“Nothing special?”
“Not that time, no. That was because I didn’t love him, though. It was something he and I both wanted to check off a list.”
“He was a virgin, too?”
“Yes. He was even more desperate than I was to lose that label. We dated for a while after that, and, obviously, we had sex again. It got better. I found myself enjoying it and wanting it with him. But it didn’t work out. We broke up. The next person I dated was a woman.”
“Oh.”
“Is this too much?” Hillary checked. “Hearing about my sex life before you and me?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a lot.” Amara glanced down. “It’s like, I want to know and I don’t want to know at the same time.”
“I can stop,” Hillary offered.
“No, that’s not what I meant. Just maybe no details.”
“Okay.” Hillary laughed.
“What about with a woman?”
“Same thing, I guess. It was something I wanted, so I did it,” Hillary replied. “It wasn’t anything special. It got special the longer we dated, but we didn’t wait for the perfect moment, light candles, and play soft music in the background. It was nice.”
“And with Caroline? She was the person you dated the longest, right?”
“Yes, Caroline and I were together for years.”
At the mention of Caroline’s name, Hillary’s mood changed. She lowered her head and then lifted it again to look around the restaurant.
“It was bad toward the end, wasn’t it?” Amara asked.
“It wasn’t great.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s okay,” Hillary said. “I’m not still hung up on Caroline, Amara. I promise, I have no interest in her even as a friend. I do still have some things to work through, but that’s not because of our romantic relationship. She had a problem with alcohol, and it impacted me. It’s why I still go to meetings every now and then.”
“I understand. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” Amara returned to her food.
Hillary considered her girlfriend for a moment. She thought about how different Amara was from her ex. Caroline was assertive and, sometimes, brash. She was a top all the way in bed. She worked hard, long hours, and was driven by ambition in all things. When they’d lived together, if a friend got something new, Caroline wanted it as well; preferably, the next generation or the more expensive model. She dressed impeccably and rarely wore jeans or any type of casual wear. She also enjoyed happy hours a little more than most people. And when she got home, Caroline would tell her everything that Hillary needed to improve. Her hair was too thin, or too long. Sometimes, Hillary would cut it, but then it was too short. Her face was mousy, and she should smile more. Caroline had wished she was taller, that her eyes were a lighter shade. She wanted Hillary to publish more. And when she took time on the weekends to work on her research, she didn’t make enough time for Caroline.
By the time their relationship had ended, Hillary was so confused about who she was and who she should be, that she’d gone to the Al-Anon meetings as a place to find support and calm in the chaos of her thoughts. It had provided that. But, in the end, it had been Hillary that had made the necessary changes in her life. She’d started going to the gym and kept going even when she was busy or when it was hard. She ate healthier now and allowed herself a cheat meal once a week. She found the hairstyle and length that she preferred and didn’t worry about publishing more or less. She had a job she cared about deeply and legitimately enjoyed. And now, she had a girlfriend, who appeared to like her just as she was and even before she’d made all the outward changes to her appearance.
“Would you consider coming to a meeting with me?” Hillary asked.
“What meeting?”
“An Al-Anon meeting. We wouldn’t go to the one that Mark leads, obviously.”
“You want me to go with you?” Amara asked with a small smile. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Of course. I’ll go whenever you want me to.”
“Yeah?”
“Hillary, I support you in this 100%. If you need me to stay out of it, or go to every meeting you attend, I’ll be there.”
“Maybe next week? I can find one close to campus. We can go after we’re both done with classes.”
“Sure. We can grab dinner after if you want.”
“Okay,” Hillary agreed. “So, outside of everyone apparently knowing you had sex… How was your week?”
“Funny,” Amara said and rolled her eyes with a smile. “Classes were fine. I still wish I was in your section, but I understand why that won’t work now.”
“I wouldn’t be able to give you anything less than an ‘A’ for effort.” Hillary winked at her. “And performance.”
“Performance?” Amara blushed.
“Yes. ‘A’ in performance, definitely. There’s no ‘A+’ at this university. But if I could give you one of those, I would.”
“Stop.” Amara laughed.
“How’s your dad?”
“He’s fine.” Amara’s laughter stopped at the mention of her father’s name. “Just working a lot, as usual.”
“Everything okay there?” Hillary checked.
“Yeah. Why?” Amara’s responses were short now, and her eyes were focused on her dinner.
“No reason, I guess. I just thought I’d ask.”
“He can’t manage to keep his calendar correct, but that’s normal. The coffee maker went out at the office, so I need to pick up a new one, but that’s the most exciting thing going on at work right now.”
“Sounds like a blast,” Hillary said.
“It is,” Amara said sarcastically.
“Do you like it there?” Hillary asked.
“Where?”
“At the church?”
“Working there, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes,” Amara replied. “Sometimes, not. I think that’s every job, though.”
“Have you ever tried anything else?” Hillary asked.
“Are you trying to convince me to quit my job at the church?” Amara questioned with a bite to her tone.
“What? No,” Hillary defended. “I’m just asking, Amara. We’re still getting to know one another. I want to know things about you: like, if you’ve ever had another job, what your favorite flower is, and what foods you hate. It’s just a question.”
“I’m sorry.” The woman lowered her silverware and met Hillary’s eyes. “Like I said, I had a strange week. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Let’s skip dessert, okay? We can go back to my place and talk more privately about whatever you want.”
“Actually, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to head home after dinner.”
“Oh, I thought you were staying over tonight.”
“I was thinking about staying over tomorrow night instead. I have something to take care of tomorrow morning, and it’s closer to my place.”
“Something?”
“It’s about my mom.”
“Oh.” Hillary didn’t know if she should press further or not. “Tomorrow night is fine. My friends, Macon and Joanna, asked me to go to 7Ups with them. Any chance you like adult arcades?”
“7Ups? I’ve been there before.”
“I know. I’ve seen you there before.” Hillary’s smile returned at the memory of being too shy to talk to her now girlfriend; but her friend had gotten Amara’s name, so at least she knew that.
“You have? I’ve been there once.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I went with people from school. I haven’t been back since.”
“Then, I was there the one time you were. Crazy,” Hillary let out in a near whisper.
“It is. It’s like we were supposed to meet,” Amara surmised.
“I’ve already had my cheat meal this week, but if you’re getting dessert, I could
maybe steal a bite.” Hillary winked at her girlfriend.
“You do seem to enjoy biting,” Amara teased.
Hillary felt the wetness between her thighs immediately at Amara’s suggestive comment and tone. Her girlfriend’s eyes had even grown darker as she’d said it. This woman was the sexiest creature in the world, and she had no idea.
CHAPTER 25
Saturday morning, Amara woke up, showered, dressed, and then sat on her bed. She was nervous. She wasn’t sure if following this path to learn more about her mother was a good idea after all. She knew of her mother because of her father. She liked that ideal he’d created for her. Her mother was a strong, intelligent woman, who taught courses in ancient civilizations. He’d described her as funny when people didn’t expect her to be. He always smiled when he talked about her. Amara had a vision of her mom because of the pictures that still rested on shelves and hung on walls. That vision mixed with his stories. She loved the woman she had very few memories of because of that.
She finally stood, straightened her pants anxiously, and headed out to her car. Her father was at the church for a marriage counseling session. She’d planned it that way. He also had a fundraiser tonight for a youth group trip that would keep him occupied well into the night. She’d already placed a note on the kitchen counter that she was going to stay in the city. She’d laid the groundwork for this earlier in the week by telling him Hillary and her group of friends had invited her to hang out. It had been a lie at the time, but now it was the truth. The note explained that it would be better for her to stay in Hillary’s guest room and go to church the following morning before driving home. Of course, Hillary had no guest room – and if she did, Amara wouldn’t be sleeping in it – but he didn’t know that.
She drove for an hour or so, using the GPS in the car to get her there. She knew she was taking a chance that the owner wouldn’t be home, but she also hadn’t had the courage to call in advance. Upon her arrival, Amara sat in her car for several more minutes before deciding that if she was going to do this, she needed to do it now. It would be a long drive back home. She had to get ready to meet Hillary in a few hours. So, she made her way to the front door, stood in front of it for another minute, and then pressed the doorbell. She earned a pleasant set of melodic tones in response. Then, she waited. The door opened just before she was about to turn away and leave.
“Hello?” the woman greeted her.
“Hi,” Amara replied.
The woman stared at her quizzically. She looked her up and down before returning her eyes to meet Amara’s.
“You’re her daughter, aren’t you?” the stranger asked.
Amara stared at the woman who looked to be in her late forties or early fifties. She had blonde hair that hung just below her ears, was wearing diamond studs in her ears, and had a black t-shirt on with a pair of whitewashed jeans. Her face was kind and open. The woman smiled at her, and Amara’s anxiety lessened.
“Yes,” she answered.
“You look just like her,” the woman replied.
“My dad says that all the time,” Amara said. “I’m sorry to just stop by like this. I found something that belonged to my mother, and it led me to you.”
“I see.” She moved further inside the house. “Come in. I was just about to head out back and do some gardening. We can talk instead. I have coffee, tea, water, soda.”
“Water would be great.”
It would be, too. Amara had a major case of nervous dry mouth.
“I’ll get some. Have a seat.”
The woman motioned to a comfortable looking living room where there were a sofa and a recliner among the other furniture. She moved into the kitchen, which Amara couldn’t see. Amara stood in the middle of the room for a moment before sitting on the sofa, hoping that was okay. When the woman returned, she sat on the opposite side of the sofa and passed Amara a bottle of water before opening her own and taking a long drink. Amara wondered if she hoped it was something a little stronger than water.
“You have a nice house,” she said and took a drink.
“Can I ask your name?” the woman requested. “I knew of you, but not your name.”
“My full name is Amara Abigail Simmons.”
“Amara?” The woman’s eyes got big. “That’s my–”
“I know,” Amara told her. “You can call me Abigail if that helps.”
The older woman didn’t say anything for a long while. Amara watched about a million emotions appear and disappear across her face in a matter of seconds.
“She named you… After me?”
“I think so,” Amara confirmed.
“I didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t know about you until this week,” Amara told her.
“How did you find out?”
“A Bible,” Amara revealed.
“Her Bible?” the woman questioned. “Wow. I didn’t know she kept it.” She leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes for a second.
“I don’t know anything other than what I found in it. It had your name in it; just your first and your middle one, I guess. I found her old yearbook, and you were the only Amara. I did a little internet searching and found your address.”
“So, you’re here for our story?” The woman opened her eyes and asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” Amara began. “I think I’m just here to learn more about my mother. She died when I was so young; I hardly remember anything.”
The woman’s expression grew sad as she glanced at Amara.
“I try not to think about that night,” she said.
“What night?”
“The night of the accident,” the woman explained.
“What do you know about that night?” Amara queried with a defensive glare.
“I was there,” she revealed. “But we shouldn’t start there.” She leaned forward. “Amara, if you want to learn about your mother, I’ll tell you everything I know, but the story starts long before her accident.”
“Okay,” Amara said hesitantly and settled in.
“I met your mother when we were sophomores in high school,” she began. “I’d just moved here with my parents. My father is a rabbi of a synagogue in the city. He’s still there to this day. Your mom and I took an algebra class together that first semester, but we didn’t meet officially until after we returned from winter break. I was a math whiz, and she struggled, so the teacher asked me to help her after school.”
“She hated math. My dad told me that.”
“She did.” The woman laughed. “She loved history, though, and her literature courses. I always expected she’d be a teacher of some kind.” She hesitated. “We became instant friends after that. I spent every free moment I could with her. We’d talk on the phone the moment we got home after saying goodbye at school.” She sighed loudly, as if she was back in those moments. “Your mom was remarkable. I was completely taken by her, and we spent the rest of that school year falling in love.” She met Amara’s eyes again. “I assume you figured that part out.”
“I guessed it.” Amara gulped.
“There were two problems for us back then: she was Christian, and very much devout; and I was Jewish, with a rabbi for a father. We weren’t supposed to love one another like that. That’s what we’d both been taught by our parents. It was what we believed until we met each other. I’d never looked at another girl in the way I looked at your mother.”
“She was…”
“Gay?” The woman sighed again, though less deeply. “I don’t know that.”
“But you said you fell in love,” Amara reminded.
“We did. But we were young. And just because two girls fall in love doesn’t mean they’re gay; human sexuality is a spectrum. I never asked her how she identified. She never asked me.”
“I guess I just assumed.”
“It’s okay.” She patted Amara’s leg. “Look, your mom and I didn’t give into our feelings for a long time. It took us forever just to talk to one an
other about how we felt.” She laughed lightly. “We were both so scared that we’d lose the other person as a friend if we said anything. We were both seventeen and late in our junior year before we admitted it and shared our first kiss,” she added and looked wistful. “She was so scared someone would find out about us. We didn’t tell a soul. We met in secret in a field behind the school. We passed notes in code.” She laughed. “She used to save things we’d exchange in a box she hid in her closet under piles and piles of other things. It was oddly adorable.”
“I found a pressed flower in the Bible,” Amara interrupted the memory.
“I gave that to her. We couldn’t exactly go to high school dances together. She had a date for homecoming, and so did I, but we went as a group. Later that night, after our dates had dropped us off at my house, I gave her that rose. She told me she’d keep it forever. I guess she did.” She turned away from Amara. “We were together until we both went off to different universities. But while I moved into a dorm, your mom lived at home. I got a chance to explore this new world; she still had to live under her father’s roof. And he was particular in his beliefs. Where my parents were slightly more liberal with me, her father was strict. He was a good man. I don’t want to speak ill of your grandfather.”
“I never met him. He died the year before I was born.”
“He was always nice to me as her friend. I think, though, if he’d known about the two of us, he wouldn’t have allowed us to see one another.”
“What happened between you two once you were at college?”
The woman played with the bottle cap to her water and said, “This is where it gets hard, because you’re her daughter. I don’t know how much to tell you.”
“You can tell me everything.” Amara leaned forward. “I just want to know about my mom.”
She failed to mention that she was gay, that she had a girlfriend, that her father didn’t know anything about this important part of her life, and that she’d had no idea that her mother had dated a woman.
“Your mom and I were cautious, and when we were in high school, we never really had the chance to…” The woman cleared her throat.
“Oh,” Amara replied.
“But once I was away at school, we had my dorm room.” She hesitated. “My roommate was away one weekend, so we planned for your mom to stay with me. Your mom had always struggled with this part of her. She’d started and stopped us so many times. We’d fought so often during our senior year about it. I loved her, though. She was my first, and I thought back then that she’d be my forever love.”
San Francisco Series- Complete Edition Page 80