’t have to be true to Kristin’s character in this particular fantasy, although aspects of it were most certainly part of the reason Annie had trouble getting her off her mind. Annie put Kristin in a tasteful bikini and she imagined her diving in, all grace, barely a spatter of water jumping up from the surface. She imagined them swimming side by side, and Kristin being impressed by Annie’s strong strokes. Something unsaid—perhaps because it was so unspeakable—passing between them, and then the quick walk to the changing rooms, filled with anticipation.
No.
Annie stopped the fantasy right there. That was as far as she was willing to go. She’d gone far enough already. She wasn’t here to dream of Kristin. She was here to swim. Then she thought about the upcoming dinner they had at Kristin and Sheryl’s on Friday night, and she didn’t know whether to look forward to it or dread it.
“You’re going to do what?” Annie asked. She’d just arrived back at the shop and Jane had sat there smirking in the most peculiar way before delivering the news of the book signing, which would take place next week. Jane was usually the type to only plan things if she had at least a month to prepare—and fret—over them.
“And here I was expecting you to be pleased,” Jane said, still sporting a grin.
“Oh, I am. Don’t mistake my confusion for anything less than being utterly pleased. I’m just a tad surprised.”
“Good to hear I can still surprise you after all these years.” Jane drew her lips into a pout. “I didn’t sell many books.”
“No Jane Quinn fans about on a Thursday afternoon?”
“It must be the day they all stay in to read.”
Annie scooted closer to her wife, curved an arm around her waist and pulled her near. A twinge of guilt tore through her for allowing herself that fantasy in the pool. Jane seemed to be in a chipper mood. Maybe she should say something after closing time. They’d promised each other honesty and, most of all, understanding about these things. It didn’t have to be much of a problem, just something that happened to people in a long-term relationship. And perhaps talking about her attraction to Kristin would take away some of its power, like they said in some of the self-help books Annie stocked. But Annie didn’t know how to start this particular conversation. Not just yet. Perhaps by the time she did, she’d be long over this silly infatuation.
“I’m so glad you and Mia are getting along,” Annie said.
“She’s a sweet talker, that one.” Jane didn’t give any indication of wanting to flee the shop and start on her late-afternoon writing session. “Maybe we should have her and Lou over for dinner some time.”
“So you do really like her.” Annie bumped her hip into Jane’s.
“I’ve always been very fond of Lou. When she left for Brisbane she was still so young. Now that she’s a proper adult, it would be great to get to know her better in this stage of her life.”
“We have dinner at the Johnson-Parks tomorrow. Don’t forget.” A frisson of excitement ran up Annie’s spine. She was curious to see the inside of Kristin and Sheryl’s apartment. She expected it to be nothing short of spectacular.
“All these new lesbians in our lives come with so many social obligations,” Jane said.
“True, but we’ll make sure your energy bucket doesn’t empty.” Annie had adopted the way Jane spoke about her energy and buckets, even though the terminology changed often and it was sometimes hard to keep up. But Jane had stuck with the bucket for a while now, and it was an easy way for Annie to understand the differences between their personalities.
“Thanks, babe. It’s still surprisingly full after this afternoon.”
“Maybe Mia is one of those people who naturally fills your bucket with energy, instead of taking away from it.”
“Maybe…”
They both glanced at Mia who was hunched over her phone. Every morning this week, she’d been training a new person to help her in the coffee shop—she and Annie had interviewed Taylor together, even though Kristin and Mia could have ignored Annie’s opinion on their new employee. But this person would spend a lot of time in the shop with Annie, so it was important that Annie had a good feeling about them.
“How do you feel about Taylor?” Annie asked.
“She’s polite and reserved. Two qualities I value a lot,” Jane said.
“Me too.” The door opened and in walked Sheryl. She was the one who had put Taylor forward for the job.
“Your usual, boss?” Mia asked.
“God no, it’s too late in the day for me to be drinking coffee. I’m here to see the book shop ladies.” She headed straight for the counter, where Annie still stood with an arm slung around Jane’s waist. “Jane, I’m here to make you an offer you won’t be able to refuse.”
Uh-oh, Annie thought, you have no idea.
Chapter Six
“We have to be there at seven. Why aren’t you getting ready?” Annie asked, looking at her watch ostentatiously. She seemed very keen to go to this dinner party.
“Just give me a minute.” Jane remained slumped in the couch.
“No, come on, chop-chop. We don’t want to be late and I take it you don’t want to turn up in sweatpants.”
Jane dragged herself out of the couch. She wasn’t much for going out on a Friday night, and she dreaded this Friday night in particular, when she would have to tell Sheryl that she had zero, no, in fact sub-zero desire—if such a thing were possible—to give a special lecture on writing romance to the University of Sydney’s Creative Writing students.
Because she would have to field the ever-returning question: why not? And she would have to resort to a bunch of self-deprecating comments and make jokes about her lack of charisma, even though Jane had come to terms with who she was—and had lost the need to apologize for herself in the process.
It had taken her a while to accept that she almost always preferred her own company over the company of others, because society had a tendency to reward extroverted people, of which she was the polar opposite. Yet, when requests like these came along—disguised as great honors—she always felt she needed to justify herself, simply for being her. And when was the last time an extrovert had to come up with an excuse for who they were?
“You look great,” Annie said to her after Jane had changed out of her “home wear” into the same old jeans and blouse she wore for outside activities.
“I look the same as I always do,” Jane said, knowing very well she sounded like a petulant child.
“You always look fab, babe. Come on.” Annie headed back into the kitchen. “Almost forgot the wine.”
Before Sheryl had left the shop last night, she had assured them it was okay to bring and drink wine in her presence, even though she was a recovering alcoholic. Jane was pleas
ed about that. Evenings like this were hard to get through without partaking of a few alcoholic beverages. One glass of wine was usually enough to put her at ease. The second would take away enough of her inhibitions so she could emerge from her usual reserved state and enjoy the company of others without constantly second-guessing herself and what she should say.
Kristin opened the door to them and Annie gave her the bottle of wine, which made at least one possible awkward moment pass. Imagine having to hand the bottle to Sheryl? It was one thing to have permission to drink in front of her, but yet another entirely to shove a bottle of wine into a recovering alcoholic’s hands.
Kristin kissed them both on the cheeks and led them in. Sheryl was more forward with her greeting and wrapped them both in a lingering embrace.
Jane witnessed how Annie cast her glance around the living room. Her eyes had grown wide. The place did look like an interior designer had just passed through to make some last-minute finishing touches and arrange everything just so.
“This place is amazing,” Annie said.
Jane nodded, even though she found their own apartment much cozier. Even the books on the bookshelves had been arranged according to the color of their spine. Kristin fit into the space perfectly. Sheryl stood out a little and, in doing so, gave their home the kind of off-kilter vibe that Jane could appreciate.
“All my doing, of course,” Sheryl joked. “I’m sure Kristin will give you a tour later.” She shot them both a wink.
They sat for drinks and Jane feverishly hoped Sheryl wouldn’t ask her about the lecture until she’d had a glass of wine. Words came more easily then. And if those words offended someone, she felt the sting less.
“Mia told me about the book signing you’re doing next week,” Kristin said as she poured the wine. “That’s really great.”
“It was Mia’s idea. I’m just going with the flow.” Jane couldn’t see Annie’s face, but she was sure it was folded into an incredulous expression at hearing her wife utter those words. Jane was the least go-with-the-flow person on the planet.
Jane took a quick sip, then another. Situations like this made her so uptight, even the notion of a glass of wine, just the comforting feeling of it in her hand, made her more confident.
“Truth be told,” Sheryl said, “I’m not that big on getting books signed, but it will be an excellent occasion to complete my Jane Quinn collection.” She gave a crooked grin. “And get my hands on your new book, of course. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
Oh Christ. Not even the comforting feel of a glass of wine in her hand could keep a blush from creeping from Jane’s neck to her cheeks, even making her earlobes burn. It was all well and good for Annie to say she should learn how to accept a compliment, but not to offer any practical advice on how to do so. Although, in fairness, Annie had offered advice, but getting advice and applying it were two different things.
“Thank you,” Jane said, hating herself a little because saying thank you was really all it took and why did she have to make a problem out of everything? A compliment was hardly the end of the world. On the contrary.
“I’ve had a sneak peek,” Annie said, coming to Jane’s rescue once again. “It’s pretty epic, what with it being the last in the series.”
“Can’t wait,” Sheryl said.
Kristin remained silent. Maybe she didn’t read lesbian fiction. Jane didn’t want to judge, but she looked more like the type who would read some prize-winning, high-brow literary fiction before bed—and enjoy it immensely. She pictured the two of them in bed, reading: Sheryl with a lesbian romance and Kristin with a five-hundred-page hardback of the latest Booker Prize winner.
“So,” Sheryl locked her gaze on Jane’s. “Please tell me you’re ready to make me an even happier woman slash Jane Quinn fan by coming to speak at the university. It wouldn’t be in my department, but a lot of gender studies students might be interested in it nonetheless. And I wouldn’t miss it, of course.” She flashed a wide smile. Jane could definitely see why Kristin—or anyone else for that matter—would be attracted to Sheryl. She had such an easy, persuasive way about her—a bit like Mia—that Jane almost wanted to say yes just so that smile wouldn’t disappear from Sheryl’s face.
She and Annie had had a brief discussion about it last night. Annie knew not to push. Great honor or not, this was simply not the sort of thing Jane did. Jane had mainly asked her wife for advice on how to let Sheryl down gently.
“I’m very sorry, Sheryl. I’m truly flattered that you would ask me. That you would even consider me, frankly, but I’m a writer. Having to give a lecture would take away so much from my writing time, not to mention the energy it would take to get the job done. And I’m really not that fond of the spotlight.” Jane wanted to make a joke about needing at least three gin and tonics before she could address a crowd, but thought it a bit tasteless seeing who she was speaking to.
“Oh.” Only a hint remained of Sheryl’s smile. “I understand.”
“Not everyone’s a teacher,” Kristin said.
“Least of all me,” Jane said. “I wish I was, but I’m really not. I’m rubbish at explaining the simplest thing.”
“Is there any way I could convince you otherwise?” Sheryl was obviously used to getting what she wanted.
“You’re just after another feather in your cap after getting Caitlin James to do a few lectures,” Kristin said. “Besides, this dinner is not about work.”
“Fair enough.” Sheryl narrowed her eyes and gave Jane one last intense look, as though she wanted one more chance to try to sway her—and a single look could hold that kind of power. “Apologies if I was being too pushy.” She leaned back in her chair and focused her attention on Annie. “How about Caitlin doing a book signing and reading in your shop? She loves that kind of stuff. Especially now that Josephine is much more popular than her.” She chuckled. “It’s been a hard transition.”
“That would be tremendous,” Annie said. “I didn’t even consider that a possibility.”
“I’ll make it happen,” Sheryl said.
Chapter Seven
“I’m going to get dinner ready,” Kristin said.
“Do you need a hand?” The words left Annie’s mouth faster than she could even think them.
Kristin cocked her head. “Actually, I could do with another pair of hands.”
“Well, I never.” Sheryl sounded shocked. “She hardly ever lets anyone into the kitchen with her. She’s a bit of a control freak, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She followed up with a big grin.
“Annie and I are business partners. She’s allowed in my kitchen,” Kristin said.
The words made Annie’s head swim. Kristin was making an exception for her? She shot out of her seat and eagerly followed her into the kitchen.
The evening had been nice so far. Now that Jane could stop being nervous about having to turn Sheryl down, it had the potential to become a night to remember. Jane had said no to so many things over the years, Annie didn’t waste her breath trying to convince her otherwise any longer. Jane was old and wise enough to make her own decisions.
“How are you with sauces?” Kristin asked.
In Annie’s head, it instantly translated into “how saucy are you?” and, for a split second, Annie believed she was being propositioned. She quickly snapped to. “Put me on whatever station you want, chef. I believe Jane and I have watched every episode of MasterChef ever produced. I’m ready.” Annie was jabbering.
“I prefer the UK version,” Kristin said in an earnest tone. “It’s so much more civilized than the Australian one. I certainly can’t bear the US version. All that shouting. When has shouting at someone ever truly accomplished anything?”
“Never, I believe,” Annie said, as she watched Kristin pull containers from the fridge.
“Here’s a saucepan.” Kristin crouched down, then sprang swiftly up again. “The sauce just needs to be reheated. Without burning.”
“I’m on it.” The kitchen wasn�
�t big and they stood in close proximity. Annie poured the sauce in the pan, making sure not to spill a drop. She’d rather die than burn that sauce.
As she stirred, she wondered if she should already extend a reciprocal dinner invitation tonight. What could she cook to impress Kristin? It wouldn’t be an easy task, judging by all of Kristin’s preparations and how everything was about to come together—probably according to a minute-by-minute plan.
“This is all very impressive,” Annie said.
“I took up cooking as a hobby after I left my corporate job. But, as Sheryl will gladly tell you, I have a bit of an obsessive personality and a hobby can’t just be a hobby.” She smiled and her face lit up. Kristin wasn’t an easy smiler like Sheryl so when she did smile, her entire face changed.
“The perfect MasterChef candidate,” Annie joked.
“Even though I can enjoy watching a cooking-related reality TV show, I would never want to be on it. I’m not one for the spotlight either. Like Jane.”
Hearing Kristin mention her wife’s name sounded a bit as though Annie was being scolded for the thoughts she’d been having. As though Kristin was looking right through her and knew very well why Annie was in this kitchen with her. But that was impossible. Kristin would need magnificent psychic powers. Annie believed she hid her feelings well. However, she did think it best to change topic as quickly as possible.
“What did you do before you opened the Pink Bean?” Annie asked.
“Marketing. I worked for a wine company, of all things.”
“Ha, I worked in marketing too before I started the shop. A very long time ago.”
“Doesn’t everyone work in marketing these days? It’s such a catch-all. Internet marketing, content marketing, direct marketing, social media marketing, and the list goes on. I’m just glad it’s not my world anymore. The hours I worked were crazy. And for what? To make someone else rich? It’s so much more rewarding to run your own business.”