“Well, you can stay here as long as you need to.” He stood. “Let me change the sheets on the bed. It’s been a while.” He winked at her. “If you’re hungry, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge. Help yourself. You know where the bathroom is. Feel free to take a shower or a bath if you want.”
“Mark?”
“Yeah?” He stopped on his way to the bedroom.
“You’re a good man.” She gave him a weak smile.
“And you’re a good woman. You’ll figure this stuff out, Amara. I have faith in you.”
◆◆◆
“Thank you for seeing me last night,” Caroline said.
“Caroline, you know why I’m doing this, right?” Hillary asked.
“I do. I understand,” Caroline replied.
They made their way into the building and walked down a flight of stairs that ended in a big room with two long tables situated off to the side and about twenty chairs aimed at the back wall. A few people milled about already, but they appeared to be some of the first to arrive.
“This isn’t about us,” Hillary reminded.
“Hillary, I told you: I understand.” Caroline turned to her. “You have a girlfriend; you don’t want to get back together. I came here for you, though. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope things between you and her would not work out in my favor.”
“I love her, Caroline. I want to put all this behind me. Today is a step in the right direction. Just because you’re back in San Francisco, and you’re willing to do this for me, it doesn’t change anything.”
“I know.” The woman sat down in a chair in the back row. “Hill, after you left campus yesterday, I knew I’d gone too far, too fast. I shouldn’t have dropped all this on you.”
Hillary sat next to her.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed. “I’m sorry I just left like that. It was immature of me. You just told me you wanted us to get back together, and I couldn’t handle talking to you anymore.”
“I’m glad you called later, though.”
“Listen, I told you about Amara because I want you to know that if you’re doing this because you think there’s a chance we’ll get back together, there’s not. Even if Amara and I ended tomorrow, you and I are over.”
“I know.”
“We want different things, Caroline. You need to focus on your recovery still. I’m doing the same thing, just in a different way.”
“I know,” the woman repeated. “I messed up. I lost you because I couldn’t admit that I had a problem.”
“You lost me because I want a family; you don’t. You lost me because you wanted to work eighty-hour weeks. You lost me because you wanted to live in the city forever, and I wanted to raise a family in the suburbs. None of that has anything to do with alcohol.”
“I guess this is why you wanted us to come here,” Caroline replied.
“I thought we could use the space like this to get some closure.” Hillary shrugged. “I think it would do us both some good. Maybe after a meeting or two, you can find a way to move on.”
A few more people made their way into the room, took their seats, or went to grab coffee or a snack.
“Are you still going to Al-Anon meetings?” Caroline asked as the meeting facilitator moved to the front of the room.
“I am,” she replied.
“Good for you, Hill.” The woman smiled and nodded at her.
“Welcome, everyone. Let’s begin. Who would like to share first?” the facilitator asked the group.
Caroline stood up first and said, “Hi, I’m Caroline, and I’m an alcoholic.”
CHAPTER 33
Hillary called Amara back, but it had been too late; she’d already put her phone on do not disturb. Her father had called twice. Amara didn’t want to talk to him. Hillary had called a total of three times. She’d also left several text messages. Each one indicated more and more worry. When Amara had woken to them Tuesday morning, she’d done something petulant: she’d messaged Hillary that she was fine and told her she’d slept at Mark’s place. She’d known how that could be perceived, and she’d done it anyway. She went back and forth with her feelings. One moment, she felt so stupid for falling for someone who had someone else. The next moment, she couldn’t imagine Hillary lying to her like that. It was very confusing.
After leaving Mark’s apartment, she walked around the city with no destination in mind. She planned on skipping everything that day. By lunch, Hillary had called two more times. Amara had made her way to Golden Gate Park, where she sat on a bench watching people flow in and out of the botanical gardens. She ate food off one of the carts for lunch, meandered down to the beach, sat in the sand, and stared at the endless ocean.
By early afternoon, she decided to finally respond to her father’s messages by telling him she was fine, that she’d be home after her visit with Amara, whom she referred to again as Daisy in her message. She also knew she needed to talk to her girlfriend. She wanted to talk to Hillary more than anything, but she worried that if they talked, there was a chance the news she’d receive would be heartbreaking. So, instead, she wandered the city she’d called home for her entire life. It was an aimless wander – with her cell phone still on do not disturb – and one that took her through parts of the city she’d never visited before. She even decided to take a walk through the Exploratorium.
Hillary had told her about her friends and their monthly trips to the museum. Despite having lived in the city forever, Amara had been to the museum only a couple of times. Both of those times had been on school field trips. There were children running from exhibit to exhibit, enjoying the tactile nature of the museum. She watched their parents try to chase after them, and smiled at the thought of her own children running through a museum like this.
She’d always wanted at least two children. She’d pictured a little boy and a little girl. When she’d allowed herself to indulge in her fantasy, she’d pictured herself with a wife chasing after their children. Today, she allowed her fantasy to take over as she sat on a bench near the entrance of the museum. She pictured Hillary pointing at the giant tree trunk while explaining how you can tell a tree’s age by the rings inside to their five or six-year-old son. He had dark hair, like Hillary. Maybe she’d be the one to have him. Amara even pictured herself helping a small red-haired girl with light freckles dancing over her nose and cheeks poke a straw through her small juice box.
Last night came back into her mind as the fantasy blew away on the wind. Amara was standing outside the museum, overlooking the bridge, the small sailboats, and the water. She hated how she’d been ignoring Hillary’s calls, but she also didn’t know what to do. They’d agreed to go to that Al-Anon meeting together. Amara had been excited to share in something that was obviously so important to Hillary. She hadn’t expected her girlfriend to share her entire story with a new group of people, but she’d hoped Hillary would at least participate to some degree. She’d envisioned Hillary whispering in her ear about how the meeting worked, or why she chose to listen more than tell of her own pain caused by alcohol.
She’d hoped they’d hold hands throughout; maybe Hillary would give more of herself to Amara at dinner after. Amara had heard about Hillary’s mother. Hillary had told her what Amara assumed was the whole story there. She had even suggested that Amara meet her mother and the rest of her family one day, maybe during the holidays; Hillary had mentioned that during one phone conversation. The one person that had contributed to Hillary’s pain that Amara felt she knew so little about was her ex-girlfriend, Caroline. Hillary had spoken of her very briefly, and only when it was necessary. Amara knew there was still pain there. She had hope that, one day, Hillary would tell her more than just the surface of their time together. She’d hoped, actually, that last night would be the beginning of that. But Hillary had only gone to that meeting, it seemed, because they’d made plans to go.
She hadn’t participated. She had hardly acknowledged Amara’s existence. And then she was gone.
Something had definitely happened between them making plans to share in that experience together and the time of the meeting. After things had gone so wrong with her father, she’d planned to ask Hillary what had happened. She’d thought about it the whole way to Hillary’s apartment. She’d planned to tell Hillary about the conversation with her father, and that she was going to start looking for an apartment. She’d planned to tell Hillary that she’d been considering a lot of changes in her life, that it was clear what her father thought about her attraction to women, and that she wasn’t going to think about his feelings anymore. She’d been determined then. She’d been strong. She’d wanted to ask Hillary about what had happened, about how her girlfriend had sat through an hour-long meeting with hardly a word, how she’d acted when it was over, and why she’d canceled their dinner. Then, she’d seen Hillary standing very close to another woman. Her bravery had evaporated with that cheek kiss.
“Thank God,” Hillary greeted through the phone. “I’ve been worried about you since last night. I thought about driving over to your dad’s, but I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I did go by the church, though. Your car wasn’t there. Babe, where have you been? Are you okay?”
All Hillary’s questions were rambled off in rapid succession, giving Amara no time to respond to them in turn.
“I had a rough night,” she said.
“Where are you? I’m done for the day; I can meet you,” Hillary replied. “I want to talk to you about something, and I want to hear about what happened.”
“I’m going to Amara’s. I think I need to go alone,” Amara lied.
“I thought you wanted me there with you,” Hillary replied.
“Maybe it’s better if you don’t go. It’s a long drive, anyway.”
“You’re upset with me,” Hillary stated. “I’m sorry about last night. I owe you an explanation. If you don’t want me to go with you, can we at least have dinner after?”
“I’m having dinner with Amara,” she reminded.
“Then, come by after?” Hillary asked. “Amara, did you go home last night?”
“No,” Amara said. “I stayed with Mark when I couldn’t find you. I didn’t want to go home, and you weren’t home. You left me at a meeting I only attended for you, canceled our night together, and ran off without a word. I went home upset and argued with my father because of that. I thought, there’s at least one place I could go: I could go to my girlfriend’s apartment. Surely, she would have gone straight home after ditching me at the last minute. You weren’t there. So, yes, Hillary. Yes, I am upset with you.”
“Amara, I’m sorry,” Hillary breathed out. “Can I please explain?”
“Not now. Not over the phone.” Amara pulled her car over and parked on the street.
“Okay. When?”
“I don’t know,” she answered.
“Is that your car?” Hillary asked.
“No,” Amara answered without really understanding. “I’m at the restaurant already. I’m early.”
“So am I.”
Amara’s head was on a swivel then. She looked around the parking lot that was only about half-full. It was still early for the dinner rush. The other Amara wasn’t meeting her for another half-hour, but she’d left the city early and had missed traffic. She hadn’t planned on telling Hillary that she’d already arrived at the restaurant. Then, she saw her. Hillary climbed out of her car several rows over. She stared at Amara while still holding her phone to her ear.
“I’m hanging up now,” Amara said.
She clicked the screen, disconnecting their call, gathered herself and her belongings, and prepared to have an awkward conversation with the woman she loved.
◆◆◆
Hillary had spent the morning with Caroline. They’d gone to an AA meeting together, because Caroline asked her to go. She’d asked Hillary to go to a meeting with her so that she could share the story of their relationship with a group of people she trusted. Hillary had listened to Caroline tell them about how they’d been so in love before the alcohol. She took full responsibility for how she’d treated Hillary and the end of their relationship. Hillary only had to sit there and listen.
Caroline had requested, if it wasn’t too much trouble, for Hillary to join her in one of her weekly therapy sessions. She’d assured Hillary that morning that this wasn’t an effort to get her back. It was supposed to help Caroline deal with what she’d done. Hillary had agreed because she saw it as a chance for herself to heal as well. They’d parted as friends, or as close as they’d ever be to friends given their history.
Hillary had gone to campus, worked, had lunch in her office, worked throughout the afternoon, but she’d thought about Amara all day. She’d worried about her girlfriend, called several times, had driven by the church, and had even considered going inside to talk to her father. She hadn’t, because it wasn’t common for a grown woman to go to another grown woman’s father and ask how she was when, in his eyes, they were only new friends.
She’d read and reread the card Amara had handed her outside the meeting the night before. The words on the card itself were plain. The image on the front was of two birds flying above a tree. The words Amara had written, though, were important:
To my love,
You make me feel like I can fly.
Hillary had decided upon the tenth reading of the card that she needed to be more proactive. If Amara wouldn’t come to her, call her, or otherwise tell her she was okay, Hillary would go to the place she knew she’d be later that evening. She’d been given the name of the restaurant and the city where the elder Amara lived. All she’d needed was her GPS.
“I’m sorry,” Hillary said as she approached Amara’s car in the restaurant parking lot.
“For what, exactly?” Amara questioned.
The woman locked the car and leaned back against the door. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her purse was hanging over her left shoulder, and she was not prepared to have this conversation in a restaurant parking lot; Hillary could tell that much, at least.
“Something happened yesterday that came out of nowhere. I handled it wrong.”
Hillary approached her but still gave a few feet of space between them; she didn’t want to overwhelm the obviously uncomfortable woman.
“Caroline is back,” Hillary stated.
Amara’s eyes met her own for the first time for more than an instant. They were big and questioning. Her arms uncrossed and hung awkwardly at her side.
“I’m glad I’m not the only person who arrives early. Amara, it’s nice to see you again.”
Hillary turned to see an older woman standing next to a car that had just parked near Amara’s.
“Hi, Amara,” the younger Amara greeted. She turned back to look at Hillary. “This is my friend, Hillary.”
“Friend?” Hillary lowered her tone so that only her Amara could hear.
“Nice to meet you, Hillary. It’s getting kind of chilly. Should we go inside?” The older woman thumbed in the direction of the restaurant. “I made a reservation for later, but they don’t seem busy.”
“Sure.” Amara nodded. “Later,” she told Hillary in a hushed tone.
CHAPTER 34
“Your mother sat behind Thomas Lambeth for senior English,” the elder Amara continued her story. “I always sat beside her in every class where we chose our own seats.” She smiled dreamily. “Anyway, Thomas had such a crush on your mom. He offered to carry her books nearly every day. He tried to help her in gym class when we had to play basketball. Your mom was not athletic.” She chuckled. “He tried to teach her how to make a free throw a few times that I remember. He asked her out on a Friday night. Your mom had said no to him so many times before, I’m not sure how he still had the courage. He attended church on Sundays, though, and her father eventually suggested – while not actually suggesting – she go out with him.”
“He made her go out with him?” Amara asked.
“He didn’t make her; he just sugges
ted things so that it sounded like she’d make her father the happiest man in the world if she listened,” she replied. “She went out with him one Friday. I went out with a boy from our class as well. The boys were so awkward back then. I don’t know about teenage boys today, but these two, at least, spent more time talking to one another than they did to their dates.” She laughed again and took a bite from her breadstick. “We ditched them for a while, went outside, and made out behind some trees. It was so rare for her to be that open back then.” Her smiling eyes turned troubled. “Anytime I touched her, inadvertently or just because I forgot we shouldn’t be that friendly in front of people, she’d scold me. That night, though, for whatever reason, she allowed me to kiss her with the possibility of getting caught.”
“You really loved her,” Hillary stated.
She hadn’t been participating in the conversation all that much, allowing her Amara and the elder one to talk more. She’d sat there, instead, and listened while sipping her water and eating around the croutons in her salad.
“I loved her more than anything,” the woman replied.
“And she loved you,” the younger Amara stated with a small smile.
The elder Amara said nothing in reply. She looked down at her food and continued eating. Hillary tried to focus on the sounds of the other people enjoying their nights out, the clanging of the dishes in the kitchen, the smell of the food emerging from it. She didn’t want to risk saying anything else that might make Amara even more upset with her. But Amara hadn’t yet asked the questions she’d come here to ask, and the meal was almost over. The elder Amara had nearly finished her steak while the younger one had already finished her chicken. Hillary had ordered a large salad and was stealing bites here and there mainly to have something to do.
Hillary wanted to ask the older Amara about the night of the party. She knew that was what her girlfriend wanted to know: Amara hoped the elder woman would be able to tell her more about that night. She wanted to know what had driven her mother to drive when, according to her father, she so rarely did when they were together. Hillary wanted to step in and question the woman until Amara had all the answers she could possibly get. She wanted Amara to be able to move past this. She also knew, however, that this was Amara’s to handle. So, she’d leave it at that.
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