by KD Fisher
“Shoulda jumped in.” Beth floated on her back, looking way too pleased with herself.
“Okay but is this water even safe to swim in? I don’t want to die of hypothermia or something.”
“It’s fine once you get used to it. This is about as warm as it gets. Seriously.” Beth plunged underwater again, resurfacing right back where she’d taken the plunge. “Jump in over here. Just get it over with.”
I thought about staying on the rocks. Lying in the sun and maybe having another piece of cake. But I knew I couldn’t resist Beth, looking like a real-life mermaid. Her hair, already escaped from the bun she’d pulled it into, streamed down her back in dark copper waves and her pale skin had an almost otherworldly glow underwater. Before I could doubt myself for another second, I jumped off the rock and into the water.
The cold cut through me, surrounded me, and then as I came up for air, settled into a tolerable, buzzing numbness. My breath came fast but I felt...good. My body felt almost liquid, like the cold had dissolved me.
“You did it.” Beth wrapped her arms around my neck and then we were right back where we’d left off onshore. Pushing my fingers into the wet strands of her hair, I tipped her face up to meet mine. Her lips were cold and a little salty and perfectly soft. This time I kept my eyes open, taking in her flushed, freckled cheeks and damp lashes, searing the moment into my mind. Then her tongue grazed mine and my eyes drifted shut, my world narrowing to thick desire and tingling sensation. I lifted her up easily in the water and she wrapped her legs around my waist, both of us moaning softly at the increased contact. Her breasts pressed against me and I shifted her weight to hold her up with one hand as the other slid under the fabric of her bikini top.
“Oh god,” Beth moaned into my mouth as my fingers circled her nipple, hard from the cold water and arousal. My thighs clenched and my whole body throbbed with want. I knew if she so much as touched me I wouldn’t want to stop until we both came. And part of me wanted that, wanted to let go, wanted to give in to that temptation.
Instead I slipped my hand back down her stomach and moved my lips to her shoulder, peppering her skin with light kisses.
“Fuck.” Her breath came fast and shallow. “I want you so much.”
“Me too.” My voice sounded strange, rough. “But, um, we’re outside so...”
Beth rolled her eyes and released a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You’re no fun at all.” She tapped a kiss to the tip of my nose and dove back into the freezing water.
Running my fingers through my hair to smooth it away from my face, I took stock of myself. My fingers and toes were freezing while my insides seemed to be burning up. I was buoyant, almost fizzy, energy pinging through me. When was the last time I’d felt so present in my own body? So in control? I must have zoned out, because when I looked up, Beth was back onshore, towel drying her hair and laughing as Hamlet tried to chase a crab, the dog looking confused when it disappeared into a small crack in the rocks.
“Hey,” I called, hurrying to join her in the warm afternoon sun. “No fair.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked very meditative.”
“I was just thinking about how much I like being with you.” The words came out before I could stop them, but as they left my lips, I realized the weight of their truth.
Chapter Twelve
Adah
“Whoever invented brunch should be crucified.” Jay collapsed onto one of the stools along the counter looking into the kitchen. Bella Vista would be closed for the next three hours, just enough time for us to clean up and regroup for dinner service.
“Hey now. That’s blasphemous to gays and Christians alike.” I laughed, whipping a towel over my shoulder and rolling my neck. Brunch had been wildly busy, with an hour-long wait at the height of service. As much as I hated plating up boring iterations of lobster Benedict and realizing one of my line cooks couldn’t poach an egg to save his life, it was nice to be busy. Even Sean had seemed happy by the time the last mimosa-tipsy customers stumbled out.
“Seriously though, why the fuck did we have to start doing brunch? Like, aren’t we better than this? I mean, smoked salmon on waffles... That shit is gross.” Jay took a long sip of coffee and I took a moment to study their face. Usually they practically glowed, radiant tan skin and bright dark eyes. But today they looked exhausted. And unhappy. I chose to ignore the jab about the salmon and waffles, a dish I thought actually worked pretty well after I’d started making the waffles with grated potato and dill.
“Everything okay?” Even though I had about ten thousand things to do to get ready for dinner, I slid onto the stool next to my friend.
“Yeah sorry for being a dick.” Jay sighed and rubbed their eyes roughly. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” I drew out the word, knowing Jay was about as good at keeping their emotions bottled up as I was at letting mine out.
“Fine, ugh. Remember Nina, that gorgeous woman from the dance party thing? The one who works with your enemy over at The Yellow House?” I barely had time to nod before Jay continued. “Well we hooked up and it was good. Like really good. And the next morning we did the whole breakfast together, phone number swap. I even followed her on Instagram for fuck’s sake. And then nothing. I texted her to see if she wanted to get a drink the next weekend and nada. I mean, what the hell? Like you would tell me if I smell bad or something, right? First Amy, now this... Pretty soon I’m going to develop a complex.” Jay laughed but there wasn’t a scrap of joy in it.
I gave their shoulder a quick squeeze. “You know you’re perfect in every way. And—” I leaned in to sniff their hair, which smelled a little like the kitchen but mostly like the woodsy pomade they used in it, “—you smell just fine. What happened with Amy anyway?” It had been so out of character for Jay not to talk about it that I’d been afraid to ask.
“Ugh I don’t even know. When we started looking at condos she got all weird. Like I wanted to look in Rogers Park and stuff but she was dead set on all these fancy places in River North and the West Loop. A bunch of those stupid yuppie hellhole ‘lofts.’ Then all the sudden she starts talking about moving out to the suburbs and asking me about looking into jobs with more financial security. Seriously, she must have said those two words about six million times. And then she just left.”
“Her loss,” I said softly but the words felt too small.
Jay brightened, swiveling their stool to face me. “Hey, well if we’re still lonely sad sacks by the time we’re fifty, you and I can just get married. It’ll be the platonic romance for the ages.”
Try as I might to keep my cool, I knew my face flushed red and my whole body tensed up.
“Oh no,” Jay whispered in mock horror, “don’t tell me you’ve been in love with me this whole time.”
I shoved them lightly, forcing out a hoarse laugh instead of actually speaking.
“Holy shit. No way. You hooked up with the hot witch lady, didn’t you? And you didn’t tell me? Some friend you are.”
Now my laughter wasn’t forced. “Witch lady?”
“Yeah you know she’s got that whole earthy one-with-the-universe thing going on. That woman for sure owns like six tarot decks. And you totally had sex with her.”
You could get a good sear on a steak if you set it on my face at that moment. I sent out a silent prayer that none of the servers clearing tables behind us heard our conversation. “No, my goodness. We kissed and then hung out a few times.” My throat felt thick all of a sudden. “I think I really like her. Was planning to invite her over to have dinner with me and Peter tomorrow. Is that stupid? Maybe it’s too soon. I feel like she’s maybe out of my league or something.”
“Um, it’s stupid that you think she’s out of your league,” Jay scoffed. “One because the whole concept of ‘leagues’ is trash, and two because you’re fucking brilliant and gorgeous and the best goddamn chef in the world. S
he should be psyched to get to know you.”
I looked at my best friend for a long moment, endlessly grateful that they’d ended up in my life. “You know it ain’t polite to swear.”
* * *
I slid the last golden-brown pancake onto the platter and carried it out to the tiny bistro table on the porch. My son, his eyes glued to a YouTube video on his iPad, barely registered my existence. A quick glance at my phone told me his daily twenty-five minutes of screen time was up.
“Put it away.” I gestured to the tablet and slid into my chair.
“But there’s ten minutes left. I wanna know what the last gift is!” Peter shot me a glare but locked the screen.
“Well I suppose you’ll find out tomorrow. Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
My son stabbed his pancake with a little too much force but didn’t argue otherwise. His new friend Jason had apparently gotten him obsessed with weird videos of other kids taking electronics and toys out of boxes. I had no clue what the appeal of this stuff was but it didn’t seem like it was hurting anybody. My mind wandered to my nephews, two toddlers I’d barely known before skipping town. I was sure most of, if not all, my brothers would have kids by now. Christopher’s wife already had a third baby on the way when I left home. I guessed they all had big, churchgoing families by now. Did their kids watch YouTube videos or had my brothers followed in the reverend’s footsteps, banning all popular culture from the sacred walls of the home? A tide of guilt swelled up hot in my throat at the thought that my son would never know his cousins.
I shook my head to clear the thought. I didn’t need them and they didn’t need me. I could love Peter enough for all of them.
“Do we have to clean today?” Peter groaned as he dragged a slice of strawberry through the maple syrup on his plate.
“Yep. I told you. Beth’s coming over for dinner and I don’t want her stepping on six hundred Legos.” I paused, letting my gaze wander out to the small stretch of glittering ocean visible from our porch. “You sure you’re okay with her having dinner with us? It’s okay if you don’t want her to...”
“Mom.” Peter sighed, a very world-weary sigh for a nine-year-old. “I already told you it’s fine. Besides, once I start school I’m gonna be busy. You’ll need to hang out with someone other than Jay and Ms. Vanessa.”
I reached across the table to ruffle his hair, which I noted was overdue for a trim. “Alright bud, once you pick up your toys and help me clean the bathroom you’re free to go.”
My son’s whole face lit up and he rocketed out of his seat. “Okay, I’ll get it done. After do you think I can go over to Jason’s house? His dads said they would take us to the park today to run some soccer drills.”
Leave it to my son to befriend the kid on our block with queer parents. I’d met Jason’s dads a few times. They were nice, if slightly dull, guys. The kind of people who wore polo shirts and talked a lot about the weather. They were folks I’d be more than happy to chat with at playdates and school events but would probably never want to have over for a meal.
Beth, on the other hand... I couldn’t wait to see her for dinner. Tonight. In my apartment. In my kitchen. Eating my food.
After our picnic we’d started talking even more, sometimes chatting on the phone for hours after we’d finished cooking for the night. My body was definitely suffering from the lack of shut-eye but I didn’t mind being tired if it meant I got to hear her voice every night. She told me about her family: a boisterous, loving group that made me wish I had grown up in a different home. I told her about mine. We both griped about how busy and exhausted we were, how the summer was slipping away from us into an endless stream of unrelenting work. And we talked about food. Swapped recipes, argued about technique, and last night, bickered about what to make for dinner. The conversation, admittedly a tad frustrating because Beth refused to agree that she should sit back and relax while I did all the work, had kept a smile on my face until I drifted off to sleep. It had been the first time I’d ever been able to argue about dinner with someone who wasn’t my son or a cranky restaurant manager.
Now, Beth was due over in less than a half hour. I was fine. Definitely not nervous at all. Everything was ready. The kitchen had been scrubbed within an inch of its life, the windows were thrown open to coax in the ocean breeze, and my son had managed not to track in too much mud from his soccer game. I’d even found a spare minute to stop by the Middle Eastern market on the west end of town, stocking up on too many spices and coming up with a solid meal plan for tonight.
I scrolled through my playlists for what felt like the thousandth time. Usually I turned up the Dolly Parton and Willie Nelson while cooking...but maybe Beth thought country music was trashy? I was just about to google “best music for dates” on my phone when a sharp knock sounded at the door. My spine tensed on instinct and a cold shudder danced over my skin. Then I turned and saw Beth through the window and everything went warm and soft.
Her hair was half clipped back, showing off her bright eyes and the dusting of freckles along the bridge of her nose. She wore a loose, daisy-print sundress with a flannel thrown over and a bright grin just for me.
I smiled back and pulled open the door. “You look nice,” I said without thinking, cringing a little at how cheesy it sounded.
“Thanks!” Pressing up on her tiptoes, she kissed my cheek while awkwardly balancing the two canvas tote bags draped over her shoulder. “So do you. I like the shirt.” She tugged on the collar of my denim button down.
“What’s all this?” I gestured to the bags.
“Oh just a couple things for dinner,” Beth said a little too innocently.
Peter’s bedroom door banged open and my son slid on socked feet into the kitchen. Not a shy bone in his body. “Hi. Did you bring your dog?”
Beth tossed her head back, laughing. “No sorry. I didn’t know if dogs were allowed at your house, so I left him at my mom’s place.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Beth by the way. I don’t know if we’ve been formally introduced.”
Peter shook her hand and grinned. “Peter. Well, actually I think I’m gonna start asking people to call me Pete. I like that better.”
This was news to me, but I kept silent, weirdly nervous that my son might not like Beth or the other way around. Although if Beth didn’t like kids there wasn’t a chance things were going to work out between us.
“Mom, can she bring her dog next time? I can take him for walks and stuff. I already asked Miss Vanessa and she said it’s fine.”
Trying not to cringe at the thought of my son trying to control that giant animal, I nodded.
“So should I call you Pete, then?” Beth asked, unloading bunch after bunch of greens from one of the bags.
“Uh-huh.” My son bobbed his head, then cut his eyes at the vegetables. He wasn’t picky but kale was not his favorite. “What’s that for?”
“A salad,” Beth said simply. “Want to help us cook?”
Pete backed toward his room. “No thank you. I’m working on a project and I gotta get back to it. I can show it to you later though if you want.”
Beth nodded enthusiastically and turned to me as Pete disappeared into his bedroom. “What’s this project?”
I groaned. “Ask him about it at dinner if you want to listen to him talk about his shrink ray prototype for a whole dang hour. Vanessa, my friend who watches him, took him to see some sci-fi movie last week and he’s been obsessed with trying to build one ever since.”
“Aw, that’s adorable. You seem like a really good mom.”
I waved my hand at the compliment and turned to my mise en place, neat rows of minced garlic, a small pile of lemon zest, freshly washed and dried herbs. “I was gonna do some pan roasted chicken with Meyer lemon jus, crispy garlic, and harissa spiced polenta.” I couldn’t help slipping into restaurant mode even when I made basic stuff for Pete like mac
and cheese.
“Oh my god. You are such a chef.” Beth grazed her lips over my cheek and heat crept down my neck. “Okay. Well.” She squared her shoulders and made a sweeping gesture to the produce. “Today I have kale from my garden, brussels sprouts from my mom’s garden, and radicchio from my brother’s garden. Oh and leftover maple caneles with poached plums and some ice cream for dessert. I was going to do a salad. But maybe I should make something Pete might like better? Does he like sautéed greens more?”
“Nah. Make what you want. My rule is he has to try everything once. And if you get him to like kale, I might fall in love with you.”
Gosh darn it, Adah. I clamped my mouth shut and turned sharply back to my prep work wishing I could turn back time by thirty seconds to stop myself from sounding like such a fool. I slid my knife through a shallot, neatly reducing it to perfectly symmetrical cubes.
Beth’s voice behind me was all bright cheer as she spun me around to face her. “Okay then. I’d better try my best.”
Chapter Thirteen
Beth
I was a terrible person. Part of me had slotted Adah into the fussy, technique heavy, but ultimately boring chef role. I’d pictured elaborate sauces and the kind of insistence on perfect uniformity that drove me up a wall. But her food was as gorgeous and wonderfully understated as she was. The chicken was perfect: buttermilk-brined and juicy, the spice complex but not overwhelming. And I didn’t know what she’d done to turn polenta into the most perfectly creamy bite I’d ever taken, but I needed to find out.
“This is so good,” I said, my mouth full. “What did you do to the polenta?”
Pete laughed and made a comment about my table manners being worse than his.