Glitter Girl

Erin Quinn O’Briant

Lit  Books

San Francisco

LIT BOOKS EDITION, JULY 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Erin Quinn O’Briant

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Lit Books, San Francisco.

This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life public places appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those places are entirely fictional. In all respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

The Library of Congress has catalogued the Lit Books edition as follows:

O’Briant, Erin Quinn

Glitter Girl/by Erin Quinn O’Briant. — 1st ed.
1. Lesbian — Fiction

2. Contemporary Women — Fiction

3. Family Life — Fiction

Lit Books ISBN: 978-0-9845813-0-6

www.litbooks.net

Published in the United States of America

For Val, with whom life sparkles

La Vista, California. December, 1996

The elder Sorens had no reason to believe this was their last Christmas with both daughters, at least in this millennium. Colleen and Harold Soren could not imagine such a thing. They really couldn’t imagine it. Unless — horrible thought, get it away — one of the girls were struck by a bus or cancer, some uncontrollable external force. Colleen and Harold limited their dark imaginings to the obvious ways a family could crumble, vehicles with faulty brakes and such, so they didn’t see what had already happened to theirs. Their daughters, 21 and 23 years old, didn’t know collapse could happen without divorce.

During future Christmases, Colleen would still trim a three-foot plastic pine with lights; Harold would still suggest they get a real tree this year, but they would decide not to kill a tree unnecessarily; Colleen would still bake a big, salty ham. She would buy gifts for both daughters, Angie and Gloria, and leave one in the top shelf of her closet. Every month, but especially in December, Colleen Soren would contemplate this Christmas, picking over the conversations, the cake, the fight. She would wonder how some piece of the day could have been different, thus creating a different outcome, or if everything that happened had to happen. Colleen and Harold Soren, secular agnostics, would spend several years pondering predestination. They never came to any conclusions, because you have to actually believe in God to believe in predestination — without Him, the theory won’t hang together.

Having brought these two women, their daughters, into the world, and fed and educated and loved them, Harold and Colleen didn’t quite know what to do next. They thought the best thing to do with grown children was to leave them alone, as they had wanted to be left alone at that age. So they lived their lives as they saw fit, and assumed their daughters would do the same, in a friendly, familial sort of way, and one day Harold and Colleen looked up to find that the younger daughter — the kinder one, the dreamy one, the one they once nicknamed Baby Buddha — had strayed right through the sliding glass doors of a small church housed in a nearby mini-mall.

Angie woke up in the dark, as she always did on Christmas morning. Sleepy and warm, she pushed back the quilt, knelt beside the double bed, clasped her hands together, and wished Jesus a heartfelt happy birthday. The words “thy Kingdom come” lingered in her mind, and she worked them into her prayer, asking for strength in doing his work here on Earth. Humming “Happy Birthday” under her breath, she slipped out of her room into the chilly morning, bedroom slippers sliding against the glossy hardwood floor as she tiptoed down the hall stairs and into the kitchen. She started a pot of coffee and opened The Joy of Cooking, the family’s old copy of the beloved cookbook, originally bound in blue cloth now faded to an aqua-gray, the red marker ribbon tucked in between the pages of her father’s pancake recipe. She turned to Vanilla Layer Cake and scanned the ingredient list. Yes, she had everything she needed, and her sister and parents wouldn’t be awake for at least a couple more hours.

Angie reveled in the cake batter, measuring and whisking, pouring, tasting. She made chocolate frosting, too, while the cake was in the oven. Her parents had refurbished their big, eat-in kitchen the year before; it was well-equipped: slick granite counter tops, an island with a hidden microwave, a double sink, new wooden cabinets. They even had a red KitchenAid mixer. It was like an advertisement for kitchens. The lights were bright and cozy in the turning-gray dawn, but Angie hardly noticed; her spirit was not in the world of up-to-date appliances. She felt alive through her body; finally, this day meant true celebration. She’d always loved Christmas. Maybe some part of her had understood how special it was, even before she heard the Word.

She sat at the kitchen table, praying for her family members to welcome Jesus into their lives, too, as the cake baked. She took the light brown layers out of the stainless steel oven at exactly the right time, and let them cool in the matching refrigerator while she tidied up the kitchen. Then Angie frosted the cake lovingly, and she was almost finished writing “Jesus Christ” in swirling icing script on the top when Gloria came in.

“Ang, Merry Christmas! I can’t believe you didn’t wake me up like you always do.” Gloria staggered in, tired but happy, wearing pink flannel pajamas with white snowmen printed on them. She rubbed her eyes. “God, it smells good in here.” The sisters hugged, then stepped away from each other. Gloria noticed a streak of something brown in Angie’s blond ponytail.

“Merry Christmas,” Angie sang, smiling hugely.

Gloria looked down at the spatula in Angie’s hand and the cake on the counter. “Hey, you made a cake! What for?”

“It’s just something some people in my church do. To celebrate Christmas. Because, you know, it can be so commercial.” Angie was having some difficulty explaining under Gloria’s puzzled gaze.

“Well, yeah, Christmas is way too commercial, but — why a cake? I don’t get it. I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it, assuming I get some.”

“It’s a birthday cake for Our Lord.”

Gloria looked at Angie quizzically. “Really?”

“That’s what Christmas is, His birthday.”

“Do a lot of people do this?”

“Some do. I just — I don’t know, I just wanted to really celebrate His birth, do something special.”

Gloria struggled with the concept. “Do you have candles for it? Are you planning to sing?” She stopped herself from asking whether there would be birthday hats, too.

“There’s one candle. I mean, I couldn’t very well put 1,996 candles on it. So I guess one is good.” Angie’s face was earnest.

Resisting the urge to crack a smile, Gloria said, “Right.” She watched her younger sister as Angie lovingly swirled frosting on the cake. “Ang, Mom is going to freak out. Seriously. The Christian thing makes her feel really pressured.”

As she finished the top of the frosting with a flourish, Angie sighed. “I know. But this is important to me. Maybe she’ll understand that.” She turned back to Gloria. “I wish you could feel as great today as I do. I pray so hard that you all will share my faith. Christmas is completely changed for me since I’ve opened my heart to Jesus. It’s such a meaningful day now. Beyond meaningful.”

Gloria poured herself a cup of coffee, then pulled a carton of half-and-half from the fridge and added a generous amount. Let’s hope this ‘heart to Jesus’ crap is over this time next year. She plopped into a chair at the shiny maple kitchen table and looked up at Angie, who was still standing at the counter. “I promise you, Ang, I love you but I am never going to feel as great as you do on Christmas. I’m happy for you if this is what you want, but I just can’t go for any of it. No offense.”

“None taken.” Angie’s face contradicted her words. She refilled her own coffee cup and took a sip.

“Look, you believe what you want to believe. That’s totally fine. But for me Christmas is a secular holiday.” Gloria mentally rolodexed through her college history classes. “Well, really it’s a pagan holiday, I
suppose,” she mused. “A modern-day solstice celebration or —”

Angie grimaced and set down her cup with a clatter. “It. Is. Not. A pagan. Holiday. This is the anniversary of the birth of our Lord and savior Jesus Christ!”

“Okay, okay! I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The sisters sat in silence, each thinking the other astonishingly obtuse. Finally, Gloria spoke. “I think we should put the cake away until later and make some pancakes before Mom and Dad get up.”

And they did.

That Christmas morning, though, Colleen and Harold were not asleep. They were sitting up in bed discussing their daughters.

“I hear them in the kitchen,” Colleen said to her husband. “I guess you know your kids are grown when they let you sleep in on Christmas morning.”

“I guess so,” Harold said absently.

“What’s wrong?”

He stroked the top of the bedspread compulsively, a sure sign he was thinking through a problem. “This Christian thing worries me. Angie seems to be getting more obsessed with it, not less.”

Colleen sighed and ran a hand through her short, silvering hair. “I know. It just makes no sense. I don’t know what this is about, what the draw is to this church.” Harold stayed silent, so she continued, “It makes you wonder why we bothered with her education, if she was going to believe this sort of foolishness. This pastor of hers isn’t just a run-of-the-mill Christian, spouting liberation theology or something, he’s a seriously conservative right-winger. And he’s working on her.”

“Yes. Right.” Harold sighed. “I don’t know if there’s anything we can do, though. She’s an adult, and she doesn’t listen to our opinion anymore. She thinks we’re heathens.” During the past few months, this had become a predictable conversation.

“Don’t I know it,” his wife answered.

They sat side by side in their king-sized bed, propped against clean cotton pillows, breath unconsciously in sync.

Harold broke the quiet first. “Gloria seems fine, though. This job at Mother Jones is a great start.”

‘It is. I wish she would find a nice girlfriend. Someone to steady her.”

He nodded. “She will. She’s got to settle down eventually.”

The conversation returned to a standstill.

“About Angie. We just have to make it clear,” Colleen eventually said, her voice edgy, “that we won’t tolerate this. We are her parents, not her converts for this preacher. She can believe what she wants, but she can’t flaunt it in our house or expect us to believe the same ridiculous things.”

Harold looked at her, worried. “Do you think that will work? Taking a hard line?”

“I do.” Colleen nodded emphatically. “I absolutely do.”

All four Sorens put gifts under the little plastic tree that year. Books, sweaters, desk accessories — the things that say, “I love you, but I didn’t really know what to get.” That afternoon, as the family sat together in the living room, Colleen looked over at her daughters. Gloria and Angie were on the sofa in their pajamas, singing along to The Grinch That Stole Christmas as they had done nearly all their lives, and Colleen thought, “Overall, we did a good job.” She went back in the kitchen to put the ham in the oven.

A few minutes later, Colleen stormed into the living room, face mottled red. She grabbed the remote control and clicked off The Grinch. “Angela Davis Soren,” she yelled, “did you use my new kitchen to make a Goddamn birthday cake for Jesus?”

San Francisco. December, 2001

(Almost Five Years Later)

“Oh my God, I am totally kicking your ass in glitter spray sales and this is a very high-traffic area and that is just ridiculous.” Tiffany, the counter manager, flounced Gloria’s way.

Gloria nodded politely but could not smile. She pulled back her shoulders to ease the clench in her chest. Gloria hated being a Beauty Advisor.

“You’ve got to pull every customer, ask everyone to try the glitter spray. There’s no reason for your sales to be this low. Also, your lipstick looks weird.”

Gloria marveled, as she often did, that she worked for someone ten years her junior. Gloria, who had been courted by LA Weekly and The New York Times Magazine, now sold glitter spray for a living. Worse still, she worked for a cosmetics line so tacky and obscure that the sales people had to hustle their customers. Surviving work each day was a hard-won triumph over humiliation. And sometimes she lost.

While she worked, she repeated a silent mantra: “I’ll only stay through Christmas. I’ll find a new job at the beginning of the year.”

Gloria checked her make-up in one of the many mirrors and fixed her lipstick. Good: the zit that had appeared on her forehead that morning wasn’t showing through the layers of concealer.

Gloria resumed her post four feet in front of the escalator that deposited Macy’s Christmas shoppers near the splashy pink and yellow Aristocrate Cosmetics counter. Techno music blasted over the speakers, drowning out the Christmas carols playing in the rest of the store. Two other Beauty Advisors were spaced evenly on either side of Gloria. All three wore the regulation prune-colored V-neck shirts and gold lamé chokers with rose-shaped appendages. The shirt was too short for one girl, who was long and thin, but it fit the other’s tiny body perfectly. Gloria’s was a little tight.

Shivering in the draft from the open doors, Gloria held the can of spray in her hand and kept her index finger on the trigger. She hoped no one she knew would see her. To each woman who stepped off the escalator, she inquired, “Would you like to try some glitter spray in your hair?”

Gloria couldn’t see the women on the escalator until they were about halfway down. When they came into her line of vision, she smiled at them. Their shoulders stiffened and they averted their eyes. Only the crazy or the uninitiated smiled back at her — some out-of-towners didn’t know that if they tried some glitter spray, they would be cheerfully forced to buy it. Beauty Advisors could be brutal.

The shoppers marched out into the streets. They’d do anything, it seemed, to get away from glitter-mongering Gloria. She understood the customers’ reactions — she avoided panhandlers herself — but it hurt to spend the whole day being avoided.

All morning she repeated, “Would you like to try some glitter spray?” to each customer. To relieve the boredom, Gloria began asking customers, “Would you like to test some glitter spray?” She hoped the word “test” would sound more clinical and official than “try.” It didn’t work. “Come try some glitter spray,” she ordered several women. The imperative didn’t draw them, either.

Tiffany rolled her eyes at Gloria and grabbed a can of glitter spray. “Watch me.” She jumped, grinning, out into a particularly dense throng and shrieked, “Try some glitter spray! It’s fun!” Tiffany was always this enthusiastic; it was annoying and amazing. Her supervisor’s youth might be some explanation, but Gloria wondered.

She watched as Tiffany paused, ducked her head, and quickly rubbed each nostril with the back of her left index finger. Then she sniffed. No wonder she can’t stand still. The gesture felt familiar; she’d probably seen Tiffany do it dozens of times without really noticing. Come to think of it, she’d seen the other Beauty Advisors sniffling and wiping their noses, too. Gloria looked over at the empty tissue dispenser on the counter. So that’s why we’re always out of Kleenex. Druggies.

Tiffany straightened up and resumed her cry. “Try some glitter!” A couple of blonde teenage girls stopped. Tiffany sprayed them and then fawned over their sparkly hair. “It’s so cute on blondes,” she told them in a confidential tone, raking her acrylic fingernails through the yellow extensions in her bleached hair. “I just love mine for parties.”

“How much is it?” the girls asked.

“It’s $18 for the can.”

Gloria knew Walgreen’s had a similar product for $1.50. “You get 500 sprays per can. I think you definitely need some of this, you look great.” Tiffany smiled, or something like it. Her eyes flitted about and the stench of aerosol lingered.

Gloria looked back at the escalator as Tiffany led her customers to the cash register. Just then an especially insensitive customer shouldered Gloria into the gift sets. Gloria staggered back against one of the tall make-up chairs and snagged her tights on a rough spot. She looked down at the new fist-sized hole the chair had ripped in her stocking. The sight of her pale skin through the jagged edges of black nylon was one degradation too many, and the tightening that was usually a prelude to tears clogged her throat. As Gloria tried to swallow them, Tiffany finished the sale and sidled over.

“You’re going to have to do better than this.”

As hard as she tried not to care about the job, her lagging sales made Gloria anxious. She liked to tell people at parties that she was a “recovering perfectionist,” but she hadn’t recovered much. Even with an emaciated, underage speed freak as her boss, even when an average day at her job was so awful that a hole in her stocking could make her cry, she wanted to do a good job.

“I’ll try, Tiffany.” Gloria resolved to look as welcoming as possible.

“Would you like to try some glitter spray in your hair?”

“Would you like to try some glitter spray in your hair?”

“Would you like to try some glitter spray in your hair? It’s really cute for parties.” No one answered.

Gloria droned on while other Aristocrate girls rang sale after sale. The tall, thin one stole at least one item from the counter every day. With a wink to Gloria, she’d slide an eye shadow into the side of her boot and say, “I’m taking advantage of my benefits package.”

Gloria took comfort that another girl’s sales were nearly as low as hers. That girl just didn’t try. She never stood in front of the counter for more than a few minutes. She ran from mirror to mirror fluffing her blonde frizz and touching up her Teal Shimmer eye shadow. She wiped down the counters, cleaned the testers, and went to the bathroom a lot. Gloria wished she had the courage to fail wholeheartedly.

Finally a fifty-something woman wearing an angora sweater and a gold cross pendant agreed to try the glitter. Relieved to have a few minutes’ break from the repetitive question, Gloria led the customer to a chair and spritzed the tiny metal flakes onto her hair. “Do you like it? I think it’s really cute on you,” Gloria lied.

The customer turned her head from side to side as she smiled at herself in the mirror. “It does look nice, doesn’t it?” She sat up a little straighter.

Gloria looked at the wrinkled skin around the customer’s eyes, her gold wire-rimmed glasses, the gray half-inch at the roots of her hair. Gloria’s grin muscles began to twitch. “It looks fantastic. Sparkles are so flattering.”

“Okay, I’ll take a can.”

“Great!” Gloria tried not to act surprised. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

The woman turned away from the mirror and squinted at Gloria intently.

Gloria’s heart thudded. Shit. Does she know who I am?

“You could be really pretty, you know.”

Thank God. Just the usual insults from a well-meaning older woman — Gloria could handle that. The woman continued, “Your face is a little round for that short hair, but you have nice eyes. I just love green eyes. Have you thought about growing your hair out? Are you a natural redhead?”

Gloria smiled. “Who’s a natural anything these days?” She dashed off to ring up the sale before the customer could change her mind. After the woman left, Gloria wrote “$18” on the otherwise blank sales log under her name. She experienced a shallow, fleeting combination of satisfaction and relief.

After the relative excitement of the sale was over, Gloria realized how tired she felt. She leaned for a moment on the counter. Should I grow my hair? No, the in-between stage would look worse. Gloria looked up to see Tiffany glaring. “If you have time to lean,” Tiffany sometimes told the Beauty Advisors, “you have time to clean.”

Gloria walked back to the front of the counter. After all, she didn’t want to get fired. Again.

“Are the fishnets too trashy?” Gloria asked Max while they waited for the buzzer that evening. Her feet still hurt from the hours she’d spent that day selling glitter, but she wore heels anyway. She hadn’t been to a party since the Gildenson debacle, and she was feeling insecure. The door buzzed and Gloria opened it. She and Max tromped together up the four flights of stairs.

“This is the Mission, honey. The fishnets are a postmodern commentary on 1950s representations of female sexuality. The earrings are trashy. Who told you to buy yellow gold?”

Gloria slid the gold hoops, which had seemed fashionably retro earlier, into her patent leather purse and adjusted her black mini skirt as they rounded the final stairway landing. She tried not to resent Max’s fashion advice. He was harsh, but he was way more critical of everyone else, including himself. Besides, he was usually right, and he loved her. A native New Yorker, he told the unvarnished truth at every opportunity.

On the landing in front of the door, Gloria stopped. “I don’t know, Max,” she whispered. “Maybe I shouldn’t go in. I’ll be the butt of a million jokes.”

“Glo, come on. You’re a hero.”

“How could that possibly be true? I’m the Monica Lewinsky of publishing.”

“You’ve got bigger balls than anyone in that flat. They wish they could do what you did. And, hey, you almost got away with it.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me I have balls. My namesake would be appalled.”

“Gloria Steinem understands metaphor.”

“Okay, true.” She took a deep breath. “My balls and I are going in.”

Gloria opened the unlocked apartment door, but she and Max were stopped by the local literati packed into the long, narrow hallway. Almost imperceptibly, partygoers rearranged themselves to make room for Gloria and Max — whether out of courtesy or disdain, Gloria couldn’t tell. Matilda’s apartment had the scruffy charm and awkward layout of most San Francisco flats: all the rooms opened off one long, narrow corridor. Fourteen-foot ceilings made the place feel drafty despite the crowd. Gloria didn’t see anyone she knew well enough to greet.

“Hi, good-looking.” A youngish, bearded poet smiled mischievously at Max. Gloria vaguely remembered that he had won an award recently — one that hadn’t been rescinded.

Gloria smiled at the poet, who ignored her. Max flashed his flirtiest smile and ran a hand through his curly black hair. “Hi yourself.” He lowered his head almost modestly, a move Gloria had seen many times. Figuring the poet would be spellbound by Max’s thick-lashed brown eyes for at least ten minutes — the length of time it usually took Max to grow restless — she kept walking. I hope I see someone who will talk to me soon.

She found the kitchen at the end of the hall. Gloria scoped out the alcohol table, concave under half-empty bottles of Jim Beam and Absolut Citron, and poured herself a plastic cup of lukewarm chardonnay. She preferred red wine, but not at parties — it stained her teeth. She downed half of her cup and poured a little more for fortification. She’d need it if her former Politic boss happened to show up.

Where is Matilda? Gloria scanned the kitchen for someone she knew. Three gorgeous, messy-haired brunettes giggled in a corner, all of them in tiny vintage-looking tops that showed their flat tummies. Gloria tried not to stare enviously. No matter what she weighed, and it wasn’t all that much, Gloria always had a belly. She knew it was wrong for her to care — she was a feminist, after all. But, truthfully, it bothered her. She noticed it was bothering her more, lately, now that she spent her days with those skinny, meth-addicted make-up girls. She tightened her stomach muscles and sucked in her gut.

The kitchen itself, she noticed, was also faux vintage. Matilda had painted it an aqua reminiscent of the fifties and stenciled red cherries along the crown molding. The potholders and towels were printed with cherries, too. Cute.

A man dressed in a silver cat suit leaned against the pantry door, thrusting his pelvis forward so that his package was on full display. She always saw him at these gatherings, dressed the same way. He was talking to a fellow with an unusually strong jaw line and a conceited air.

“My editor just called today,” announced a braying voice that Gloria recognized immediately. “He says he loves my new book.” Matilda was addressing a member of her entourage as she entered the room, large breasts first, with a trail of admirers behind her. They look so young, Gloria thought. Wide-eyed and clear-skinned. Probably Matilda’s students.

“Hi, Matilda. Great party.”

“Gloria! You made it! You look fabulous.”

“Thanks, you too.” It was true. Matilda had cut her hair into a bob and wore a cloche hat over it, like a thirties starlet. She’d also painted her lips into a heart shape. Matilda moved in for a hug, which Gloria participated in a little reluctantly.

“Did you hear? I’ve got a contract for my third book. I’m so thrilled.”

“With Foley? When is it coming out?” Gloria kept her tone light but she was getting resentful. She’d signed her first book contract with an impressive publisher just a few months ago; of course, they’d wriggled right out of it. I’ll be lucky if I ever see my name in print again.

“It’ll be the middle of next year, I don’t know how I’ll stand to wait that long! So what are you doing these days?” Matilda usually knew all the gossip and had undoubtedly heard every sordid detail of her disgraceful exit from Politic. Gloria sipped her wine and decided to lie anyway.

“I’m taking some time to write,” Gloria told her. “I’m really tapping into my creativity.” Well, she was writing when she wasn’t at Macy’s — just last week she’d sent a piece to The New Yorker under a pen name. Gloria wasn’t about to tell Matilda she hawked make-up for the French equivalent of Maybelline. It was just too embarrassing.

“What are you doing for money? It must have been awful having to give that prize money back!” Gloria wasn’t sure exactly what her title was — professor, probably — but Matilda loved to talk about her position in the English Literature department at Burns University. She had published lit crit and fiction; she had a Ph.D. While Gloria’s star had been rising, she’d never envied Matilda, but now she did. A few decent books published under her own name, a coterie of adoring students — Not a bad life.

“It was nice having the money, but I didn’t really need it.” The government does provide food stamps. Now for the outright lie: “My family has helped out.”

“Oooh.” Matilda was wide-eyed.

That’s how the trust fund rumor got started.

Gloria threaded her way through the crowd until she found the Politic editorial assistant, Andrea, lounging on a purple velvet chaise in Matilda’s living room. Andrea had a slim, handsome woman in a suit on her left.

“Gloria!” Andrea sat up a bit and held out her arms. Gloria bent over the chaise and its occupants awkwardly, giving Andrea a kiss on the cheek. “It’s great to see you. We’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Gloria said. She meant it. Because there was nowhere to sit, she knelt as gracefully as she could in front of them. “Having fun?”

Andrea looked beautiful, with her pink cheeks and curls. She was wearing a tight t-shirt emblazoned with the name of her band, Creamy. The way she was sitting, Gloria could see right up her skirt. She knew that was both deliberate and impersonal.

“Have you met Lu Magalong?” Gloria shook hands with the woman next to Andrea. Lu looked familiar.

“I suppose Matilda told you about her third book?” Andrea smiled good-naturedly and rolled her eyes.

Gloria imitated Matilda’s affected delivery: “Yes, her editor just loves it, I hear.” The three of them laughed, then Lu stood and pulled up a chair for Gloria. When Gloria sat down, Lu casually put a hand on the back of the chair next to her shoulder, and let it stay there until the warmth began to travel down Gloria’s body. Gloria smiled up at her and noticed Lu’s warm brown eyes. Lu reseated herself on the sofa.

“I feel like I’ve met you before.” Gloria leaned slightly forward so Lu could see down her blouse.

Andrea said, “Lu’s in the band, Gloria. Don’t you remember?”

Lu nodded. “I saw you at one of our shows.”

“That’s right! You’re the drummer, you’re really good. I remember now.” Gloria had asked Andrea about the sexy drummer after a show at The Nile the month before, but Andrea had said she was with someone already, and pointed to a pink-skirted blonde on the patio. Gloria said, “I think I met your girlfriend at The Nile.”

“Ex-girlfriend.” Lu smiled. “We had just broken up before that show.”

Gloria glanced over at Andrea, who was standing up to talk to someone else, leaving her almost alone with Lu. “I’m sorry to hear you broke up.” Gloria wasn’t really.

“Thanks. You’re Gloria Soren, right?”

Goddammit. I thought this was going well. Gloria sighed. “Yeah.”

“I loved that profile you did a few months back on the city supervisor. It was great.”

“Thank you.” True, the article that “won” the Gildenson was not entirely hers. But everything else she’d written for Politic was. She had adored the job and devoted herself to it. Gloria sat back in her chair and smiled. “I’d love to hear what you thought.”

“You asked the right questions. He has all these great ideas about homeless reform and health care that no one ever talks about. You did.” Lu smiled a little shyly.

“Oh. Well, thanks. Profiles are always hard, for me anyway. You never know what you’re going to get when you do an interview.” She paused, waiting for Lu to respond, and conversation suddenly stopped. Gloria tried to think of something else to say.

“How do you like playing in the band?” The question banal but unretractable.

“It’s great. Andrea has an amazing voice.”

“Yeah, she does. I loved hearing you guys play.”

“Want to come to our show Tuesday night? I can put you on the guest list.”

“That sounds fabulous.” As she smiled back at Lu, Gloria realized she had just agreed to a date.

The heat in Gloria’s apartment was broken again, so she wrapped the blankets around herself, leaving only her feet exposed. She lit a candle, as if it would dispel the cold. Lily, her fluffy black-and-white terrier, nestled on the bed, apparently unaware of the chill. Looking back on the evening’s party, Gloria was pleased to have made her re-entry into the social world without too much humiliation. She had gone home early, around midnight, with a quick hug for Max — who was still busy flirting — Lu’s phone number in hand. She had considered taking the bus, but decided at the last minute to blow $10 of her dwindling cash on a cab ride to her apartment. Any bus ride, she knew, could be too long for a woman in a short skirt after dark. Besides, it was starting to rain.

Gloria browsed her stash of nail polishes and chose Mango for her pedicure. She was more adventurous with her color choices during winter, when no one else saw her feet. Mango was actually a blaring shade of orange; she had only chosen it for its luscious name. Sliding a paper towel under her right foot, she twisted Mango’s cap off and began stroking the color on each toe. Her big toenails were really huge, like some kind of bigfoot’s. She only painted in the middle of them, leaving the sides bare, so they would look smaller from a distance. When she showered with her contacts out, she could look down at her toenails and imagine them dainty and cute.

She put the bottle of Mango aside and pulled the napkin with Lu’s phone number on it out of her purse. The handwriting was blocky and neat, the letters meticulously drawn. I’m a pariah, Gloria thought. How could she want to go out with me? She must be one of those women who seek out drama. I need to get my shit together, not find a new girlfriend. Gloria tucked the slip of paper between two books on her shelf and then went to sleep.

Saturdays sucked. All the Beauty Advisors had to work one weekend day, or sometimes two, but because Gloria was the newest, she was forced to take the hated 1 p.m. to 9 p.m. shift on Saturdays. When she arrived at 12:55, the glitter was already flying.

On weekends, the women gliding down the escalator wore more desperate expressions than those who had the leisure of shopping during the week. They were in a hurry to buy as many Christmas gifts as possible in these few hours between work, children, and chores; sometimes this made them vulnerable to the entreaties of Gloria and her cohorts.

“I bet your daughter would love to have this in her stocking!” Gloria heard the tall one chirp. “The big things right now are glitter and lip gloss.” She was leading her catch to the register, reeling her in with the prospect of a happy teenager.

Gloria was at it again, posing the same question over and over to the stream of stressed-out women. As she stood, her eyes fixed on the escalator, someone tapped her on the shoulder and said, in an unusually deep voice for a woman, “Excuse me, do you do make-overs?”

Gloria nearly hugged him when she saw it was Max, but she managed to keep cool and play along. She could spend half an hour with a customer, but she wasn’t allowed to talk to friends.

“We have some skin product I think you’ll really like. Our precision-tip concealer will be perfect for you.” Gloria stared meaningfully at a hickey on his neck.

“You’re the professional,” Max said solemnly, his mouth curling up on one side. “I put myself in your capable hands.”

Gloria was not just a failed writer; she was also good at applying make-up. As a child, she had spent hours practicing cosmetics application on her life-sized Barbie head. When she tired of that, she had convinced Angie to sit still for hours while Gloria layered her sister’s face with blushes and lipsticks. During her teen years she had studied Cosmopolitan, Seventeen, and Mademoiselle religiously. She could make pimples and hickeys disappear in a flash; she could emphasize cheekbones or give a customer’s eyes the elusive yet fashionable “smoky” shadow. She got to use her skills from time to time, in between the glitter business, and it was the only part of the job she liked. “Come with me,” she commanded Max in a professional tone. “Have a seat.”

She led him to the chair farthest from Tiffany. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tiffany watching; maybe she recognized Max from his visit two Saturdays before. Gloria smiled at her boss innocently and began cleaning her brushes with the last of the Kleenex. Once she went to work on Max’s face, they would be close enough to talk without anyone overhearing them.

“Girl,” Max said in a low tone as she swabbed his face with toner, “you are not going to believe this.”

“Something happened at the party? I knew I left too early.”

“I went home with someone afterward, which I will tell you about in a minute. But also,” he paused dramatically, “Matilda went around telling everyone you have a trust fund!”

“What?!” Gloria’s mouth sprung open and she felt Tiffany’s bossy eyes on her again. She quickly pretended she was only astonished by Max’s pores. They were enlarged.

“And she says you told her that yourself. Did you?”

“No! Why would I say that?”

“Well, what did you say?”

Gloria chose a soft, pale green pencil and began covering the hickey. “She asked me what I was doing for money, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her I work here. I mean, it’s so humiliating with her all Professor Matilda with her new book and her students trailing around after her and here I am…you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So I told her I was taking time to write and that my family was helping me. Though actually my parents aren’t helping, but maybe they would if they knew I was this broke.”

“Well, I think when you said ‘my family is helping me,’ she heard, ‘trust fund,’” Max said. “She was telling everybody.”

“Even Lu?”

“That drummer you were talking to all night? I’m sure she did. By the way, did anything happen?”

“Not really. I got her number, but I’m not ready for anything.”

Max sighed. “She was hot. You’re more exasperating than my dissertation. By the way, she looked pretty cozy with Matilda later in the evening.”

“Damn. Really?”

“I thought you didn’t want to go out with her.”

“Right, but I don’t want her to date Matilda. She’s a vulture.”

“Poor little drummer girl will have to fend for herself.”

Gloria pulled out a few tubes of concealer and swabbed a little of each on Max’s jaw line, chose the shade that matched his skin, and then wiped them all off. “Max, what do you think I should I do? I’m not such a dishonest person, but these things keep happening. Now everyone thinks I have a trust fund and in real life my dad is a retired high school principal.”

“You could play along with it. If anyone sees you here, just tell them you got a DUI and this is your community service.”

Gloria laughed quietly. “And I don’t even have a car. Well, who cares if people think I’m rich?” She carefully applied a layer of concealer to the hickey, blotted it gently, and pulled out the dusting powder. “Much worse has been said about me. Tell me about the after-party.”

Max’s hickey was invisible when he left the counter twenty minutes later. His eyebrows were perfect and his complexion flawless. Best of all, he didn’t look like he was wearing any make-up. He was off to the Men’s Store to check out the cashmere sale and the stock boys, then he and Gloria planned to meet for lunch when she got a break at three. This Saturday, she thought, is turning out better than expected.

“You could ask Matilda for a recommendation.”

Gloria and Max were splitting the cashew chicken at a hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant across from Macy’s. They chose it because it was cheap and the tourists tended to ignore the place in favor of the Cheesecake Factory.

They were discussing whether Gloria could get into a Ph.D. program at Burns. She’d fantasized off and on about returning to school ever since she graduated from college, but now a career change looked like the only way to get out of the glitter business. The English Literature program at Burns was excellent, but notoriously difficult to get into. That was partly because so many people applied, partly because it took the existing students so long to finish, and partly because the professors on the admissions committee only accepted students who vociferously supported their own opinions.

“She owes you. You published the best review she got for Cornflowers.” Most of the local critics had hated Matilda’s book of short prose, if they bothered with it at all, but Gloria’s reviewer had written about it adoringly. Gloria trusted her and published the piece. Later she discovered the woman was Matilda’s lover.

Gloria swirled a mushroom around in the chicken-and-MSG sauce with her fork. She shook the shriveled gray fungus over Max’s plate and it slid onto his rice. She found mushrooms nauseating; he loved them.

“She does owe me, but since I’ll probably never get another job in my field, she doesn’t have much use for me anymore.”

“Yeah,” Max said. Gloria wished he hadn’t agreed so quickly. “But she did invite you to her party.”

“I’m just on her distribution list. She didn’t think, ‘I can’t wait to see Gloria Soren.’ Though now that she thinks I’m rich I bet she’ll want to be friends.”

“Definitely. She’s probably planning to make you her patroness.”

Gloria knew she sounded pathetic, but she continued anyway. Max was safe. “I’m getting a lot fewer invitations these days.”

“Try talking to someone besides me.”

“You’re the only person I like.”

“No, I’m just one of the few people you feel comfortable with lately. I think Matilda’s not entirely insufferable after you get past that voice.”

Gloria looked at him skeptically. “What if she were my teacher? I’d have to call her Dr. Randall.” I might rather sell glitter for a living. She looked at her watch and began eating faster.

“No, you could still call her Matilda, but then you’d have to sleep with her,” he teased. Max was finishing up his Ph.D. in History of Critical Theory at Burns and loved to pretend he knew all the drama.

“God, Max. What a thought.” Matilda wasn’t her type at all.

Gloria looked at her watch again. “Damn, I have to get back.” She signaled for the bill. Gloria forced herself to focus on her upcoming paycheck.

“Well, you could at least email her and ask about the program.”

“I want to go to Burns so I can eat lunch with you every day,” Gloria said. “I’ll even hike all the way across campus to visit your weird department.”

“And maybe you can uncover some nuggets of literary wisdom while you’re there.”

“That too.”

When Gloria got home from work Saturday night, she changed into sweats and washed her face. As she rinsed the foaming facial cleanser from her skin, beige, pink, and black streaks of make-up swirled down the drain — a mask melting. She blotted herself dry, applied moisturizer, and sat down at her computer to book a rental car for the following weekend. She was going to see her parents for Christmas.

Gloria surfed until she found a cheap weekend deal on a crappy car, a “Kia or similar,” the website said. What’s as bad as a Kia? She typed in her credit card number and clicked “reserve.”

As she waited for the computer to finish processing her order, she thought about what Christmas with her family would be like — who would be there, and who would not. Then she began to cry.

Atlanta. Almost Christmas, 2001

Angie could see him through the church kitchen window, which looked out over the sanctuary. Jake’s cheeks and nose shone pink. His belly, which had grown bit by bit over the years she’d known him, strained against the canary-yellow “Adam and Eve, Not Adam and Steve” t-shirt he’d won the summer before at the Christian Chili Cookoff. When he’s ready to marry me, she thought with a secret smile, I’ll buy him a bigger size.

She looked down to scrub a particularly dingy teacup, then glanced up again and saw Jake’s face contorted. He must be getting to the end of the sermon. He wore that expression when he was really feeling the Lord.

Watching the passion on his usually easygoing face, she always got caught up in his love for God. She hated kitchen duty for that reason; it kept her from hearing him, but it was her turn. Angie rinsed the last cup and placed it in the drainer. She opened the kitchen door quietly, snuck down the steps, and slipped into a folding chair in the last row.

“Hellfire awaits the unsaved,” Jake warned. Angie felt her stomach knot up; talk of Hell made her queasy.

“We don’t know when Jesus is coming back, but we know He’s coming. Are you ready? Have you found Jesus?” It was one of Jake’s standard closings but the urgency of his words made Angie’s heart beat faster anyway. “Have you asked Him to come into your heart?”

“Yes, Lord,” some answered.

“Amen,” others said.

Angie remained silent as she prayed, her eyes closed. Lord Jesus, I welcome You into my heart. The familiar peaceful feeling flooded her chest, and she felt His presence. She rested with Him for a moment, relaxing into His love.

She jumped a little when she realized Jake had finished speaking; people around her were rustling around gathering up backpacks and Bibles. Angie opened her eyes and looked around at the members of her church, nearly all of them young people in jeans. They were swarming around their pastor, and he radiated warmth.

“Angie, come over for lunch.” Caitlin, the church secretary, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I made beef stew.” Caitlin lived in a house nearby with several other single female members of the church.

“Oh, I’d love to. I’ve got to finish some things here, though, and then go to the restaurant.” That was true, but also Angie didn’t quite feel comfortable around Caitlin, who had shown Angie nothing but kindness. God, please help me open my heart to her, she prayed silently for what seemed like the millionth time. Caitlin’s t-shirt featured a cartoon drawing of a mouse. Underneath it was the caption, “Yup, I’m a Lil’ Christian.”

“How terrible that they make you work on Sundays,” Caitlin’s eyes were big with sympathy.

Angie sighed. “When I have a day off, I look for another job, but there’s just nothing out there. I can’t believe how bad the economy is, with a Christian president.”

“I know it must be hard, but God put you there for a reason,” Caitlin reminded her. “You’re a witness for the Lord. I’m sure that restaurant needs one.” She smiled a little. “See you at prayer meeting tonight?”

Angie squeezed out a smile. “See you there.”

Half an hour later, Jake collapsed in the battered chair across from her desk. His light brown hair stood up on top, a sure sign he had something on his mind. “Angie, the Lord laid it on my heart to talk to you.”

She smiled at him. “I’m glad.” Angie let herself remember, for a fraction of a second, that his presence in her office wasn’t entirely the Lord’s doing, since she’d mentioned after the morning prayer circle that she’d be in her office after the service. She squelched the tiny rebellion.

“How are you?” he asked earnestly. “Are you working too hard?” A rhetorical question; she was always working.

“No harder than usual. You’re sweet to ask, though.”

“I — I want you to know that I have some plans that I think will make life easier for you. Happier, I hope.”

Angie held her breath, hardly hoping, while her pastor stared for a long half-minute at the poster taped to her office wall, a souvenir from last year’s Evangelical Church Mission conference. “I can’t tell you what they are just yet, as much as I want to, but Jesus is working in our lives. You deserve better than to live in a church basement and work fourteen hours a day.”

“You know I want to do it.” The unspoken words: for you. Angie let her breath out slowly. He wasn’t proposing yet.

“Not that we would have succeeded without you. Your commitment to the Lord’s work inspires me every day, you know that.” He smiled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled affectionately.

Angie’s cheeks felt hot. “Well. Well, okay then.”

After he left, she shrugged on her old green parka. Angie stood, tucked her little Bible into her pocket, and slipped out the side door and into the cold afternoon. The restaurant wasn’t far from the church. Angie walked along the cracked sidewalk, occasionally looking down to make sure she didn’t stumble on a root pushing through the concrete.

Some praline company had put up a billboard overnight not far from the Fluffy Biscuit. “Gloria’s Pralines — the Perfect Gift for Christmas,” the sign blared in red cursive letters. “New Orleans style! Order yours at www.GloriasPralines.com.” Angie stopped in front of the sign and stared at that name: Gloria. She felt a familiar ache her chest, and the G began to look wavy. Don’t be late, Angie told herself, and kept walking. She would find another route next time, even if she had to cut through the park that was littered with used condoms on Sunday mornings.

San Francisco. December, 2001

Gloria’s Christmas rental car turned out to be a Hyundai. Since the rental office wasn’t far from Macy’s, she’d planned to walk there when she finished her shift at seven-thirty. By then, though, her feet were killing her again. She took a cab.

The old man behind the car rental counter leered at her. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Ignoring his insinuating tone, she replied crisply, “Gloria Soren. I have a reservation.” She slid her driver’s license and credit card across the counter.

The man, who wore a gold wedding band, winked at her. “I bet you do, Gloria.”

“If you could just get me the car, please.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no need to get an attitude.” He grinned and looked at her chest. “It’s Christmas.”

And straight men wonder why no one can stand them. “Could I have the car, please?” Her tone was impatient.

“Fine, if you can’t be friendly.” He stomped off and returned with a key. Silently, he tallied up her receipt and returned her cards.

“Thanks,” Gloria said, hoping to end the encounter on a pleasant note. The man didn’t respond.

Pulling the black sedan out of the lot, Gloria braked at a stop sign. The car jerked to a halt. She pushed the accelerator and nearly ran into the car ahead of her. She was not a skilled driver in the best of circumstances, and her years in San Francisco without a car had made her even worse. Why is it so dark? Oh, the lights. Gloria flipped the headlights on.

On the way home to pick up her suitcase and her dog, Gloria stopped by Walgreen’s for some chocolate-covered cherry cordials. They felt extravagant, juicy with sweetness that made her feel this was a real holiday, not just some present-buying frenzy that required her to sell can after can of glitter. Her family had always had cherry cordials on Christmas Eve when she was a kid. She and Angie could eat as many as they wanted, just that one night. They would get high off the sugar, running and giggling through the house. That was in Georgia, before they had even thought about living in California. Back when they all drawled. Now cherry cordials reminded Gloria of what it was like to have a sister.

Like her parents, Gloria was not into the Christ part of Christmas. The lights and the songs were what she liked, and the inexplicable hope she experienced in mid-December felt wonderful. Christmas itself, though, had been a disappointment for the past several years. Gloria tried to lower her expectations every time, but she could not seem to get them low enough to stop feeling crestfallen on December 25.

To distract herself from the complications of Christmas, Gloria played her favorite mixed tapes in the car; Max had made them for various occasions: her birthday, a summer road trip to the Grand Canyon. Lily sat beside her in the passenger seat, snuffling at the heating vents and licking the inside of the window. After a while she curled up and went to sleep. Out of the corner of her eye, Gloria could see Lily’s furry feet twitching; she imagined the dog was dreaming of running along the beach. She kissed her fingertips and touched them to Lily’s head. Then she turned the music down and sang more quietly.

As she drove, she thought about the three days ahead with her parents. She intended to come back to San Francisco on Monday night, but she knew it might be Monday morning, or Sunday night. Taking the train to see them was not an option because it only came every two hours and she needed to be able to leave whenever the visit got too painful. It would just be the three of them, she and her parents, plus Lily. No Angie.

When she pulled into her parents’ driveway an hour and a half later, she could see her mother through the kitchen window of the yellow bungalow. She sat reading at the table in her navy blue plaid bathrobe. Her nearly-white hair looked damp and she was sipping from a mug — most likely her favorite Peach Pleasure organic herbal tea. Her pale skin shone with the Clinique face cream she used before bed every night. She looks so pretty. A small, tasteful Christmas tree decorated in white lights and red bows shone through the living room windows. Gloria clipped Lily’s leash on — the dog would run away at any opportunity — and hurried to the door with her suitcase, the heels of her black boots clicking on the cement walkway.

“Mom!” She called, opening the front door with her key. “I’m here!” She unleashed Lily, who wandered off to sniff the sofa.

“Hi, Gloria,” her mother called distractedly from the kitchen. Gloria walked through the living room and stood just inside the doorway of the kitchen, where her mother was still reading. “Hold on, I’m just finishing this one sentence.” A moment later, she looked up and waved her copy of Mother Jones at Gloria. “This country is really in trouble.”

“I know, Mom. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, honey.” She stood and hugged Gloria. “It’s great to see you. I wonder where your father is?”

Gloria heard his footsteps in the living room. “She’s here!” he cried joyfully as he dashed in to wrap her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest and his bristly black beard tickled the top of her head. “Now it’s Christmas,” he told her, “now that you’re here.”

Gloria inhaled his aroma of Dial soap and the vague pine smell of the little tree, or maybe it was air freshener. Her mother asked, “Do you want some tea, or cider?”

“I’ll have some tea.” Gloria sat at the maple dining table while her mother poured her a cup like her own.

Her father puttered, wiping the table, putting dishes away with his back to them, not speaking. Her mother perched across from her at the table with her eyebrows scrunched together and her mouth pursed. They’re tense, Gloria realized. They didn’t enjoy Christmas much now, she knew, but they usually pretended a little more than this. “We were just talking about Angie earlier tonight,” Harold said. “Wishing she were coming home, too.”

“Apparently she’s still following that charlatan preacher around like a puppy.” Her mother shook her head. “How a daughter of mine, named for a heroine of our time, ended up like that, I’ll never understand. Quoting St. Paul! A right-wing pro-lifer! After we worked so hard just to make abortion legal. She doesn’t know what it was like before.” This was another familiar diatribe of her mother’s. Gloria flashed back to the NOW meetings her mother used to host in their living room. The women drank coffee and talked about patriarchy for hours. Gloria’s mother added bitterly, “I bet she voted for Bush.”

Her father nodded, smiling slightly. “She probably did. Or maybe Pat Buchanan.”

I can’t listen to this. Now that she was here, Angie’s absence hurt as much as it always did. Gloria needed to think about Angie without her parents’ anger in the way. She stood. “Well, I’d better take Lily out before bed. I’m exhausted.”

Gloria pecked both her parents on the cheek, as she had done since childhood.

“Good night, Glo,” her father said.

Her mother picked up her magazine and yawned. “I’ll read in bed, if I can stay awake. Good night.”

“See you in the morning.” Gloria ushered the dog out the back door. Outside, she strolled with Lily around the edges of her parents’ big, fenced yard a few times. She watched as her parents turned out the kitchen light and moved past the living room windows to their bedroom. When she saw their bedroom light go out, she tiptoed around to the driveway and pulled the cigarettes and lighter out.

Gloria took a drag of her cigarette and blew smoke into the night. Angie. It still seemed strange that sweet Angie was the one estranged from the family. Gloria had adored her sister when they were kids, and Angie had thought Gloria the coolest big sister ever. Gloria smiled to herself, remembering how their mother had started dressing them alike when Gloria was in fourth grade and Angie in second. “It’s easier to just buy two sets of the same thing,” their mother had sighed, standing by a row of stacked turtlenecks in Belk’s department store. The girls had loved pretending to be twins. Neither could have imagined that twenty-odd years later they wouldn’t even know each other’s addresses.

After Angie stopped contacting their parents, or they stopped contacting her, Gloria got her turn to be the favorite. Before Angie disappointed them by joining a bunch of evangelists — and then wounded them by repeatedly begging them to “come to Christ before it’s too late” — they’d considered Gloria the problem child. She baffled them: multicolored hair; slutty, ripped-up clothes; girly boyfriends and, later, butch girlfriends; joints and mysterious pills stashed in her underwear drawer; nights out way past curfew.

Angie had danced ballet beautifully, kept her natural hair color, and was always in bed by 10 p.m. She had nice friends, like Meg. The one boy she dated was so nervously polite, and brought her home so consistently early and unmussed, that Gloria wondered how she’d even managed to get pregnant. Angie had never told her that part — what happened, or why she didn’t get birth control pills at Planned Parenthood as Gloria had done at fifteen.

After Angie had left their family for Jesus, their parents turned their attention to Gloria. They became her biggest fans. They wrote checks to Parents, Friends, and Families of Lesbians and Gays and emailed to let her know the amount they’d donated. Her parents bragged to their neighbors about their daughter, the magazine editor in San Francisco. In the year after they severed ties with Angie, they’d said “I love you” to Gloria more times than they had during her childhood and adolescence combined. They even showed up at her doorstep occasionally during a trip into the city — now that her father was retired, they sometimes drove to San Francisco just for dinner and a walk. As far as Gloria could tell, they rarely mentioned their other daughter at all. Only at Christmas.

Gloria puffed on her cigarette and tried, for what could have been the thousandth time, to consider Angie’s point of view. From a born again Christian’s perspective, as Gloria understood it, her sister’s actions had been heroic. Angie had tried to save her family; she wanted them all to go to heaven with her. Gloria had to admit that Angie seemed sincere in her faith. When Gloria put aside, for a moment, the self-righteous idiocy of the doctrine, she was touched that Angie had tried so hard. They had all rejected Angie for her efforts without really considering her position. Imagining Angie finding her own letters in the mail marked “Gloria Soren not at this address,” Gloria knew they had all failed Angie.

She sat outside smoking until she heard the church bells up the street chime midnight. Then she and Lily went to bed.

La Vista, California. June, 1991

Angie’s parents and sister were thrilled to be out of Georgia, away from hicks, heat, and zealots. None of them, including Angie, had been back since they’d moved away five years before. There was no one to visit; the grandparents were dead except for her mom’s mom, who had moved with them and now lived in a condo complex with an ocean view a few miles up the coast. Five years of adolescence had changed Angie’s old friends beyond recognition. Angie sat on the low stone wall overlooking the beach two blocks from her house. The whitish gray fog above her glowed as it did when the sun was about to burst through, and waves slid back and forth over the beach. It was beautiful, but it had never quite been home.

If she had this baby, it would be a Californian. She put a hand on her abdomen. Angie tried to picture the translucent little bundle of cells inside her. She knew she shouldn’t think of it as a baby, or a pre-baby — no way could she keep it at sixteen. Hi, little one, she said silently and smiled. Her belly felt warm under her hand and she imagined the cells had smiled back. Angie pictured herself big and pregnant; she thought of holding a baby that looked like her and Stephen.

A lot of girls at school had had abortions. They talked about it in the bathroom between classes — some crying, others putting on makeup and pretending not to care. They said it hurt. Angie knew, as she pictured whatever was growing inside her, that she did not want an abortion. She didn’t think she could be a mother yet, either, but she didn’t want this embryo sucked or scraped out. She knew, in the deepest part of her being, that she couldn’t stand the ways the pulling would hurt.

Angie had fallen for Stephen as soon as he sauntered into tenth grade homeroom. He flashed her his half-smile before he sat down in the desk in front of her, and she spent the entire forty-minute class longing to touch the little black hairs on the back of his neck. He’d invited her to the movies a few days later. She was thrilled; she couldn’t believe he’d picked her out of all the girls who drooled over him. They’d laughed and talked and made out in his parents’ basement rec room for months. Then, one night, they did more than make out. Anticlimactic, slightly painful, but nice. Maybe it was his first time, too.

Stephen didn’t call her the next day. When she called him that night, his mother said he wasn’t home. Then he wasn’t in school on Monday, and he still didn’t call. She tried again that night; he couldn’t come to the phone. He came back to school on Tuesday. He smiled at her and walked with her in the halls as usual, but he didn’t explain his absence, and he didn’t kiss her when he dropped her off at her house after school. Angie spent the weekend with her regret.

Meg called on Sunday during dinner. Angie had been avoiding her best friend, not wanting to admit her fears. Gloria dashed from the table to answer the phone. “Hello? Oh. Hi, Meg,” she sighed, clearly disappointed the call was not for her.

Angie shook her head at Gloria and mouthed, I’m not here. “Um, Angie’s eating right now. Can she call you back?” Gloria paused. “Are you sure? I mean, she can just call you back. Um, okay.” She shrugged and put her hand over the receiver. “She says it’s really important.”

That’s weird. Meg was rarely pushy. Angie nodded and pulled her napkin off her lap. “Okay,” she said, placing the napkin beside her plate. “I’ll pick up the phone in my room.”

“Girls,” their mother said sharply, “we’re not finished with dinner. I expect you to eat what I cook for you.”

“Mom, don’t be like that.” Gloria rolled her eyes. “Meg said it was important.”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way.” Their father’s eyes sparked with anger.

Gloria put down her fork. “Don’t talk to me that way. Jesus, Dad. I didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Angie stood up. “I’d better find out what’s so important. I’ll eat everything, I promise.”

Her mother nodded. “Okay, honey.” As Angie walked down the hall, she heard her mother telling Gloria to “watch that tone.” Angie picked up the phone next to her bed. “Meg?”

“Hi, Angie. I’m sorry, I know you’re eating dinner.”

“It’s okay. Hold on.” Angie put the phone to her chest and yelled, “Glo, hang up!”

“Okay!” Gloria called. Angie put the phone to her ear. She heard Gloria’s muffled voice saying, “You two are really unreasonable.” Then the phone clicked and the line was silent.

“What’s wrong?” Angie asked, sitting down on her bed.

Meg didn’t respond right away. Finally she said, “Well, I found out something that I thought you should know before school tomorrow.”

Angie sat as still as she could. She could tell by the tone of Meg’s voice that her next words, whatever they were, would hurt.

“Remember how I told you I was going to a meeting of that new gay-straight alliance today? Because I want to be supportive?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, a few people showed up. Not many.” She stopped. “Stephen was there.”

Sometimes at night Angie wrapped herself in her blankets and curled up in the corner of her bed against the wall. She sobbed until she fell asleep, then woke at 3 a.m. cramped and miserable, her face stiff with dried tears and snot. In the mornings she slipped into the bathroom across the hall from her bedroom and showered. That way, when she came down to have breakfast with her parents, no one knew how bad her night had been.

She and Stephen didn’t even talk after he came out. He wouldn’t look her in the eye at school, and just the sight of him at his locker nearly choked her. She wanted to confront him, but she didn’t know what to say. Had something about her made him gay? She wondered if Stephen thought she was gross.

Gloria was busy planning her high school graduation party. All the wild, cool kids who intimidated Angie were coming, and Gloria didn’t seem to have time for her sister’s heartbreak. The night before Gloria’s graduation, Angie knocked on her sister’s bedroom door. Behind it, Angie could hear the Violent Femmes bleating, “Add it up! Add it up!”

“Yeah?” Gloria called over the music.

“Can I come in?”

Gloria opened the door. “Yeah. I’m just making a tape for my party.” She tossed her newly purple hair out of her eyes and stepped back to allow Angie into her clothing-strewn room.

Angie plopped down on Gloria’s orange beanbag chair. “Sounds like it’ll be fun.”

“Yeah.” Gloria grinned. “I’m totally excited. Check this out.” She opened her closet door and pulled out a gallon bottle of Bacardi. “A girl from school’s older sister bought it as a graduation gift. It’s for the punch.”

Angie nodded. “Wow, great.” She tried to sound enthusiastic.

“So, what’s up?” Gloria asked. “You’re usually asleep by now.”

The Femmes sang, “Daaay…after daaay…I get aaangry…and I will saaay…”

“I just…” Angie stopped. She looked at Gloria, who had put down the huge bottle of rum and was practicing spastic dance moves in front of her full-length mirror. “I just wanted to say, you know, congratulations.” Angie stood.

“Thanks.” Gloria stopped dancing and smiled at her. “That’s really sweet.”

Angie stepped toward the door. “Sure. Well, goodnight.”

Gloria returned to the mirror. “Goodnight! Close the door behind you, okay?”

The next day, her mother asked Angie where Stephen had been lately. Angie shrugged and said, “We’re just friends now.” She wished her mother would ask again — so Angie would be forced to give her the real answer — but she didn’t. Two days after that, Gloria left for a pre-college session in San Francisco.

Glo, I wish you were here, Angie thought, still staring out at the ocean, avoiding the sky’s glare. You’d know what to do. Angie knew her sister wasn’t coming back; Gloria had gone to live a big life in the city and it didn’t include her quiet younger sister, but Angie wished Gloria would come sit next to her on the stone wall, look at the ocean and talk it through: Did the rubber break? Is something wrong with her? Angie wanted to yell, “I want my sister!” like a two-year-old left with a mean babysitter. She didn’t do that, though. She just sat on the wall, crying and wishing for Gloria and trying not to think about what would happen next.

When Angie finally stood up, the backs of her legs itched where the wall’s stones and concrete had pressed into her flesh. She felt the rippled indentations with her fingertips as she brushed the sand off her shorts and legs. Her skin felt more plastic than person.

She walked home slowly. She didn’t know what she would do when she got there, but the beach was filling up with families and couples carrying colorful towels and folding nylon camp chairs. Their smiles were unbearable. The final fog had cleared and a bare turquoise sky glared. As she walked, Angie didn’t look at the familiar wooden houses on either side of the street or the people near her. She stared down at the sidewalk, watching her own feet march after one another. The feet stopped beside the small gate in front of her house. Angie passed through the gate, closing it behind her. She made her way along the short concrete walk and up the four steps to the porch. When she got to the top of the steps, she looked up for the first time since she’d left the wall. Angie was surprised to see her mother standing in the doorway. She was horrified to see the positive pregnancy test in her mother’s hand.

La Vista, California. December 2001

When she woke up on Christmas morning, Gloria’s back felt stiff from her parents’ ultra-firm mattress. She stretched and looked around at the poster paper, dowel rods, tape, and markers propped in one corner of the room. Three huge coffee urns lined the wall. A folding table leaned against the bed’s footboard. Gloria had been too tired the night before to notice that her old bedroom was now her mother’s activism supply closet. In the morning light, she could see the dark squares and rectangles on the yellow walls where her band posters had hung. I can’t believe she took them down. The voice in her head sounded about twelve years old.

Something smelled good. Her father was probably making pancakes and bacon and coffee. Rolling over, Gloria scratched behind Lily’s ears. “Hi, puppy.” Lily stood and shook herself off. Clearly, she did not wish to lollygag. “All right, come on.” Gloria slid out of bed and opened the closet. The missing photos were stacked inside, along with a garbage bag full of old clothes and her Oscar the Grouch slippers from high school. After she put on the slippers and her white terrycloth bathrobe, she opened the bedroom door. Lily bounded out.

“Good morning,” her mother said with a smile when Gloria entered the kitchen. Holding a coffee cup in one hand, she was seated in her favorite cushiony green chair. She was dressed in jeans and a red turtleneck already, though the microwave read only nine o’clock. “Merry Christmas.”

So they’re going to pretend nobody’s upset about Angie. Okay by me. Smiling back, Gloria replied, “Merry Christmas.” Gloria opened the back door and let Lily out.

“Glo, there’s coffee over there in the thermos. It’s your mom’s new favorite, she made it for you. Breakfast in a minute.” Her father was wearing his blue and white striped apron, busily flipping pancakes on the electric griddle he’d used all her life. “I assume you’d like pancakes?” His eyes twinkled.

“Of course. Thank you so much. This is nice.” She yawned as she poured herself a cup of coffee and took a place at the table. “It’s so quiet here, not like my apartment at all.”

“So, Gloria, how’s the magazine business?” It was the same question her dad always asked.

Here goes. “Politic fired me over the award thing.” Her father slid a plate of pancakes in front of her and pulled a bottle of Vermont maple syrup out of the pantry. Gloria sipped her coffee and avoided her mother’s eyes. “It happened a couple of months ago. Maybe they were right. I mean, I know we’ve been over this before, but I didn’t ask them to nominate me for some famous prize — ”

“You’re supposed to have written everything that has your byline on it.” Her mother’s voice was hard.

“I know! Of course I know that. But that assistant wasn’t even working there anymore, she’d moved to Australia and I couldn’t get in touch with her. Anyway, I have a new job.”

“You do?” Her parents looked at her expectantly, bright-faced. They didn’t seem to understand that the plagiarism fiasco had ruined her career. “A good one?”

“Not really. I took a job at Macy’s to pay the bills.”

Gloria’s parents both became still as they stared at her. Lowering her eyes to her plate, Gloria began eating her pancakes.

Gloria’s mother broke the silence. “What happened to Slate? They offered you a job.” She paused. “Well, New York is cold in the winter, but you can’t be making enough money at Macy’s.”

“No one wants to hire me anymore, Mom. My career as a writer is over.”

Her father asked, “How long have you been at Macy’s?”

“A few weeks. I was waiting to tell you in person.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” he said. “This must have been hard.”

Hearing the sympathy in her father’s voice, Gloria felt weepy.

“God.” Her mother shook her head. “Jesus, Gloria. How could you let this happen? What an embarrassment.”

“I don’t know. I made a mistake, and I got caught in a big way.” The top of Gloria’s head ached. She felt her mother’s disappointment descending upon her; she had always hated it and arguing had never helped. “But I’m going back to school soon,” she announced, surprising herself as much as anyone. “I got into Burns University’s Ph.D. program in English Literature starting this fall. So the job at Macy’s is just temporary.”

Gloria watched as her father’s face brightened. “Glo, why didn’t you say so? That’s wonderful news!”

“Oh, Gloria.” Her mother was beaming. “We’re so proud of you.” Her smile dimmed a little. “I wish I’d had an opportunity like that. Good for you.”

“I hear that’s a very hard program to get into,” Gloria’s father said.

“Yes, it is,” Gloria agreed. “Very difficult. They only let in twelve students a year.”

“And you’re one of them,” her father crowed. “Our smart daughter.”

Gloria smiled and continued eating her pancakes. She thought, I guess I’d better call Matilda. She took a deep breath between bites and tried not to panic.

Gloria pulled the white chenille bedspread smooth and fluffed the pillows. Angie, she remembered, had never been too interested in what presents she got on Christmas morning, but she had loved the surprise of opening the packages. She usually woke Gloria and their parents up at six and led them all stumbling into the living room. The tree wasn’t tiny and tasteful then, but seven feet tall and gaudy with homemade ornaments. Their parents always stayed up late on Christmas Eve stuffing the red-and-white striped stockings so that they overflowed with candy and little gifts in the morning. Remembering, Gloria saw Angie’s thrilled six-year-old face as though her sister were in front of her. She sat down on the bed, wishing she could hold that memory fast by sitting still.

Gloria opened the suitcase on the luggage stand and pulled out her parents’ gifts. Hope these are okay. They were probably not right on the mark, but not wildly off, either. She picked up the presents, checked the bathroom mirror to make sure her tear streaks weren’t visible, and went back into the kitchen. Her parents were waiting at the table with their gifts for her and each other. From the shape of the packages, Gloria could tell they’d all gotten books.

First Harold presented Colleen with The Progressive Activist’s Survival Guide and a silver necklace. “Thank you, honey,” Colleen said, kissing him on the cheek. “I love it.” Gloria knew she meant the book, not the necklace. Gloria’s mother leafed through the pages. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen this before. It’s great,” she said. “Is it new?”

Harold smiled. “It just came out. There was an article about it in the paper, but I made sure you didn’t see it.”

“Harry!” She swatted his arm playfully. “I can’t believe you did that.” She was pink with pleasure.

Gloria and her dad smiled at each other.

“Look, there’s a whole chapter on abortion rights strategies — oh, and a list of anti-choice activists and churches in different states. This will be so helpful.” Gloria watched as her mother scanned the pages, nodding and smiling.

Then Colleen’s eyes stopped short, halfway down a page, and her face fell. She looked up at Gloria and Harold. “Angie’s in here.” She dropped the book onto the table, open to the page with her daughter’s photograph on it. Angie’s face smiled out at them. “She’s listed as the contact person for an anti-choice church in Atlanta.”

Their Christmas cheer fizzled.

Gloria and her father both leaned in to see: sure enough, Angela D. Soren. A blurb under her name said the church was relatively new but the members had already become active in supporting restrictions on abortion in Georgia. The Sorens all knew Angie’d helped found a church in Georgia — she’d told them that much when she left California. They’d hardly heard from her since.

Colleen frowned. “I just don’t get it. Her beliefs aside, she’s actively trying to stop other women from getting abortions. It’s unconscionable.”

“I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised,” Gloria’s father said. “That is what she believes.” He leaned down to look more closely at the listing.

“Jesus Christ,” Colleen said, “who does she think she is? She had an abortion, for God’s sake.”

Harold looked up, his face pale. “This might explain it.” His finger, tracing the lines in the book, shook slightly as he began reading. “Soren says her passion for pro-life activism stems from an unwanted abortion at age sixteen.”

Colleen recoiled. “What? Unwanted — that’s not true. It’s not true. How dare she?” She banged her fist on the table.

Harold read the passage again under his breath, then looked up at his wife. “How could she say this? I’m just — I’m just — horrified.”

Gloria’s parents stared at each other, mouths open, for a long minute. Then, as if on cue, they turned to her. “Glo,” Harold said, “you don’t seem surprised.”

Gloria looked at him and then at Colleen. “It is upsetting, but no, I’m not surprised. I thought you knew she felt that way.”

“You knew?” Her parents stared.

“Yeah, we talked about it a few times. She felt strongly about it by the time she joined the church.”

“She was sixteen! Besides, who do you think would have had to take care of that baby — her? No, it would have been me.” Gloria’s mother tapped her own chest for emphasis. “I wasn’t going to raise any more.” The lines of her mother’s mouth looked rigid and angry, but Gloria saw fear in her eyes. Harold pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if to block out this news.

“I don’t think she thought you should raise the baby — she just didn’t want to abort the pregnancy.” Gloria shifted in her seat. “She told me she was too confused and upset to say anything. But she says she told you she wasn’t sure, and you pressured her. You and Dad.”

“My God —” Harold whispered.

“She felt she had lost her integrity that day, that’s how she put it, but that her faith in God had restored her. Made her whole again.”

Her mother banged the table again, now less forcefully. “This can’t be true. This whole conversion, tearing apart our family, was about the abortion?”

Gloria picked at a shred of red wrapping paper. “Look, if it had been me, I would have had an abortion and been grateful to have parents who supported me. I think she was lucky to have the option.” Gloria glanced at her father. He was lowering his hands from his eyes.

Harold leaned forward urgently. “Colleen, did Angie say yes to that abortion?”

His wife backed away from him. “She didn’t say no. She went with us.”

“But did she ever — did she actually say yes, this is what I want? Did she say yes?”

“Harold. No. But no one forced her into an abortion.”

“I don’t know, Colleen.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Get off your high horse, Harold. That abortion gave her the freedom she has now, which she’s using to destroy other women’s rights.” Colleen stood, knocking over her chair.

He stood up, too, less violently. “Talk about a high horse! You made her miserable about her religion, and you were so sure that was the way to bring her back into the family. Well, look at us now, Colleen! As far as I’m concerned, Angie can organize against abortion if she wants to. I disagree, but at least she speaks from experience. She can do whatever she damn well pleases.” Harold paused, breathing heavily.

The moment stretched taut as Gloria watched this rare fight, fascinated and a little afraid. Harold and Colleen no longer seemed to notice her. Colleen said, “You think I’m going to call her up and tell her to stop opposing abortions? For God’s sake, Harold. Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t care what she thinks, she was lucky.” She yelled, “A lot luckier than me!”

Harold shot her mother a look. Gloria recognized it as the one from her childhood that meant Stop right there. Silence struck.

“What do you mean?” Gloria asked her mother, confused. Colleen looked down, apparently surprised to find her elder daughter still sitting there. “You wanted an abortion?”

Their faces answered her. Gloria asked, “Did you have one before you married Dad?”

Her mother’s anger was gone. “No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t.”

Gloria understood. Flatly, she said, “You were pregnant with me the year before it became legal.”

Neither of her parents would meet her eyes. “Did you want an abortion when you were pregnant with me? Is that it?” She didn’t answer. “Dad?”

Her father nodded almost imperceptibly.

“I thought you married young because you wanted kids. That’s what you always told me.” For the moment, confusion trumped pain.

“We were barely out of college, Gloria, and we weren’t married yet,” her mother said. “We were going into the Peace Corps — and right before we were supposed to leave we found out I was pregnant.”

“Of course,” Gloria said bitterly. “No wonder you didn’t go to grad school, as you’ve reminded me about a hundred thousand times. And you’ve never bothered to hide the fact that you’re not so fond of motherhood.”

“Dammit, Gloria, I tried.” Gloria’s mother glared and her voice rose again. “I raised you for eighteen years. What more did you want?”

Rage rumbled up through Gloria’s abdomen, red and pure. She stood up, eye to eye with her mother. “I wanted you to WANT to, Mother! I wanted a little enthusiasm!”

Colleen and Harold each took a step back. All three waited; Gloria’s rage retracted a little.

She said evenly, “I’d like to know what happened. You couldn’t find anyone to do it?”

“It wasn’t safe,” Harold said miserably, sitting back down at the table. Gloria and Colleen sat, too. Gloria thought of how much he had worried about car accidents and kidnappers. Of course he wouldn’t have wanted his future wife to have an illegal abortion. “We both knew women who had…complications.”

“Like what?” Gloria asked, voice hard.

He cleared his throat. “Well, one woman we knew died, and there was another one who couldn’t have any more children. We wanted to get married eventually and start a family. And since you were on the way, we went ahead and had you.” He put his hand over Gloria’s. “I don’t regret it.”

Colleen took Gloria’s other hand. “Glo, I’m glad I got you. I’m glad you’re my daughter, and I do love you even though I was not especially cut out for motherhood. But, you’re right, having a baby too early was a burden. Five years, ten years would have made such a difference. I would have been a better mother that way.”

Gloria looked down at the book lying forgotten on the table. Angie seemed to peer back at her. Gloria squeezed her parents’ hands and then let them go. She pulled the book toward her; she looked at Colleen, then Harold. “I’m going to go see Angie.”

“You’re going to call the church?” Her father’s eyebrows skeptical.

“I’d rather not,” Gloria admitted. “But if I have to, I will. This family split is craziness. I’m going to go try to make up.”

Harold leaned back in his chair. “You may be able to find Angie at work. We saw Angie’s old friend Meg a few months ago. Remember her?”

Gloria nodded.

He continued, “She told us she’d seen Angie. She was in Atlanta on a business trip, and she went to a restaurant — what was it called?” He looked at Colleen.

“Something about biscuits.”

“That’s right, it was called The Fluffy Biscuit. I remembered because it was such an odd name, and of course we assumed Angie worked at the church.”

Colleen took up the story. “Right, it was the Fluffy Biscuit, and Meg said the girl who brought their water turned out to be Angie. She said Angie was happy to see her and invited her to church.”

“Anyway, Glo,” Harold shrugged, “if you don’t want to call her at the church, you could try the restaurant.”

Gloria smiled. “Oh, I’m not going to call. I’m going to go see her in person.”

San Francisco. After Christmas, Still 2001

When Gloria returned to work, the glitter was gone. The factory in Thailand where glitter spray was made — Gloria had been telling customers the stuff was French — had burned down the night of Christmas Eve. She imagined the fire and glitter exploding against a dark sky. Or maybe it would have been a blue sky, with the time change. The extra stock had all been re-routed to the counters in Los Angeles, Tiffany told Gloria, where glitter was really catching on.

“How did the fire happen?” she asked Tiffany, noticing that her boss’s eyelashes were more black-encrusted than usual. “Was anyone hurt?”

Tiffany stared back at her blankly. “How would I know? All I can tell you is, there’s no more glitter and there won’t be any for a while. So we’re going to start pushing the lengthening mascara.”

“Okay.”

“You’re going to have to ask every customer to try on the mascara,” Tiffany instructed. “And you’ve got to start wearing it yourself.”

“Okay,” Gloria repeated as agreeably as she could manage.

Tiffany sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Look, I know this job hasn’t been all that fun so far.”

Gloria was too surprised to respond. She had imagined Tiffany never noticed anyone’s feelings but her own.

“I can tell you’re good at doing make-up, okay, so maybe this will work better for you. This is your chance.”

“Oh, well. Thanks.”

Gloria retreated to the employee bathroom with her cosmetic brushes and the mascara, which was packaged in a long, double-ended tube. She stationed herself in front of the cleanest mirror and read the mascara’s unusually complicated instructions. Then Gloria removed her own mascara with a tissue and dipped her applicator brush into the white end of the tube. Squinting a little, she applied the viscous white undercoat to her lashes. She stuck a second applicator in the other end of the tube, pulled it out, and lacquered over the white base coat with the black mascara, paying special attention to the outer lashes. They looked as clumpy as Tiffany’s. Gloria pulled out a lash comb and quickly smoothed each eyelash individually, lifting and separating it from the ones around it. If she waited until the mascara was dry, brushing the lashes would only make them flake. During that three seconds while they were a little wet, though, she could mold them however she wanted.

Gloria stepped back to look at her handiwork. So Bette Davis.

When Gloria returned to the counter, Tiffany had gathered all the Beauty Advisors around her. “Lancôme’s mascara is good, but it’s volumizing, not lengthening,” she was explaining. “And ours is $5 less than theirs.”

The Beauty Advisors nodded vaguely. Gloria saw one of them surreptitiously looking over the lip gloss display. Hoping something’s missing so she can escape to the stock room, Gloria thought resentfully. Behind Tiffany’s back, the tall one pretended to poke herself in the eye with a mascara wand. Gloria winked, then looked down at the floor so she wouldn’t laugh.

“Okay, girls, let’s go sell some mascara!” Brimming with false cheer, Tiffany passed out testers and shooed the Beauty Advisors off.

Gloria went to her usual spot, holding her tester like a little baton as she twirled it between her fingers. It felt strange not to have a can in hand and Gloria missed the predictability of the glitter. So this is my chance to do better, she thought. Not likely on the Tuesday after Christmas. The store was full of people asking directions to the returns department. Resigned, she approached a stray shopper. “Would you like to try our lengthening mascara?”

Her mouth already forming the word “no,” the customer started to walk past. Then, to Gloria’s shock, the woman stopped and peered intently at Gloria. “If it’ll make my eyelashes look like yours, I will. Or are those fake?”

“No, they’re not fake.” Gloria was a little offended at the suggestion, though she knew lots of make-up girls wore fake lashes. I can’t be defensive. “I’m actually wearing the lengthening mascara right now. Come right this way and I’ll put some on you.”

Gloria led her to a chair. Moving with professional swiftness, she used the last of the tissues to remove the customer’s old mascara. “What kind do you usually use?”

“Lancôme. But it tends to run.”

“Well, this mascara really stays put,” Gloria told her, having no idea whether that was true or not but hoping against hope for a sale. “And it’s $5 less than Lancôme’s.” Maybe there was a point to Tiffany’s little lecture, after all. Gloria pulled out some disposable plastic applicators, the cosmetics department’s nod to the dangers of bacterial infection.

Gloria gently placed her hand on the side of the customer’s face, smoothing down the little wrinkles around the woman’s eyes with her thumb. “Look up for me,” she said softly. She and her coworkers all said that to customers. They sounded like school nurses conducting routine vision tests.

The woman obeyed like a child, fixing her eyes on the ceiling as Gloria brushed on the white goo, then covered the white layer in dark brown. Gloria bit her lip as she carefully arranged each lash with the miniature comb. Then she handed her customer a mirror. “What do you think?”

“Oh my God!” The woman looked at Gloria, smiling, then back at her reflection. “They’re so long.” She inspected Gloria’s eyelashes. “They do look like yours.”

“It’s all in the mascara.” The customer flapped her eyelids up and down, ogling herself. Gloria added, “Should I get you one in that color?”

“Definitely. And one for my daughter. She likes black.”

Gloria gloated a little as she selected the two tubes from the mascara display and brought them to her customer. I’m the first one to make a sale, she told herself proudly. The woman tore herself away from the mirror with a backward glance and handed Gloria her credit card. She followed Gloria to the register.

Gloria rang up the sale and swiped the credit card through the machine. “Your total is $33.90.”

“Best thirty-something dollars I’ve spent lately,” the woman laughed. “My daughter’s going to love this.”

Gloria handed her a small pink Aristocrate shopping bag containing the mascaras and receipt. “By the way, I’m Gloria,” she told the customer. It was the first time she’d introduced herself to anyone but other employees at Macy’s. “Nice to meet you,” the woman said. “I guess you already know my name from the card.”

“Right, of course.” In her giddiness over making a sale, Gloria had barely glanced at the name. “Well, have a good day.” Gloria grinned at her.

“I’ll see you again soon!” The woman called over her shoulder.

That was fun, Gloria thought, as she wrote down her sale. I finally did something right around here. She looked up, smiling. Tiffany was watching her, and for once she didn’t look pissed.

The elevator was gliding to the staff cafeteria on the ninth floor when Gloria’s purse began to vibrate. She clicked it open and pulled out her cell phone. The caller ID box read “Private Name, Private Number.” Probably Max, the only person she knew who entertained conspiracy theories about Caller ID.

“Max?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I’m psychic. Hey, you’ll never believe this.” She told him about her mascara success that day.

“Congratulations, glitter girl. You’ve successfully participated in corporate capitalism.” His tone was teasing, but pleased, too.

“I feel a little silly. I mean, it’s so unimportant compared to what I used to do for work.”

“Maybe, but it’s your job, so why not do it well?”

“God, I haven’t seen you in days. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. How did it go with the folks?”

“It’s been better.”

Max laughed as she told him about the Burns lie, but he stopped when she brought up the book with the photo of Angie. “Whoa.”

“Right. I’m thinking of going to see her.”

“Why don’t you just call?”

“I think it would be better if I went in person. I want to see her, you know? Not talk on the phone. I miss her. Her beliefs are insane, but we used to be close even though we were really different.”

“You should definitely go,” Max told her. “You shouldn’t cut her off her just because she’s in some Christian cult. That’s how most families treat their queer kids.” His voice cracked, just slightly, and Gloria knew he was remembering the three years he spent in boarding school after his parents caught him kissing a boy.

“I know it’s a role reversal, the queer and the Christian.” Gloria sighed. “She is a homophobic zealot, though. Or was. It was awful to be around her, knowing she was judging me and our parents, and then getting those letters about Jesus loving ex-gays.”

“Not an endearing approach, I agree.”

“And I’m not looking forward to the actual trip. You know how I hate flying.”

Max paused before he responded. “Well, all right.”

“All right what?”

“All right, I’ll come with you. When do you want to go?”

“Really?” Gloria was touched. “That would be great. I was thinking soon, maybe in a couple of weeks. Whenever we can get cheap tickets.”

“I’ll see if I can get some valium, and I’ll look for tickets on Orbitz today,” Max said. “I’ve got to find some use for the university’s computer system besides Instant Message and porn.”

Gloria smiled. “You’re the best, Max. I’ll call you later, okay?”

She pushed the “end” button and scrolled through the cell phone’s electronic directory until she found Matilda’s number. Looking around to make sure no one could hear, she practiced her first line a few times under her breath. When her intonation felt confident yet friendly, she hit “send” and waited for the call to connect.

“Hi Matilda, it’s Gloria Soren.”

“Gloria! What a surprise.”

She sounds glad to hear from me. “I had so much fun at your party.” Gloria had planned this little compliment. “It was really a great crowd.”

“Oh, thanks. It was great to see you.”

“You, too!” They both paused awkwardly.

“I’ve been thinking about making a big change, and it would be great to talk to you about it.” Gloria said. “I think I’d like to get my Ph.D. in Literature at Burns.”

“Really?” On the other end of the line, Matilda seemed to be thinking, or maybe just distracted. “I’d love to talk to you about it. Where are you now?”

Gloria hadn’t expected that. “Um, I’m downtown.”

“At Macy’s?”

“Yes.” She felt deflated. Someone must have told Matilda about the cosmetics job.

“If I were in your shoes, I’d shop, too,” Matilda cooed. So she hasn’t heard.

“I could meet you for a drink later, if you like.”

“That sounds perfect. I could use a cocktail after being surrounded by students all day.”

“Sounds excruciating.” Gloria’s tone was a touch sarcastic.

After they hung up, Gloria bought a chef salad and a Diet Coke. When her lunch break was over, she found that returning to the Aristocrate counter was slightly less painful than usual.

Stuffing her Macy’s nametag down into the gritty depths of her purse later that afternoon, Gloria surveyed herself in the full-length mirror of the staff locker room. She certainly had on plenty of make-up, and her hair pointed skyward, as it should. The knee-high leather boots, tights, and black miniskirt looked hip. I can’t wear this shirt, Gloria realized, looking at her Aristocrate-issued top. Foundation smears streaked the dark purple fabric and — she sniffed — her armpits stank. She glanced at her watch. Better late than ugly.

Taking the escalator steps two at a time, she scrambled to the second floor. Gloria flipped quickly through the racks, discarding the colors she knew were awful on her — yellow, gray — and fabrics that itched under her fingers. In less than five minutes, she found a half-price cherry red DKNY top of slinky lycra and rayon, with three-quarter sleeves and a little black ruffle fluttering along the low neckline. Perfect. Gloria paid with her Macy’s card and dashed back to the locker room to change. With her work shirt tucked discreetly in a glossy Macy’s shopping bag, she slipped on her coat and stepped outside. The X Hotel, Matilda’s choice for drinks, was just up the street.

It’s a good thing I changed. Behind the bar, a sleek, short-haired blonde woman in a black tank top bared two inches of the tribal tattoo on her lean lower back as she reached up for a bottle of Bombay Sapphire. Gloria slid onto one of the stools, hoping the bartender’s pants would slip so low that the surely adorable crack of her ass would peek out.

Scooting into the seat next to Gloria, Matilda smirked as she eyed the woman, too. “Nice,” she said in what was supposed to be a whisper. Just then, the bartender turned around carrying the aqua-tinted gin.

“Ladies, you’re not at Hooter’s.” The silver stud in the center of her lower lip glinted in the dim light of the aluminum fixtures overhead.

“Sorry,” Matilda told her flirtatiously. “We were just…admiring your tattoo.”

“Of course you were.” Setting the bottle down, she turned to Gloria. “What can I get you?”

Gloria wanted to order a sophisticated drink — something retro-chic, like a Manhattan, or butch and simple, a scotch. Even a straightforward vodka tonic would do. But now, staring into the steely eyes of a beautifully annoyed woman, she couldn’t remember any of them. Two words came to mind. She cast about her brain, but there was nothing else in it. Insistently, the words presented themselves again and so, pressured by the dual gaze of Matilda and the bartender, she blurted them out: “Diet Coke.”

The bartender’s nod seemed to say, “I’m not surprised a rube like you would order that drink.” She turned to Matilda unsmilingly. “What for you?”

“I’ll have a martini, thanks.”

The woman nodded again and moved down to the rack of glasses at the other end of the bar, not asking which vodka Matilda preferred.

“Well, that was awkward,” Gloria tried to laugh. “How are you?” They exchanged perfunctory cheek-kisses.

“I’m great. How was shopping?”

“Not bad, I just picked up a couple of things.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve gone there — it’s too crowded this time of year — but last time I was just bombarded with all those make-up girls. Do you know the ones I mean? Right by the escalator?”

“Oh, I know.” Gloria tried to sound exasperated. “Though I didn’t notice any today.” Her shrug was nonchalant.

They turned simultaneously and stared at the clear liquid the bartender was straining into a frosted martini glass. She walked over and placed the drinks on the bar, then quickly turned away.

“Thanks,” Gloria and Matilda said, in unison, to the bartender’s back.

“You’re thinking about grad school at Burns?”

Gloria was relieved Matilda had brought it up first. “I am. It’s such a great program, and this is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. It would be fascinating.”

“There are some top-notch professors there. It’s one of the best places in the country for English Lit.” Matilda sipped her drink. “It’s awfully hard to get in, Gloria, I’m sorry to tell you. I mean, you’re smart. But a lot of smart people are turned away. And…well, there is the matter of the Gildenson.”

“Right. What would help my chances?”

“You need faculty support. Everyone who’s admitted already knows one faculty member or another. Someone has to want to work with you.”

Gloria didn’t want to reveal her disappointment, so she chewed her straw instead.

“Maybe I could put in a good word for you.” Matilda lowered her voice confidentially. “I’m actually dating someone on the admissions committee.”

How many women can one person sleep with? Gloria wondered as she said, “I’d really appreciate it.”

“You’ll have to submit your application pretty soon — I think the deadline is at the end of January. You’ll have to take the GRE and get letters of recommendation. And then there’s the personal essay. That’s the most important part.”

“At least I’ve already taken the GRE. I almost applied two years ago and took it then.”

“Then I’m sure you can get the rest together.” Matilda finished the last of her drink and gestured for another.

Gloria nodded, hoping that was true. “What are you working on these days, Matilda?”

“While I was waiting for the book to be published, I finished my first play, so right now I’m trying to raise the money to produce it.”

“Good for you!”

“It’s about a woman who’s always dieting and hates her body, and then she meets these radical fat lesbians and they change her life.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“It’s hard to get funding for that kind of work, you know, but it’s so important.”

“I agree.” Gloria thought about the skinny girls at Matilda’s party and Macy’s. She wished some fat lesbians would make her feel better. “That’s the kind of thing I’d definitely support.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” Gloria tilted her head back to catch the last drops of her soda and waved for the check.

“Would you be willing to support it financially?”

Gloria chewed her ice. Matilda looked more anxious than Gloria had ever seen her. After a long and thoroughly enjoyable pause, she said, “Yes, I would.” That could mean anything, Gloria told herself. It could mean I’m willing to buy a ticket to the show. She knew that wasn’t the impression she’d just given Matilda, who was flushed with happiness.

“I’m thrilled to hear it.”

The lyrics to a hip-hop song thumped in Gloria’s head: I love it when you call me Big Pop-pa. Gloria felt like Big Poppa, holding out the promise of her nonexistent money.

Now that it was time for them to pay, the bartender stopped sulking. “Thanks, have a good evening,” she said cheerfully as she presented the bill. Gloria glanced at the total: $29, not including tip. Almost as much as the shirt I bought to come here.

“It’s been great hanging out with you, Matilda.” Gloria tried to sound sincere while she fumbled around for her wallet.

“You too,” Matilda slid her purse over one arm. “Thanks for the drinks.” She wants me to buy her two twelve-dollar cocktails? I didn’t even offer to pay! Gloria said sweetly, “You’re so welcome. I’m looking forward to working together more.”

She handed over her MasterCard and mentally calculated the days since she’d mailed a payment. Please go through, she willed her credit card. Gloria watched anxiously as the bartender swiped it through the machine, then relaxed her shoulders when she saw the receipt pop up above the register.

“Are you taking BART or a cab?” Matilda asked.

Gloria considered the cost of Matilda’s drinks. “BART.”

“I’ll walk with you to the station.” Matilda slid her arm through Gloria’s as they exited the X Hotel.

Delta Airlines Flight 167. January, 2002

“Vodka tonic, please. Double.” Enunciating carefully, because the valium was already working, Gloria prepared to spend four and a half hours 33,000 feet above ground. A few key chemicals, she believed, might prevent an anxiety attack. “And a Bloody Mary.” She paid the flight attendant for both.

“How can you drink those, Maximillion?” she asked as she passed him the watery red cocktail. “They’re so gross.”

“Mine’s gross? Yours is like sparkling battery acid.”

Giggling, she tasted it. “You’re right, it’s disgusting.” Anticipating the alcohol-and-valium high that would make her forget her fear of spiraling down into a crash landing, Gloria sucked her drink more aggressively. “I’m not drinking it for the taste.”

“Apparently. So, drunkard, what are you going to say when you see Angie?”

“I haven’t figured that part out.”

“You’ve had two weeks to think about it. You haven’t come up with anything?”

“I’ve been busy.” Grinning, she added, “Sales have been brisk.” Gloria was selling so much mascara that she’d managed to talk Tiffany into giving her a few paid days off for family business.

“Angie might not be overwhelmed with joy at the sight of you.”

“You know how Christians are,” Gloria said dismissively. “Super-polite to your face.”

“And then they try to ruin your life and deny your civil rights behind your back.”

“Exactly.”

“I read in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution online that the legislature in Georgia is about to ban gay marriage. Of course, Christians are behind it.”

Gloria finished her drink and set it on the plastic tray table. “Since when do you read a newspaper besides the New York Times?”

“I’ve been looking up a few things of interest.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I met this guy named Jon who lives there. He seems, shall we say, interesting.”

“Parents, lock up your sons — Max Goldman is coming to town.”

“No, just this one guy. I met him on PlanetOut.”

Gloria was barely listening. “Max? I feel a little sick to my stomach.”

“Oh, God.” He dug in the seat pocket in front of him and pulled out the barf bag. “Here, use this if you don’t make it to the toilet. The bathrooms are up that way.”

“But the fasten seat belt lights are still on. I’ll get in trouble.”

“No you won’t, just go.”

“Okay, but if they come back while I’m gone, will you order me another cocktail?”

“Absolutely not. Go.”

Gloria darted into the bathroom. She breathed deeply a few times, washed her hands, and then — overcome with nausea as turbulence shook the plane — threw up the vodka tonic and her pre-flight breakfast bar into the toilet. She splashed water from the miniature faucet into her mouth, and then leaned against the plastic wall of the lavatory. Gloria contemplated the mile of thin air between the plane and the ground. It was almost as scary as the thought of seeing Angie.

Gloria drove her second rental car in less than a month from the airport outside Atlanta into the heart of the city. She and Max got lost once or twice as they negotiated the twisting streets, but they finally found the bed-and-breakfast where Max had booked a room. A tasteful brass sign on the polished wood door announced The Blue Pine Inn. A white porch swing with blue pillows moved slightly in the chilly breeze, and two chiseled men wheeled expensive suitcases up a walkway edged in miniature boxwoods. The Blue Pine looked more like a movie-set Victorian house than a hotel. Gloria and Max checked in at the front desk and dropped off their suitcases. Then they strolled around the neighborhood until they found a restaurant with crab cakes on the menu and a pride sticker in the window.

When Gloria woke up the next morning, she was glad to find Max in bed beside her; he’d gone out with Jon after dinner with no clear idea when or if he’d be home. Gloria lay on her back, trying not to wake him. Today’s the day, she told herself, and her heart beat faster. Today I’m going to see Angie. Gloria hoped her sister was scheduled to work; she didn’t know for sure, but she’d done her research before she left San Francisco and knew the restaurant would at least be open. She could go early and scope it out. Gloria wanted to see Angie before Angie saw her. That way I’ll be prepared. She imagined what she would say to her sister. I miss you. That would be a good start. I’m sorry I stopped writing back. I feel so sad when I think of how close we used to be. Do you still think I’m going to Hell? There was so much to say.

“Aren’t you going to ask how my date was?”

Gloria jumped. “Max! I didn’t know you were awake.” She sat up in bed. “Were you into him in person?”

Max propped himself against the pillows next to her. “Jon’s a contender. Good looking in that tousled academic way, also writing a diss but his is in Judaic Studies at Emory. It’s all about Holocaust deniers, fascinating stuff. We were at this bar for maybe an hour before we went back to his apartment.” He grinned. “I leave the rest to your fertile imagination.”

“Sounds like a successful first date, you little slut,” Gloria teased.

“It was, it was great. But you know what? Glo, his apartment was unbelievable. I think I want to move here. His place is huge and he’s paying $700 a month.”

Knowing that Max considered the entire western half of San Francisco an uninhabitable backwater, Gloria didn’t worry that he would move to Atlanta. “You asked him his rent?”

Max looked uncertain. “Was that wrong?”

“Southerners usually don’t like that kind of question, from what I remember. But if he answered you I’m sure it’s okay.”

Max said, “I’m desperate for coffee.”

“I know, me too. Let’s shower and then we’ll go find some.”

After her shower, Gloria wrapped herself in the B&B’s luxurious blue bath sheet and wandered back into the room to consider her outfit options. Max was pulling on jeans.

“Today’s the consummation of our efforts,” he said as he buckled his belt. “Are you going to call the restaurant first, to make sure she’s there?”

“I thought we could just go over there. They open at eleven-thirty. If she’s not there then we can ask when she’s scheduled to work.”

“So we’re going on a reconnaissance mission.”

“Yeah. I can just peek in and see if she’s there. She won’t notice me right away, since my hair’s so much shorter than it was last time we saw each other.”

“I don’t think you look that different,” Max said.

“You think she’ll recognize me? Maybe I need a disguise. Like sunglasses and a hat.”

“If only our car were a convertible, you’d be a Hollywood star.”

“Would you mind driving?” Gloria asked. “I thought you could stay in the car while I go look for her.”

“Of course. All this subterfuge bodes well for a happy reunion.”

“I’m going to try my disguise to see how it looks.” Gloria reached into her suitcase and pulled out her huge black sunglasses — very Jackie O. — and her black fake fur hat. Standing in front of the mirror, she pulled the hat as far down on her head as it would go. The entire top half of her face was covered.

Just then they heard a knock at the door. “Breakfast!”

“Come in!” Max called.

The good-looking guy in the doorway tried and failed to hide his surprise at the sight of Gloria dressed in nothing but a furry hat, sunglasses, and the hotel towel. “Hi, I’m Mark. I hope I didn’t interrupt,” he said with a little laugh. “I thought y’all might be ready for some food.”

Gloria blushed. “We are, thanks. We’re just working on a costume.” She took off the hat and sunglasses and pulled the towel a little tighter around her body. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Coffee, eggs, bacon, and cheese grits. Plus a side of fruit.” He set the tray down on top of the antique-looking dresser.

“Grits! Yum. I haven’t had those in so long.”

“I made them myself.” Mark smiled at her.

Max wrinkled his nose. “What are they?”

“You haven’t had grits?” Gloria asked the question, but both she and Mark stared.

“No, why would I?”

Frowning, Gloria said, “I have no idea what they’re made of. Grits are grits.”

“Grits are made from ground corn,” Mark explained. “This is mostly just corn and cheese.” He handed each of them a plate and silverware.

“Oh.”

“Thanks, Mark,” Gloria said. “This looks great.” She sat on the bed next to Max.

“Enjoy. I’ll be back for the tray in an hour.”

After he left, Max poked his grits with his fork. “This looks revolting.”

“Max, you haven’t even tried them, they’re delicious. When you’re in another country you don’t act like that about food you haven’t had, do you? I know you ate rabbit stew in France.”

“It was awesome.”

“So in France you’ll eat Little Bunny Foo Foo and not think anything of it, but you come here and you can’t eat corn with cheese.”

“All right, I get the point.” He took a small bite and ate it carefully while Gloria watched. “Not bad.”

Gloria took her plate and plopped down on the bed. She took a forkful of the grits and put them in her mouth. Rolling her eyes, she exclaimed, “Good Lord, these are amazing. My grandmother’s weren’t even this good.” They were creamy and smooth, with a trace of smoke. She eyed Max’s plate. “If you don’t want yours, I’ll take them.” She tried to scrape his grits onto her plate but he pushed her hand away.

“Not so fast, lady. These are my grits.”

“You like them!”

“I suppose I do.”

Gloria found that deeply satisfying.

At quarter after eleven, they were cruising slowly through a quirky little shopping district looking for the Fluffy Biscuit. “I see it!” Gloria said. “There on the corner.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Circle the block.” She looked at her watch. “The place isn’t even open yet.”

They drove around several times before Gloria felt ready to begin spying on Angie. Max pulled the car up near the front of the restaurant. Adjusting her sunglasses, she got out and closed the door quietly behind her.

Gloria gazed at the menu posted outside, pretending to be a prospective customer, then walked around to the Biscuit’s front window. There she is! Her heart thump-thumped. After all her nervousness about the trip, Gloria was surprised by the simple happiness that welled up inside her at the sight of her sister.

Angie, rolling napkins at the bar, had aged much more than her older sister in the last few years. She was only twenty-seven, but lines were already starting to form at the center of her forehead and around her eyes. Her long hair needed cutting badly; for a moment, Gloria imagined what it would look like shoulder-length, with a few highlights. Angie’s jeans were far too big beneath her apron and the sleeves of her ratty orange sweater stopped short of her wrists. When she looked up at the clock, though, Gloria saw that the huge hazel eyes that had charmed everyone when Angie was a child were still beautiful.

Staring at her sister, Gloria could find almost no resemblance between the two of them. It was the same confusion she experienced when comparing her own small breasts to those of women who wore double-D bras. How could theirs and hers even be called the same word? How could we have pretended to be twins? How could we even have the same parents?

Now that she was at the Fluffy Biscuit watching Angie, Gloria did not know what to do. It would be rude to interrupt her, especially since real customers were starting to arrive. I’ll just watch for a little while, and then I’ll come back after lunch. Gloria pressed her nose to the glass.

Angie finished rolling napkins and calmly moved on to greet some customers. She placed four glasses of water on their table, tucked her tray under one arm and swung around within a few feet of Gloria. Turning her head, she looked over at the window. Recognition crossed her face immediately; too late, Gloria realized the shades and hat were no disguise for a sister.

“Gloria!” It was clear Angie was saying her name even though Gloria couldn’t hear her. Angie looked shocked but faintly pleased. Her mouth hung open.

Gloria waved a gloved hand vigorously and smiled as though she had meant for Angie to see her. She forced herself to walk around and enter through the front door. Gloria shot Max a panicked look as she passed the car.

“Hi, Angie!”

The sisters embraced, then pulled back to look at one another. Gloria was smiling a little too broadly.

“I can’t believe this!” Angie exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you!”

“How did you know —”

“Meg told Mom and Dad she had seen you here,” Gloria explained. “And I came to look for you.”

“You came all the way from California to see me?”

“Yup.” Gloria nodded enthusiastically. She noticed Angie’s Southern accent had returned a little. “I wanted to see you in person. I’ve missed you.”

Angie stared at her until her good manners overcame her shock. “Well, I’m glad you came.” She looked past Gloria at the door, where customers were waiting. “I can’t talk now, though. Can we get together when I get off work?”

“That’s what I was hoping. When are you done here?”

“Around four. And then I have a committee meeting for church. Why don’t we meet up for dinner tonight?”

“Okay,” Gloria said eagerly. “I can come pick you up.”

“You have a car?”

“A rental. It’s right outside.”

They turned to look at the car and saw Max waving. Gloria waved back and held up her index finger to signal “just a minute.”

“That’s Max, remember him?” As she spoke, Gloria realized she was still wearing the huge sunglasses and hat. How embarrassing. She took the accessories off. “I guess I look a little funny.”

Angie smiled sweetly but looked worried. “A little.”

“Well, I know you have to work, but I’m so glad I caught you. If you’ll tell me where to get you I’ll see you at seven.”

Angie pulled a flyer out of her back pocket. “I’ll be at this address.” They hugged quickly. “Bye, Gloria.”

“Bye, Angie.” She walked back out to the car slowly, reading the flyer Angie had given her. It was for her church. Max, immersed in his role as getaway car driver, barely let her close the door before he screeched off.

“So how’d it go?”

“I’m picking her up for dinner at seven tonight.”

“Good! So it went pretty well. I figured from the way you were smiling.”

“Yes, except that I was wearing the hat and sunglasses the whole time.”

“Homos are known for their creativity and flair for the dramatic. In many cases, it’s an offensive, belittling stereotype, but in your case it’s true.”

“No, it just makes me look like even more of a fuck-up.” Gloria’s throat was tightening.

“How does showing up in a ridiculous hat make you a fuck-up?”

“It’s more that I was just always doing something wrong, and she was always doing something right. She’s so good and kind and never gets ruffled. Everybody loves her.”

“Ah, the demons emerge.” Max started in a teasing tone, but then saw that Gloria was tearing up. “Gloria, you’re not a fuck-up. People love you, too. Including your parents. As a matter of fact, I recall that your parents aren’t speaking to Angie. Besides, she’s a Jesus freak waitress. You’re just vacationing in the world of retail until your academic career takes off. What’s to be jealous of?”

Gloria laughed for half a second and then got teary again. “I can’t believe we grew up together, we have half the same genes, and I haven’t seen her in so long. She looks terrible. Exhausted. She was so pretty before.”

“She’s still cute,” Max said. “I can see the resemblance.”

“Really?” That pleased Gloria. “I wish I could but I don’t.”

“You have the same nose.”

Gloria put an index finger to the tip of her nose. “Maybe.”

“She does need a haircut, though.”

“I know! I was thinking the same thing. And highlights.”

“And new clothes. Religious people always dress appallingly.”

Gloria giggled. “Thanks, Max. I really appreciate your coming with me to do this.”

He put a hand over hers. “At your service, Glo. What do you want to do now?”

“Normally I would suggest mimosas, but I can’t show up to meet Angie drunk.”

“That would be awkward. But you’ve got seven hours until dinner, I think you can sober up by then.”

“They have museums and stuff here,” Gloria said listlessly. “We could do something cultural.”

Max shook his head. “I was raised practically next door to the MOMA. I doubt an Atlanta museum would interest me.”

Gloria refrained from reminding him that he’d been raised in Queens.

“Hey,” Max said, “I know what would be fun.”

“What?”

“Let’s go back to the hotel and watch TV. They have HBO and all that. We can just pick up some orange juice and champagne on the way.” Max wagged a finger at Gloria. “Yours will be mostly orange juice, young lady.”

A whole afternoon lying in bed watching cable television sounded wonderfully decadent. She still felt full from breakfast, and now that her adrenaline was subsiding, she was tired. Gloria leaned back in the seat and took her first deep breath in hours. “Yeah, let’s do it. That will be great.”

On their way back to the Blue Pine, Gloria spotted a Christian bookstore. “Stop the car,” she said. “I want to go in here.”

Max look horrified. “You do?”

“I’m buying a present for Angie.”

Back in their hotel room, Gloria and Max downed a couple of mimosas and watched an episode of Animal Police on television. In the documentary-style show, good-hearted young men in black pseudo-cop jackets rescued pit bulls and mangy cats from uncaring owners. Max, true to his word, made Gloria’s drinks weak; he made his proportionately more potent. They both cried a little at the end of the show, when the vet stuck a needle into a tiny tabby and sent her to kitten heaven. Gloria scrolled through the channels looking for something else. “How about Auntie Mame?” It had just started on the Classic Film channel.

“I love that movie,” Max said.

“Me too.” They snuggled up together against the pillows. “This is so cozy.”

Mame was selling roller skates at the department store when Gloria began to drift. Just as she was falling into the sleep of the emotionally exhausted, Max’s cell phone rang. Easing his arm from around her, he turned off the TV and took the phone into the bathroom.

When Gloria woke up, Max was reading The New Yorker next to her and it was nearly dark outside. She stretched and rolled over to face Max. “What was the phone call?”

“It was Jon. He wants to meet me for dinner and, since you’re otherwise engaged, I agreed.”

“So it’s a date?”

He shrugged happily. “Apparently. Anyway, he’s picking me up in an hour, so you can have the car.”

“Cool, thanks. I think I’ll shower again. It feels like twenty-four hours since this morning.”

“You should brush your teeth. Phew. Smells like twenty-four hours.” He was teasing, but it hurt her feelings a little.

She slipped on a simple red skirt, a black knit top, and boots. A normal-looking outfit, she thought approvingly, assessing herself in the mirror. Then she put on red lipstick, hugged Max goodbye, and went to pick up Angie.

It wasn’t too hard to find the church, which was less than a mile away, with the help of the glove compartment’s map. The New Atlanta Christ Church looked a bit dilapidated. The paint was peeling and the steeple was crooked, but the carefully swept walk and pruned hedges made the place seem loved anyway.

She got out of the car and walked up to the door. Do I knock or just go in? She had so little experience with churches. People were singing inside. She knocked.

A nerdy-looking guy in jeans and a t-shirt answered the door. “Hello!” He said as though he had been waiting for her. “Come on in. Are you here for choir practice?” He stuck out his hand before she could answer. “I’m Reverend Jake.”

“Hi.” This was the charismatic leader who brought Angie to Jesus? They shook hands in a friendly way. “I’m not here for choir practice. I’m Gloria, Angie’s sister. I’ve come to get her for dinner.”

The minister gaped at her. “You’re Gloria?”

“I guess she didn’t tell you I was coming.”

“No.” He was still staring. “No, she didn’t mention it. Come in, I’ll find her for you.” He backed up, holding the door open, into the small lobby.

“Thanks.”

“I can tell you’re sisters. You two have the same nose.”

Just then Angie entered through the sanctuary doors. “Hi, Glo.” They hugged hello. “I see you met my pastor.”

“Yes, I did.” Gloria and Jake smiled tentatively at each other, but nobody knew what to say next. Gloria looked at Angie, who had on the same jeans and sweater she’d worn earlier in the day, now covered with a tired-looking parka. “So, are you ready to go?”

“Sure, let’s go eat.”

As they walked out to the car, Gloria tried to think of a restaurant. Most of the ones they had gone to as kids, she realized, had probably closed long ago. “Do you know any good restaurants?”

“Not really. I usually eat at the church, since I live there.” Angie smiled. “And I sure don’t want to go to the Fluffy Biscuit.”

“Let’s just look around for a place to eat.” They cruised the neighborhood. A pleasant-looking restaurant with a sign advertising pizza and pasta caught Gloria’s eye. “How does Italian food sound?”

“That’d be great.”

Gloria made a U-turn and parked right in front. “I can’t get over all the parking, right in front of the restaurant and no meter,” she said, trying to make conversation as they got out of the car. “It’s not like San Francisco at all.”

“No,” Angie agreed. “It’s different.”

“Do you ever go over to where we used to live? Is the house still there?”

“I went by there once, when I first moved back a couple of years ago. They tore it down and turned it into condominiums.”

“Our house was torn down?”

“All of it, gone. And the neighborhood’s totally different — all these fancy stores, and the houses that are still there are uptown-looking. Even that gas station where we used to get snow cones is a cappuccino place now.”

“That’s so sad,” Gloria said. “I was planning to go see it while I was here.” They walked into the restaurant and Gloria signaled “two” to the hostess, who led them immediately to a table and handed each of them a huge plastic-covered menu. Gloria and Angie sat across from each other in the dim light, looking over the long list of Italian dishes without speaking.

After they had placed their orders for pasta and salad, Gloria continued. “Did you miss it here? Is that why you ended up moving back?”

“Partly. You know, I was never a Californian.”

Gloria nodded. “Yeah, you didn’t like it there.”

“The rest of you seemed to just take to it so easily, and I never could. And then we were looking for a place to have a permanent church and this seemed good. Low rents, lots of believers. God led me back here.”

“You founded that church?”

“Jake did. I helped.” Recalling Jake’s relaxed face, Gloria felt certain her sister had done most of the work.

“You must be proud.”

Angie looked up from her salad. “We were blessed with a chance to do the Lord’s work.”

She seems normal, and then she comes out with something like that. Gloria didn’t know how to respond.

Angie had the tact to change the subject. “Where are you staying in Atlanta?” she asked.

“In a bed-and-breakfast not too far from here called the Blue Pine.”

“I’ve heard of that place,” Angie said, smiling. “I’m on a committee with one of the owners — in fact, I saw him today. His name’s Mark. He’s invited me to come visit, but I just haven’t had time.”

“No way! I met Mark this morning.” Gloria was relieved to finally have something in common with her sister. “He made these fantastic cheese grits. You should definitely come see his place.”

“I’ll have to look again.”

After a pause, Gloria added, “What sort of committee are you and Mark on?”

“Folks from a few of the local churches are working on a Christian after-school program for teenagers.” Angie’s voice grew animated. “Today was only our second meeting, but it’s going to be terrific. Mark has been working hard to find a space for it.”

“Great.” Gloria found it hard to believe the obviously queer Mark was a Christian but was reluctant to say so. “So you work at the church and at the restaurant, and you’re on some committees. Do you do anything else?”

Angie looked confused. “What else?”

“Like, do you have any hobbies? Remember how you used to love to play the piano?”

“I do sometimes play at church. But I’m happy bringing people to the Lord and helping to run the church.” Her eyes glowed as she said this and, bizarre as it seemed, Gloria believed her.

“What about you, Gloria? What have you been doing?”

Gloria spent the rest of the meal talking about herself. She told Angie the same lies she had told their parents. She chattered about the glitter spray and the mascara, about writing, about the changes in San Francisco. The dot-commers had been kicked out by the economic collapse and it was becoming less crowded and more affordable, she told Angie, though it was hard to find a decent job.

Angie said she did not have room for tiramisu, but Gloria insisted on ordering it. She’d forgone her usual glass or two of Chianti in deference to her sister, and she wasn’t going to miss dessert, too. While they were waiting for it to arrive, Gloria remembered what was in her purse.

“I almost forgot! I got you something.” Gloria’s voice came out high-pitched and hopeful, making the gift sound bigger than it was. “It’s just a little present,” she backtracked. “Something small.”

She reached in her purse and pulled out the package, which the store clerk had gift-wrapped in gold foil decorated with tiny black crosses. From a couple of feet away, it looked shiny and hairy. She slid it across the table.

“Thank you, Gloria.” She could tell Angie was touched. “How thoughtful.”

“I hope you like it.” I’m meeting her halfway. The thought made Gloria smile. “Open it.”

Angie removed the ugly wrapping carefully and opened the box. “Gloria!” She held up a key chain in the shape of a Christian fish. “Thank you. You’re so sweet.”

“You’re welcome. I know it doesn’t make up for…everything — but I mean it as a beginning, for us. I guess it seems silly for me to have come all this way, but I wanted to talk to you in person. I haven’t been a good sister, and I’m sorry. Remember how we always held hands when we were kids, even if we were just on our way to school?” She waited for Angie to nod. “And how we’d disco-dance in the living room?”

“I remember,” Angie said. “You were my best friend.”

Gloria’s dessert arrived, but she pushed it aside and leaned across the table. She looked into her sister’s eyes. “I want to be like that again.”

“I want that, too. But Christ and my church are a huge part of my life; they are my life. I can’t pretend they’re not because it bothers you.” She wiped crumbs off the tablecloth. “Besides, you moved and didn’t give me your address.”

Gloria winced. “I’m sorry. I kept meaning to give you the new address.” She shrugged. “I was tired of you trying to change me.”

“I was sharing my beliefs with you.”

“Angie, you sent me a brochure suggesting that the right kind of therapy could turn me straight. That is trying to change me.” Gloria remembered tearing the brochure up and flushing the pieces down the toilet.

“Maybe I didn’t take the best approach,” Angie said softly. “But I wanted to tell you what I’d learned about Christ. We never had that growing up.”

“I believe in God, you know.”

“Really?” Angie’s sudden smile was huge.

“That doesn’t mean I want to become a Christian, though.”

“You can’t know the Lord without Jesus.”

“Of course you can.” This Jesus thing is so irritating. “What about Unitarians? Or Jews? They don’t think Jesus is the only way or try to change everyone they meet.” From what Max had told Gloria about it, the Jewish conversion process was probably too difficult and time-consuming for Angie. Gloria figured part of the appeal of Christianity was that anyone could jump right in; they had accepted Angie with no questions asked.

Angie gaped at her. “Gloria! They don’t accept Jesus Christ as their savior.”

“They believe in God.” Actually, Gloria wasn’t quite sure what Unitarians believed, but God had to come in somewhere. “How do you know they don’t know God?”

“Because God sent Jesus to us as a flesh-and-blood man as the way to reach Him. ‘God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son.’”

“Why not go right to the source — cut out the middleman, so to speak?”

“Because that’s not the way God set it up for us.” She sighed. “Jake can explain so much better than I can.”

The tone of admiration Angie used when she spoke his name made Gloria hostile. “Are you about to invite me to church?”

“Well, if you want to understand…”

“Angie, I’m trying to understand you, but do you understand that I’m a dyke?” The word sounded, even to hear own ears, a little heavy-handed; it conjured combat boots. Maybe I should have said lesbian, Gloria thought, watching her sister try not to cringe. “We’re not particularly welcome at evangelical churches.”

“You are welcome. Everyone sins. Jesus loves us no matter what.”

“Love the sinner, hate the sin?” Gloria sounded more sarcastic than she’d meant to, but Angie ignored her tone.

“Right.”

“So it doesn’t matter that I’ve been with women all these years?”

“No, it doesn’t. You can change.” Angie looked so earnest. She wanted Gloria to believe. “It’s not like you’ve been happy in your relationships. They never last. Things could be different for you.”

Gloria glared at her younger sister. “How would you know? And who are you to talk about relationships? Have you been in one since high school?”

Angie jerked as though she’d been slapped. “I’m…with someone.”

“What do you mean, with?”

“I mean I have an understanding with a man.”

Gloria groaned. “Not that preacher.”

“That preacher, as you call him, is a wonderful man.”

“I hope you and the wonderful preacher will be happy. I’m happy the way I am.”

Angie set down her water. “If you repent, you can have a true relationship with Jesus. He’ll help you overcome…this.” Her voice became urgent. “Homosexuality is a sin in God’s eyes. I’m sorry it hurts you to hear it, but I know it’s the truth. It’s in the Bible.”

Gloria stayed silent but inside she raged: Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Fury leapt inside Gloria as she thought of all that Christians had said to queers over dinners like these. The emotional ripping could never be measured. Gloria thought of all the friends and lovers she’d had who cried over rejection, even exile, by religious families. Shame doled out by religious zealots had deformed so many beautiful lives and here sat her younger sister, trying to shame Gloria in the same way. Pretending she was helping, acting like a saint.

Gloria spoke slowly. “Angie, there is nothing about me that needs to be changed. And it’s hard for me to believe making love with a woman is on a par with, say, killing your unborn child.”

Gloria watched Angie begin to shake. She closed her eyes, and Gloria saw tears form under her lashes and run down her cheeks. She opened her eyes and sipped her water before she said in a wavering voice, “Jesus loves us and forgives all of our sins. Even mine. Even yours.”

“Jesus doesn’t need to forgive me for anything,” Gloria said angrily. “Jesus is an asshole.”

Angie turned white. Gloria went to the counter and paid the bill. They left the restaurant in silence and drove to Angie’s church. Neither said good-bye, and Gloria drove away as soon as the car door closed.

Max had been out with Jon all night, but Gloria reached him the next morning on his cell phone. “I don’t think I want to stay until Thursday, Maxilicious. Let’s fly home standby this afternoon.” She paused. “Dinner with Angie last night was a disaster.”

“That’s funny.”

“Why is it funny? I don’t think my failed attempt to make up with sister is very funny.”

“Not funny ha-ha. Just that I’m thinking of extending my trip.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. I can work here, at least for a few days. And I could stay with Jon.”

“You want to stay for a ‘few days’ with a man you just met?” Gloria scrunched her eyebrows together. “Are you falling for this guy? You’ve been on, what, two dates?”

“Well,” he said guardedly. “Last night was fabulous.”

“You can’t talk because he’s lying in bed next to you?” she guessed.

“Riiight.”

“Can you at least come have lunch with me and then take me to the airport? There’s a four o’clock flight I think I can get on.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t bring Jon. I want the scoop.”

“I can’t believe this. How can you be so into him so quickly?” They were eating potato soup at the café next to the Blue Pine.

“It was amazing, Glo. Our research has all these interesting parallels — we might even coauthor something together. But that’s not the main thing. He understands everything I say and vice versa. He’s funny. It’s a little like being with you, but I have an erection the whole time.”

“Amazing.”

“He’s taking care of his father right now, because he had hip replacement surgery, but next semester he’s teaching at Emory.”

“Who would have thought?” Gloria said. Max looked blissful. “Sounds like you have a lot in common.”

“We talked for five hours and then had sex for five hours. It was intense.”

“That’s the perfect combination,” Gloria agreed. An awful thought occurred to her. “Max, are you going to fall for this guy and move here?”

“Don’t be silly. Me, move to the hinterlands?” But his tone wasn’t convincing.

Gloria put down her bag of chips. “You’d better not, Max. You don’t even know this guy. I’d be so mad at you.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “But then I’d be happy for you, too.”

“We’ll see how it goes. But I haven’t had a date like that since Carlos.”

“That good?” Max’s ex of two years was the standard by which his suitors were usually rejected. Smiling at her friend, Gloria said, “I’m outrageously jealous.” She noticed that he had not asked her about Angie, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t ready to talk about it.

They finished up their lunch and drove toward the airport. Max chattered about Jon’s many characteristics and interests. They hugged goodbye at the curb in front of the airport. As they embraced, a cop on a bicycle whizzed by, screaming, “Move! Move! I’ll have you towed!”

“He can’t be talking to us,” Gloria said, moving away and taking her bags out of the trunk.

“We just got here. The sign says this is the drop-off area.”

The cop cycled back. “Mister, I mean it!” He stuck his whistle in his mouth and blew it at Max.

Rolling his eyes, Max turned to Gloria. “I guess I’d better go. Rent-a-Cop’s going to cite me for felony parking.”

“Have a great time.” They hugged again.

“Have a safe flight. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Bye!” Max drove off, the cop whistling behind him.

What if I died now? Gloria wondered during take-off. The plane could go down and then everyone would be sorry. Angie would wish she had accepted her gay sister; Max would feel bad for finding romance while she was single and sad. Her parents would regret ever considering an abortion. Gloria was not interested in suicide. If she died accidentally at just the right time, though, people would come to her funeral and say, “If only.” What else would they say? “She had a way with make-up. She was an infamous plagiarist.” There wasn’t much else. Her younger sister had founded a church; she was an almost-thirty make-up girl who had ruined her career as a political writer and was conniving to get into graduate school. How pathetic.

Grad school was the only way she could imagine her life making sense again. She mouthed to herself, “I’m a graduate student.” It made her sound like a person with potential. Then she tried, “I’m Dr. Gloria Soren.” That was even better. Oh God, I have to write that essay for the application when I get home. She’d forgotten about a lot while she was in Atlanta — Matilda and Burns University, Macy’s, her parents. Even Lily, who was staying with a neighbor. She wondered if the landlord had fixed the heat in her apartment, and how mascara sales were doing.

The plane ride provided plenty of time to reflect. The thought Gloria tried to avoid was the most painful: the fight with Angie. She wondered if she’d ever talk to her sister again. Gloria squeezed the bridge of her nose to ward off tears.

Atlanta. January, 2002

Brunch was well underway when Angie arrived at work. She always made good tips because the Biscuit, as the restaurant was known, was wildly popular. Sunday brunch, however, was in a category of its own. The line of black-clad hipsters extended down the block despite the chilly weather. They looked hungry but patient, like strangely fashionable people waiting at a soup kitchen. Angie’s dreadlocked co-worker dispensed hot coffee up and down the sidewalk. Customers accepted the paper cups gratefully, flirting with him and, now and again, with each other.

Cutting through the line, Angie rounded the back of the restaurant and entered through the employees’ door. As she stepped inside, the steamy warmth of biscuits baking surrounded her. She smelled frying ham and scrambling eggs. By the time she finished her shift, the grease would clog her pores and she would be eager to scrub it out, but now the scent was delicious. The tiny back office was deserted, so she clocked in, tied on a green Fluffy Biscuit apron — emblazoned with the restaurant logo, a cartoon drawing of a biscuit floating on a cloud — and went in search of her boss.

Angie found her bustling around the kitchen, weaving among the agitated-looking line cooks. “Hey, honey,” Cindy Rae called. She was a short, round woman who wore purple North Face fleece pullovers every day. “There you are! Never late.” Angie’s boss patted her shoulder. “Could you help me with the Bloody Mary bar? We’re a little behind schedule.” The bar was supposed to open at noon; it was almost time. The customers, Angie knew, would be impatient.

“Sure,” she said, but her stomach clenched. She hated everything about the 100-Item Make Your Own Bloody Mary Bar, starting with the vodka. But customers loved it, especially because on Sundays in Georgia they could only buy alcohol in restaurants. That was one thing Angie liked about living in a state with so many Christians in public office, but the Biscuit customers flocked to the cocktails.

Most people ignored ninety-five of the ingredients and mixed half a cup of vodka, a splash each of tomato juice and Worcestershire, and a few pieces of asparagus and celery for garnish. The daring ones tossed in a jalapeño. Then they got drunk, ordered more food than they could eat, and tipped everyone well. Finding all 100 ingredients was annoying, and dealing with the inebriated diners was frustrating, but mostly Angie hated serving alcohol. That wasn’t a Godly way to spend a Sunday. Father in Heaven, Angie prayed silently, please lead me to another job.

“Are you okay, Angie?” Cindy Rae asked her that nearly every day. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine, I had some cereal earlier. I’ll go get set up.” She did feel a little shaky — she knew she had been distracted at work since Gloria’s visit a few days before. She pushed that memory away and began her daily financial calculations: the last time she worked the Bloody Mary bar on a Sunday, she’d made $200 in tips. If she ate at the free staff meal later, she could put all of that money in the donations box at church tonight. She imagined Jake smiling happily at her contribution, and that gave her the energy she needed.

Angie wheeled a metal cart over, opened a cabinet, and pulled out the gallon jug of cheap vodka. She poured it into the Ketel One bottles they displayed at the bar. Cindy Rae had told her to do it that way, and no one could tell the difference.

Jalapeños were in great demand that day. Angie had already refilled the jar twice. All around her on the heated, plant-lined patio of the restaurant, customers sucked vegetable-filled cocktails merrily. Sometimes they even ate the jalapeños, but mostly they left them on their plates for the bus boys to discard. A few puffed on American Spirit cigarettes or Marlboro Lights, blowing and laughing. Angie kept sneezing.

As she rearranged the sweet pickles, Angie thought of Jake. Something was changing in him. He seemed happier, excited. Of course, he said last month he had a plan for her; and then a week ago, when he’d preached about the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman, he had looked right at Angie, directly into her eyes, when he said the word “marriage.” The memory made her smile as she bent under the bar to look for more jalapeños.

Shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her coat, Angie walked the several blocks back to church. The sun had set and the cold wind seeped through her jeans and around her collar. A few people were out walking their dogs, shivering, and cars streamed by with headlights on. Angie stood tall and strode purposefully, the way her father had taught her, hoping her squared shoulders and long steps would discourage the desperate from preying on her. She wished the wind could blow away the smells of the Fluffy Biscuit.

Angie mounted the stairs at the front of the church. First, she slipped into the office and put the $214 she’d earned that day in the anonymous donations box. Hers was the only money there. Then she opened the door to the sanctuary a crack and peeked in. The prayer meeting had begun. Nearly all four dozen church members were there — Caitlin, of course, and most of the people Angie had seen at services that morning. They had gathered the chairs into two concentric circles. Everyone sat holding hands with heads bowed as Jake prayed aloud: “Father, we thank you for giving us this time together and this day to be of service to you…”

The only vacant seat was across from Caitlin, who was seated beside Jake. Angie tiptoed over and sat down as quietly as possible. Caitlin looked up at her with a sympathetic smile, then closed her eyes again. It’s nice of her to feel bad that I had to work today, Angie thought as she bowed her head.

“…we ask that you give us wisdom as we study Your Word tonight. Amen.” Jake opened his eyes. He smiled. “Angie, I’m so glad you could come.” His face made her long day of Bloody Marys worthwhile.

“Me too.” Her eyes met his for an extra moment, then Jake looked away.

“I have a few announcements,” he said, raising his voice a bit and looking around the group. “The first is a very special one, and I hope you’ll join me in celebrating the way God is working in our church.” Jake looked around again and nodded slowly before continuing.

“As I have told many of you, I postponed marrying so that I could spend my energy on the church. That was what God asked of me these last few years.” He paused, looking around at his flock again as though making sure his words sunk in. “But now I have gotten the message in prayer that it’s time for me to start a family of my own.” The room buzzed.

Is he asking me to marry him? In front of everyone? Her heart jerking in her chest, Angie sent up a prayer, a confused combination of “please” and “thank you.” She sat up very straight in her chair, waiting. Her hands were sweating, and she wiped them on her jeans.

Jake reached over and took Caitlin’s hand. As Angie’s jaw dropped — No, God, no, please don’t do this — he looked at Caitlin tenderly. She smiled back at him. Jake cleared his throat and sat up taller. A beam of light from the fixture above reflected off their shining foreheads until they seemed to glow. “It is my great honor to announce that Caitlin has agreed to become my wife.”

Angie couldn’t participate in the group’s spontaneous applause. She sat, stunned, her hands squeezing each other white on her lap. She stared from one smiling face to another; the open mouths and sparkling eyes seemed to move in grotesque slow motion. Jake and Caitlin were standing. The women of the church were hugging Caitlin, the men shaking Jake’s hand. “This is wonderful,” they said. “Congratulations.”

Angie stood. Her joints felt stiff. She limped toward the door.

“Angie!” Jake called over the bubbling happiness of the group. “Where are you going?”

Angie turned. “I thought…”

“You thought what?” He asked, his voice puzzled and slightly impatient.

Her voice shook as she said, “I thought we had an understanding.”

The room went silent.

Jake looked disconcerted. “A what?” He took a step back.

“You said you had plans for us.”

“I didn’t mean — I’ve had an understanding with Caitlin for some time.”

Angie looked from one familiar face to another. They seemed sad, but not particularly surprised, and she realized they had known. They had seen that she was in love with Jake, and they had known he was going to marry Caitlin. But nobody had warned her. Not one person in this congregation that she’d helped build had taken her aside and told her the truth.

“Excuse me.” She turned back toward the door and walked as calmly as she could out of the sanctuary. She let the door fall shut behind her. She stood still for a moment and listened as the blam echoed through the church. A chair in the sanctuary scraped against the floor, and then Jake said, “No, let her be.” Angie opened the door of the church office. Using her key, she took her $214 out of the donations box. Then she walked out through the front door. She wasn’t leaving forever, but she couldn’t imagine sitting through the rest of that prayer meeting.

The night was colder than it had been ten minutes before. Angie unlocked her bicycle from the rack at the side of the church. After strapping on her helmet, she walked the old Schwinn out to the sidewalk and swung her leg over the seat. She pedaled fast, heading toward Virginia Highlands, a stylish neighborhood not far from the church, full of restaurants like the Biscuit, antique shops, and boutique clothing stores. She rarely went there except to pass out flyers inviting people to church or to attend an occasional meeting, but tonight its materialism seemed appealing, foreign and perfect for escape. Weaving slightly, she rode down the neighborhood’s main strip, passing Audis and Volvos parked at the curb. She pedaled around, taking first one tree-lined side street and then another, looking in at families in cozy brick houses watching TV or eating dinner. One woman sitting on a plum-colored sofa looked strangely like her mother. Angie looped back around to Highland Avenue.

This time Angie noticed the Blue Pine sign. Through the front windows, a fire burned in the hearth of the living room, which was decorated in pale blues and greens. Upstairs, a lamp flickered behind a lace curtain. Angie thought of the twin bed she slept on at the church, and of how little heat they used in order to keep the bills down. She wondered which Blue Pine room Gloria had slept in.

Angie hid her bike in nearby bushes and walked across the wide gray porch to the front door. A silver bell tinkled as she opened it, and she smelled cinnamon. Behind the counter, a man with buzz-cut hair and tanned skin sat tallying receipts. “Hi, Mark,” Angie said with as much cheer as she could manage.

“Angie, hello!” he said, looking up. “What a surprise. I’m so glad you finally made it over here.” He came around from behind the counter and hugged her. “You’re awfully cold.”

“I’m freezing. I was riding my bike in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop in.” She looked around at the lobby. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. “It’s great to see you outside of a committee meeting.”

“You, too.” Angie meant it. She hoped he couldn’t see the tear stains on her face, but he was looking at her with concern.

“Is everything okay?”

“Thanks. I just…well, I had a pretty big disappointment tonight.”

Silence settled between them. Angie saw he was curious but too polite to ask prying questions. She couldn’t possibly tell him what had happened. “Why don’t you hang out here for a while and warm up?” Mark finally said, nodding toward a plush sofa. “I’ve got to stay at the desk, but we’ve got movies you could watch. Do you want some hot chocolate?”

Shaking her head, Angie said, “No, thanks.” She stopped. “What if I…I was just wondering — do you have any rooms available tonight?” Angie hadn’t quite known what her plan was until she formed the question.

Mark almost hid his surprise. “I do. I have a room with a full-sized bed and a private bathroom. You get a full breakfast in the morning.”

Her stomach rumbled in response. “How much does it cost?”

“For you, no charge.”

“Mark, that’s too generous. I can’t accept that.”

“Sure you can. You’d do the same for me, right?”

She would, though what she had to offer would be much humbler. Angie was about to decline anyway, when she remembered Caitlin and Jake holding hands and smiling. “Yes. Thank you so much. That would be wonderful.”

He led her up the stairs to a small, perfect room with sky-colored walls, a cherry wood dresser, and a bed so puffy it looked like a huge meringue. “The comforter is down,” Mark told her. “I hope you like it.”

Angie smiled. “I’m sure I will. Thank you again.”

“Just dial zero on the phone if you need anything,” he said as he left. “I’ll be downstairs.”

She kicked off her sneakers and walked around the room slowly, feeling the plush carpet beneath her feet. The air in the room was at least seventy-two degrees and she didn’t need the parka at all now, so she hung it on a hook behind the door. Then, on impulse, Angie stripped down to her sensible white underwear, tossing her clothes and shoes in a corner instead of folding them carefully, as she usually did. It felt wonderful to be nearly naked without shivering. Though it was only eight o’clock, and still too early for sleep, she slid under the bed’s covers, wrapping the luxurious comforter around her, loving the smooth sateen sheets against her skin.

“He’s marrying Caitlin,” she said out loud. “He never wanted to marry me at all.” Angie thought of the woman she’d seen that night who looked like her mother. She wished she could go home and eat her father’s pancakes. She remembered the tiny hairs on the back of Stephen’s neck in tenth grade homeroom; she pictured Gloria’s bright red lipstick. As she cried, she realized she was homesick. God, help me know your plan in all this, she prayed. I don’t understand.

Back at the Biscuit

Customers didn’t usually have to ask for more butter or water. That was the sort of thing Angie noticed on her own and supplied before they even thought to ask. Today, though, it was all she could manage to bring out their meals and remember the utensils.

Forty-one hours had passed since she fled the prayer meeting. Angie had spent her Monday off bicycling and praying, but it wasn’t helping yet. In her mind’s eye she could see Jake’s and Caitlin’s happy smiles as though they were in front of her. Angie would have to face them eventually. She couldn’t imagine how God was going to help her with that, but she hoped He would.

Fortunately for her, Tuesdays tended to be slow, so she never had more than three tables at a time and the restaurant began to clear out at one-thirty. At two, she looked up from wiping the counter to see Jake standing in the window, squinting at her through the glare, just as her sister had done. Angie stood very still, but her heart didn’t. It glowed in her chest as she looked at him, the way it always had.

He came inside and walked up to her tentatively. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said. “I know you might not want to see me, but I just wanted to see if you were okay. We’ve been worried.”

Angie couldn’t stop herself from saying archly, “You and Caitlin?”

He shook his head. “The whole congregation has. Where have you been?”

“At a hotel.” To say it was a bed-and-breakfast sounded a little too worldly; she could never admit to him how much she enjoyed the Blue Pine’s comforts. Angie’s eyes were wet. “I couldn’t stay there and face everyone.”

Cindy Rae came over and took the towel out of Angie’s hand. “Go on,” she said kindly. “I don’t need any more help today.”

“Thanks.” Angie could barely whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She took off her apron and handed it over.

“Bye, darlin’.” Cindy Rae shot Jake a look as though to say, You’d best be nice.

Angie and Jake sat outside on a purple and blue bench decorated with the restaurant’s signature cartoon biscuits. She shivered a little in the breeze.

“Angie, I feel terrible about all this. I didn’t know how you felt about me. If I had, I wouldn’t have handled it like that.”

“But it wouldn’t have made any difference, right? You still wouldn’t have wanted to marry me.”

He sighed. “No, I’ve been in love with Caitlin for years. I just couldn’t marry her until the church was underway. I love you, too, but I think of you like a sister.”

Tears dripped into Angie’s lap. “How could you not know? Everyone else did.”

“They did?”

“Yes. I could see it on their faces when you made the announcement.”

“Well, I just didn’t. It never occurred to me. I’m not every experienced with women, so maybe I just didn’t know how to read the signs.”

This admission made Angie cry harder. All that time I loved him and thought he wanted to spend his life me and it never even crossed his mind. The shame was crushing. And, she realized, if she wanted to have any kind of relationship with him now, she’d have to dance at his wedding to Caitlin. He thinks of me as a sister. That’s something, isn’t it?

“But you said you had a plan. For me.”

“I did.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I did have a plan, but it wasn’t for us to marry. Caitlin’s parents are going to donate to the church, and after we’re married the church will have money to pay you a salary so you can quit waiting tables. That was the plan.”

She willed herself to stop crying and wiped the tears off her face. Sitting up straight, she met Jake’s brown, long-lashed eyes, the ones she’d hoped to pass along to their children. He looked endearingly confused, and she smiled a little. “Thank you, Jake. Obviously, I misunderstood.” She drew a deep breath to steady her voice. “Let’s try to put this behind us. Now that I know you’re going to marry Caitlin and I’ve had some time to get used to it, my feelings are changing.” She had never lied to him before, but she thought this was a forgivable, Christian lie, one that would make the circumstances easier for both of them. She could lick her wounds privately while staying close to him; he could concentrate on his happiness.

“Praise the Lord.” He glanced skyward. “You mean the world to me, to the church. Will you come back?”

“I didn’t really leave — I just needed some time away. Sure, I’ll be as active as ever. But I think I should look for another place to live. Something close by, so I can walk over.”

Jake nodded slowly. “I thought maybe Caitlin and I would move in, after we’re married.”

He’s kicking me out! Never mind that she had said it first; she hated that he had already thought of it. Angie controlled her face carefully. “I’ll start looking.”

“I don’t mean I’m in a hurry for you to leave, at all,” he said quickly. “The wedding won’t be until May, anyway.”

“I’m going to have to start keeping my tips,” she said, “to save up for a deposit and pay my rent.” Angie successfully fought the unChristian urge to mention the church’s wobbly finances.

“Of course, of course. It’s your money.”

Knowing she couldn’t bring herself to ask Mark for another night at his bed-and-breakfast, she said, “I’ll stay at the church until I find something else.”

“That would be great,” he exclaimed, apparently relieved to have managed Angie’s heartbreak and housing so easily. “I have a question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“We’d like for you to be one of Caitlin’s bridesmaids. We were planning to ask you before we announced the engagement. I’d love for you to be part of our wedding party.”

Bridesmaid? What can he be thinking? But now she couldn’t refuse without revealing her lie. “Thanks,” she said as casually as she could. “Sure.”

“Wonderful.” He stood and dusted off his pants. “Remember, prayer circle tonight.”

Forcing a smile, she said, “I’ll be there.”

“Do you want a ride to the hotel, so you can get your things?” He nodded towards the beat-up church van parked on the street. Angie thought of all the shifts she’d worked to make the down payment on it.

“No, I have my bike. I’ll ride over there now.”

San Francisco. January 2002

Gloria had been back from Atlanta for a week when Tiffany followed her into the bathroom. “God, I can never catch you anymore, you’re so busy,” Tiffany complained through the chipped metal stall door. Gloria sat down on the toilet.

“Yeah, it’s crazy.” She pulled some toilet paper off the roll and waited to hear what Tiffany wanted.

“I was thinking maybe you could do a training for the other girls, to show them how you put the mascara on so well.”

“Oh sure,” Gloria said. Through the crack in the stall door, Gloria could see Tiffany reapplying her lipstick. “Sure, I’d be glad to.”

“We’ll do it tomorrow.” Tiffany paused. “You know, customers were asking for you while you were out of town.”

“I guess the mascara’s really working for me,” Gloria watched as Tiffany put her lipstick in her purse and blew herself a kiss in the mirror.

“I’d say so.”

After Tiffany was gone, Gloria stepped out of the stall and leaned against one of the sinks. She’d lost her sister. Her parents had not wanted to have her and she’d barely spoken to them since Christmas. She felt desperate to get into grad school, but the chances she’d manage it were slim. Strangely, she was succeeding in make-up sales. It was all too complicated to think about, so she went back to the sales floor to sell more mascara.

By mid-morning, Gloria had two customers waiting. They had politely insisted they only wanted to see her, even though the other girls and Tiffany weren’t busy.

Because the customers liked the mascara so much, Gloria also explained how to use white eyeliner and dark eye shadow to make their eyes look bigger. They bought everything she showed them.

Tiffany came up behind Gloria while she was filling out her sales log “You’ve had the best sales of anyone since we stopped selling glitter,” she told Gloria.

“Really?” Gloria already knew this, because she calculated her totals every day, but she wanted Tiffany to say it again.

“Yeah, a lot higher.” Tiffany paused, fiddling with a Q-tip. “Gloria, how do you do it?”

“I’ll show you tomorrow, when I do the training.”

Gloria would teach them something — maybe how to use the lash comb properly or how to apply eye shadow so the flakes didn’t fly everywhere. But she wouldn’t give away everything she knew. She didn’t want to; it was too much fun finally being the best. Again.

The dykes always caught Gloria’s eye. Of course, there were usually plenty of lesbians shopping at Macy’s, with neat hair and ironed khakis. The occasional dykes were much more interesting, though, and she could spot their studiedly punk do’s and the tattoos peeking out from under their t-shirts across the store. They usually slipped in to indulge some desire they couldn’t fulfill in the shops of the Mission or Haight: Calphalon knives, maybe, or 400-thread-count sheets. The more butch ones had their hair short and sometimes grew the whiskers on their chins for a heightened masculine effect. The femmes’ hair was usually long, fake black, and messy, with streaks of red or orange; they wore ripped stockings and little tops that showed the outline of their nipples through the fabric. These, Gloria believed, were her people, though they rarely felt the same way about her — or noticed her at all.

Gloria looked like an artistic straight woman. She passed as one of the girls among heterosexual women, and straight men often hit on her. At queer women’s gatherings, she appeared to be a supportive friend unless she happened to know the people there. Gloria considered this a huge drawback. She didn’t want to fade into the straight world, she just wanted to wear pretty things, liked her legs in tights without holes and her eyes painstakingly painted. She didn’t feel cute in ripped clothes and tattoos.

Gloria knew that her invisibility wasn’t only about what she wore. There was a core femininity in her that even other lesbians associated with heterosexuality. She smiled when people spoke; her hands were soft, and she gestured like an interior decorator; she wore heels as though she had learned to walk in them. Gloria simply didn’t register on anyone’s gaydar.

None of the baby dykes she had met when she first came out at eighteen were self-confident enough to risk hooking up with a newbie with shiny hair and girl-jeans, so she had tried to butch up. In a desperate bid for a girlfriend, any girlfriend, Gloria even shaved her head Sinead-style. Once she was bald she bought men’s clothes at the Gap and combat boots at the Army-Navy Surplus. The new costume worked magically, but only because it was a trick. Gloria sat inside her big new pants, wondering if she’d ever look pretty again. Eleven years later, in her internal wrestling match between feeling attractive and being a visible part of her community, visibility had mostly lost. Still, though, it squirmed uncomfortably from time to time. Like now.

A head of shorn black hair was bobbing past the Clarins counter. Gloria couldn’t see the rest of the person — and it could, as sometimes happened, turn out to be an unusually stylish man — but she suspected a dyke was headed her way. She held up a mirror for her customer and smiled encouragingly while the woman went on about the length of her eyelashes. “You look fantastic!” Gloria told her, just filling in the blanks. “Want to get one for a friend?” She rang up the sale and sent her customer off happy. As Gloria looked up from her long column on the sales log, she saw the black head rounding the bend through Fragrances and realized with a surge of embarrassment that it belonged to Lu.

I stood her up. Gloria had forgotten until that moment that she was supposed to have gone to Lu’s show. She had been on the guest list. The decision to ignore Lu’s phone number had been so entirely about herself that she had not considered the person who had been brave enough to write it on a scrap of paper. She wanted to run to the restroom, but it was too late. She and Lu locked eyes.

“Hi, Lu!” Gloria made herself sound enthusiastic.

“Gloria.” Lu’s voice was guarded. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“What are you doing in this bastion of consumerism?”

“It’s my mom’s birthday soon, I’m just buying her a present. For some reason she doesn’t like the stuff I find at thrift stores.”

Gloria forced a little laugh. “Moms can be like that sometimes.”

Lu didn’t respond.

Rushing to fill the awkward pause, Gloria said, “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t come to that show. I had some family stuff happen and I’ve been really preoccupied.”

“I looked for you.”

She’s not going to let me off so easily. Gloria remembered how this woman had complimented her writing; she hated to think of Lu not liking her. “Really, I’m awfully sorry. Can a buy you a coffee, as an apology?”

Lu seemed to be considering the offer. Finally, she said, “Sure.”

Gloria told Tiffany she was taking her break. Walking behind Lu toward the escalator, Gloria admired the frayed, metal-studded belt around Lu’s hips and the way her white t-shirt clung to her smooth back. They glided down together in silence.

“So,” Gloria began when they were settled with their mochas at Macy’s indoor café, “what have you been up to?”

“The band’s been playing a lot. Maybe Andrea told you.”

Gloria felt another pang of guilt; she hadn’t spoken to Andrea since Matilda’s party. “No, I didn’t know. That’s great.”

“We’re getting a lot of gigs, and not just in queer places, which is amazing.” She grinned. “I think it’s because Andrea’s such a big flirt, but whatever works.”

Gloria smiled back at her, imagining Andrea batting her eyes at club managers all over San Francisco. “She probably is flirting, but that’s not enough to get you booked. I think you can definitely take some credit, too.”

“Well, maybe.” Lu looked down at her coffee.

Why didn’t I go out with her? She’s adorable. Gloria wondered if Matilda had snagged her.

“What do you do with your days?” Ever since Gloria had been fired she was hesitant to ask, “Where do you work?”

“I’m a student. I go to the Oakland College of Art.”

“Cool!”

“It’s good. I like it.” Another uncomfortable pause. Lu continued staring at her cup.

Gloria looked around at the other café-goers, while she tried to think of a socially appropriate question. “What kind of art do you study?”

“I do mostly cartoons.” Now Lu’s eyes sparkled. “I’m really into comic books and animation and I’m working on a strip of my own. But they make you learn all kinds of things — sculpture, painting, all of it. I’m taking ceramics now and I love it.”

She’s creative, she’s smart, who cares if I’m a disaster? “Lu, could I call you? For real this time.”

Lu shook her head slowly. “We already tried that. I don’t like being disappointed.”

“How about this?” Gloria pulled out her cell phone. “I’ll plug your number into my phone right now, and then I’ll call you tonight. We’ll make a date. I’ll pick you up and everything. Promise.”

“What time will you call me?”

“Um…eight-thirty.”

Lu’s forehead wrinkled. “Okay,” she said after a pause Gloria knew lasted about ten seconds but that felt more like ten minutes. “But if you don’t follow through, that’s it.”

“I will.” Gloria pushed L-U into her phone. “What’s the number?” Lu told her, and she punched in the information and double-checked the phone’s directory.

“Okay. It’s in. I think I have to get back to work now, but I will definitely call you tonight.” Gloria gave Lu her semi-flirtatious look. “Be thinking about what you’d like to do on our date.”

Lu smiled and stood up. “I will. Come on, I’ll walk you back to work.”

Gloria tracked the time carefully. At 8:05 that night, she allowed Lily to drag her around the park near their apartment. Gloria could never work up much enthusiasm for a walk, so the dog walked her. That was okay, mostly, except when an especially vigorous jerk torqued her shoulder.

At 8:25 she was back home, toweling the mud off Lily’s paws. Four minutes later, she picked up her cell phone and discovered the battery was dead. “Shit!” Gloria stared at the phone. She couldn’t use another line to call Lu, because she hadn’t written the number down. “Damn it. Where’s the charger?” It would take at least fifteen minutes for the phone to become functional again, and by then it would be nearly nine o’clock. “She’s going to hate me,” Gloria moaned to herself. “It’s my one chance.”

Dashing around in search of the phone charger, she finally discovered it on her desk underneath an unpaid gas bill. Once the phone was successfully charging, Gloria had nothing to do but worry. She sat on the bed and stared at the phone. As she thought of Lu waiting for her call, Gloria’s stomach began to churn. The nausea reminded her of the vodka-and-valium illness on the airplane and she breathed deeply, willing herself not to throw up. This isn’t that big of a deal. You can just explain and it’s going to be fine. Besides, you said you didn’t want a new girlfriend.

It was 8:46 before the phone had enough juice to register Lu’s phone number. Gloria grabbed her landline phone and called. Lu answered.

“Hi Lu, it’s Gloria.”

“Hi there. It’s not eight-thirty.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry.” She told Lu what had happened. “It took me forever to charge it and get your phone number out. I should have written it down. I feel terrible to have kept you waiting.” Gloria thought about adding something flirty about making it up to her, but didn’t.

“Well…”

“I was so upset about it I almost threw up.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I practically had to do Lamaze to calm myself down.”

Lu laughed. “I had been thinking about our date.”

Whew. Funny how much she cared now, Gloria realized. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s go to the Farmer’s Market Saturday morning, and then I’ll make you brunch.”

“You cook?” Gloria only knew how to make spaghetti, and the only vegetables she bought were pre-washed salad mixes.

“Yeah, I love to cook. And the Farmer’s Market at the Embarcadero is great — it’s right on the Bay and they have all this organic produce.”

“I have to be at work by one.”

“No problem. I can drop you off.”

“You have a car?”

“Uh-huh.”

This is getting better and better. “Sounds like an awesome date. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll give you my address and you can come get me at nine on Saturday.”

Gloria paused. “In the morning?”

“Yes, in the morning,” Lu said. “Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” Excitement grew in Gloria’s chest. “I’m always up early and I never have anyone to hang out with. Most people won’t even talk that early.”

“I will, don’t worry. I live in the red house at the corner of 22nd and Georgia, apartment two.”

“I’m writing it down. On paper.”

Gloria had been up since six, bathing and drinking coffee and fretting over the right outfit. The new Origins bath confetti she’d tried that morning gave her a rash on her chest, so she had chosen a high-necked flowered thrift store dress. She hoped she looked casual yet put-together. The Aristocrate uniform was in a messenger bag over her shoulder. At exactly nine a.m. on Saturday, Gloria rang Lu’s doorbell.

She didn’t hear footsteps yet, so she quickly pulled the neck of her dress out and peered down to check on her rash. The skin looked pink and raw. She wondered if it would show when she wore her Aristocrate shirt later. Her head was still down the front of her own dress when Lu answered the door.

“Good morning.”

Gloria looked up, startled. “Oh my God, hi.” She dropped her hand from the neck of her dress. “I just, um…” Gloria laughed self-consciously. “What can I say? I’m looking at my chest.”

“I thought that’s what you were up to.” Lu hugged her. “Is everything okay in there?”

“Totally. I have a little skin irritation. I’m sure it’ll go away soon.” Gloria felt herself flushing. The rash throbbed.

Lu smiled. “I’m glad it’s nothing serious. Come on in. I’ll just get my jacket and we can go.” Gloria noticed Lu’s hair was meticulously tousled.

Following her into the apartment, Gloria found more reasons to be glad she’d pursued Lu. The walls were painted warm shades of terra cotta and pale yellow, and the place wasn’t a tiny studio like Gloria’s; it was an actual one-bedroom. Through the door she could see a double bed covered in a pale green quilt with blue rings on it.

“That quilt is beautiful. My grandmother used to make ones like that.”

“Thanks.” Lu pulled a hoodie off a hook in her closet. “I found it at a Mission Thrift, like most of the other stuff in here. Except the bed.”

“Where’s the bed from?”

“Macy’s. I don’t believe in used mattresses.”

“Me neither!” Gloria said. “I always pay full price for mattresses and bathing suits.”

Lu grinned. “And sheets.”

Gloria looked back at the bed. Sun shone in through the bay window. She flashed on herself and Lu in it. I’d love to wake up here.

“Let’s go.” Lu was already leading the way out of the apartment.

The farmer’s market vendors had set out bits of fruit and cheese on toothpicks to tempt customers, so while Gloria and Lu shopped they took turns feeding each other Asian pear spears, mandarin orange pieces, and crumbles of organic blue cheese. As Lu led Gloria from one table to another, she greeted vendors by name, bought a few items, and introduced Gloria. When they moved on she’d say, “See you next week.”

“So you’re a regular?”

“Oh yeah.” Lu tucked her purchases into her backpack, then slung it over one shoulder. “What they grow is so much better than what you can get at the grocery store.”

Lu picked out organic eggs, basil, and a package of outrageously expensive bacon. “I only eat happy meat,” she explained.

“What’s that?”

“Meat that was emotionally fulfilled before it died,” Lu clarified.

“Like, it meditated a lot and accepted its fate as future breakfast food?”

“Exactly.” Lu shook her head, smiling. “It’s just free-range, no hormones. It’s a lot better for you.” She took Gloria’s hand. “Come on, want to go look at the water before we go?”

“Sure.” She’s holding my hand already.

They strolled along the waterfront behind the market. To their right, the top half of the Bay Bridge rose out of the last wisps of morning fog as though suspended over the water. The day felt as breezy and warm as summer; the sky was the same clear blue as the water in the bay. I’m so happy.

As they were leaving, Gloria noticed a booth full of elegantly furled white flowers with long green stems. “What are these called? I always forget.”

“Calla lilies,” Lu said. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

“They’re amazing.” Gloria pulled out a bouquet of calla lilies and paid for them. “These are for you to keep,” she told Lu. “But I’ll carry them for you.”

“Thank you.” Lu took her hand again. “That’s sweet.”

“I love lilies. That’s my dog’s name.” Gloria smiled at the thought of Lily’s scruffy little face.

“I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“She’ll be three in April. I’ve had her since she was a puppy.”

“I had a dog named Lily when I was a kid.”

“Really?” Gloria stopped walking and looked at her, pleased with the coincidence. “That’s funny. What kind?”

“A black Lab.”

“My family had a black Lab,” Gloria exclaimed. She and Lu started walking again. “Her name was Sugar.”

“What kind of…” Lu’s voice faded as they turned the corner and saw a swarm of old people and teenagers marching along the street in front of the market. Cops on black-and-white motorcycles surrounded the marchers, who carried signs that read, “Abortion Is Murder,” “God Loves the Unborn,” and “Overturn Roe vs. Wade.” Some held posters bearing an image of the Virgin Mary or a dismembered baby. They looked solemn and smug. Lu glanced at Gloria and then back at the crowd. “What the hell is this?”

“I saw an email about an anti-abortion rally today, but I didn’t know it was here,” Gloria said. “I guess this is it.”

“This is San Francisco,” Lu said angrily. “We’re progressives! What are they doing here?”

“Churches bus their congregations in. They probably came from other places,” Gloria explained. The protesters didn’t chant or even talk much. They plodded along. “Just wait ’til those girls get pregnant,” Gloria said, watching them pass. “They’ll put down those signs pretty fast and be grateful for the Feminist Women’s Health Center.”

Lu fumed next to her. “I wish I’d known about this. Is anyone doing a counter-protest?”

“Yeah, they are.” Squinting up the street, Gloria saw people holding green balloons. “Over there. Let’s go.” Gloria took Lu’s hand and led her toward the counter-protestors. As they got closer they saw that the balloons said simply “Pro Choice.” A man with a gray beard was handing them out. Gloria took two balloons and smiled at him. “What’s this all about?”

“They want tighter restrictions on abortion in California,” he said, gesturing towards the crowd with his chin. “There are hundreds of them, from all over the state.”

Gloria nodded, scanning the pro-choicers. There were several dozen of them. They looked furious and outnumbered. Just then a man in a yellow rain slicker whizzed by them on a bicycle. He’d tied a green balloon to his handlebar and he pedaled next to the marchers. “I’m bisexual!” he screamed. “I’ll fuck any of you idiot Christians in the ass! Fuck you and your fucking protest!” The marchers looked shocked but satisfied.

“That guy’s name is Ralph,” Gloria whispered to Lu. “He’s a great activist unless he’s off his meds.”

They continued hand in hand through the pro-choicers until they saw a slim woman carrying a huge poster that read, “If Men Got Pregnant, Abortion Would Be a Sacrament.” She was leading about a dozen counter-protesters in a chant: “Two, four, six, eight, separation of church and state.” Gloria let go of Lu’s hand as they approached the woman. When there was a pause in the chant, Gloria said, “Hi, Mom.”

“Gloria!” Her mother hugged her quickly. “I’m glad to finally see you. You should call your parents back sometime.”

“It’s good to see you too, Mom.” Now that she was face-to-face with her mother, Gloria felt guilty.

“Thanks for coming to the rally.” Gloria’s mother looked at Lu. “And you brought someone. Good. I’ve got more posters around here somewhere.”

“Actually…” Gloria began, but her mother interrupted.

“We stopped by your place on the way over here, but you weren’t home.”

Gloria nodded. “Is Dad here?”

“He went to get coffee, he’ll be back soon.”

“Mom, this is Lu.”

Lu stuck out her hand in proper meeting-the-mother fashion. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Soren.”

“Hi, Lu. Call me Colleen.” She shook Lu’s hand briskly. “I’ve got to keep chanting,” she said, “we have to keep up our energy. You girls go grab some posters.”

Gloria glanced at Lu, who shook her head slightly. “We can’t stay, Mom. I’ve got to go to work.”

“Gloria, this is important. I’m sure Macy’s can do without you for a few hours.” She looked at Lu. “We need everyone we can get today.”

Gloria said evenly, “Macy’s does need me today.”

“Fine. I have to focus now.” Her mother turned back to the street.

Gloria looked at Lu quickly and mouthed, Sorry. “Well, Mom, good luck. Tell Dad I said hi.”

“I will.”

“It was good to meet you, Colleen.”

Gloria’s mother turned back toward them. “You too. Bye, Gloria.” She patted Gloria on the back.

As they walked back to the car, Lu said, “I hope it’s okay that I didn’t want to stay. It just wouldn’t seem like much of a date.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to stay either,” Gloria said. “You have no idea how many protests I’ve been to.”

Lu opened the passenger side door and Gloria got in. Just before Lu closed the door behind her, Gloria heard her mother yelling, “Two, four, six…”

When they got back to Lu’s, Gloria arranged the flowers in a vase while Lu cracked eggs and chopped basil. “Try this,” she said, handing Gloria a cracker with goat cheese on it.

Gloria nibbled. “It’s delicious.” She ate the rest. “Mmm.”

Lu’s scrambled eggs tasted like heaven. “I can’t believe these,” Gloria said through her food. “They’re incredible. There has to be something in these besides basil.”

Lu was eating at a more moderate pace. “Nope, just salt, pepper, and a little milk. Don’t panic, I can make more.”

“I’ve never had eggs like these. And the bacon, Jesus.” Gloria had already eaten several pieces.

“Ready for more?”

I shouldn’t eat any more, she told herself. I’m being greedy. Looking up, she saw Lu beaming. What the hell, it’ll make us both happy. She held up her empty plate. “Please?”

They sat talking at the yellow Formica table until Gloria was almost certain to be late to work. Neither made any move to get up. Lu’s thigh brushed Gloria’s knee, and Gloria touched Lu lightly on the arm while they were laughing. Such soft skin. Distracted, Gloria half-listened while Lu told the story of how she’d moved to San Francisco.

Finally Gloria looked at the kitchen clock and saw that she only had twenty minutes to get to work and change. She said, “I don’t want to, but I have to go. My boss gets furious if anyone is late. Except her, of course.”

“I don’t want you to go, either. This has been a lot of fun.” Lu stood up and began stacking dishes. “But I did promise to take you to work.”

As they gathered their things and headed outside, Gloria remembered what Max had said about Lu and Matilda. “I have a question for you, Lu,” Gloria said as she clicked on her seatbelt. “I heard that you might be dating Matilda.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Through a friend.”

Glancing in the rear view mirror as she pulled away from the curb, Lu said, “She seems to be interested in me. It’s not mutual, though. I’ve told her that, but she still flirts with me every time I see her.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m doing some work with her on her play,” Gloria hedged. “I just thought it would be best to mention it if you were already dating her and then had a date with me.”

“Fair enough,” Lu said. “I’m definitely not dating her. She’s just an acquaintance.” She glanced at Gloria and smiled. “Thanks for asking.”

Traffic was moving along and Lu had taken a couple of shortcuts, so they pulled up in front of Macy’s right at one o’clock. Gloria would be only a couple of minutes late. “Thank you so much for everything. I had a wonderful time.” She turned to face Lu. “I appreciate your giving me a second chance. Or maybe that was a third chance.”

“My pleasure.” They locked eyes and began leaning toward each other. Lu’s lips were even softer than her skin, but she only gave Gloria a brief kiss. No tongue. As they pulled apart, Gloria kept looking into her eyes, hoping the kissing might continue, but a horn tooted behind them and she knew it was time to get out of the car.

“Bye, Lu.” She fumbled with the door but managed to open it.

“Have a great day at work.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.” Gloria shut the car door behind her and floated into the Macy’s employee entrance. Once she was safely inside the women’s locker room, she looked down the front of her dress and saw that her rash had disappeared.

“I’m back! Did you miss me? Call me and I’ll tell you all about Atlanta. I think I’m in love and I’m panicking.” Gloria listened to and then deleted Max’s voice mail as she walked to the train station after work the next night. She speed-dialed him from the platform.

“Finally! I thought you were never coming back. I’m coming over right now and you can’t stop me.”

“Hi Glo! I don’t want to stop you. I’ll even feed you.”

“Great, what are we having?”

“Mac and cheese from the box,” he said. “And some broccoli for nutrition.”

“Mmmm, my favorite.”

They ate from chipped bowls, each curled up on one end of his comfy old brown sofa. “Okay,” Gloria said when they were finally settled. “I want to hear all about Jon, and then I have some things to tell you.” She felt ready to talk about Angie and didn’t want to miss her chance.

“That sounds ominous. Am I in trouble?”

“No! Maybe a little. But I had a date yesterday morning and I want to tell you about the fight with Angie. You were too googly-eyed over Jon to ask about it, remember?”

He looked ashamed. “I’m a terrible friend.”

“No you’re not,” she said. “You can make up for it by listening attentively later. Anyway, I can’t believe you’re telling me you’re in love with this guy.”

“I don’t know if I’m really in love with him, but I’m desperately in like with him,” Max said. “We have all these weird things in common. We like the same films, we laugh at the same things — he was even into The Cure in high school, like I was.”

“Every gay person our age was into The Cure in high school,” Gloria said. “I bet he liked The Smiths, too.”

“He did!” Max exclaimed. “It’s so much fun to be with him, and it’s mutual. He’s not some twinkie game-player.”

“All the symptoms are there, Maxie. I think you are indeed in love.”

“Because I’m already merging my identity with his?”

She nodded. “It’s a leading indicator.”

His shoulders slumped. “So what am I supposed to do? He lives in a cultural wasteland 2,500 miles away.”

“He should move out here.”

“He can’t, any time soon. His father hasn’t recovered from his surgery, and he’s getting the other hip replaced soon.” Max stared into his bowl.

“Are you —”

“I’m just thinking about going out there for a while this summer, Glo. Maybe. Classes end in June, you know, and I could sublet my place for a couple of months, see how things go with Jon and how I like Atlanta.”

She put down her bowl and stuck her fingers in her ears. “La-la-la-la,” she said loudly. “I can’t hear you!” She took her fingers out. “Summer is one thing, but you moving there permanently is too painful to think about.” Gloria chewed a bite of broccoli. “You’ll hate it, Max, it’s hotter than New York in summer.”

“Jon says his air conditioning is practically frigid.”

Gloria sighed. “Okay. But tell me right away if you think you really might move there. Like, long-term.”

“You’ll be the first to know. It’s crazy to even be talking about it.” He helped them both to more macaroni. “What happened with Angie?”

Gloria told him about their fight.

“Good grief,” he said when she was finished. “I couldn’t have imagined it any worse.”

Gloria nodded. “I think she’s a sweet person, or I used to, but then her beliefs are so cruel. It’s confusing.”

“Sounds like the cruelty went both ways.”

“I know, the thing about her killing her baby was awful. And of course, I don’t even think abortion is wrong. But she does, and she thinks gay people are going to Hell.” Her eyes watered. “I’m so sad about how it turned out.”

“That is what Christians believe, at least that sort of Christian.” Max’s tone was more sympathetic than his words. “You knew that, right?”

“She’s said the same shit to me before. Somehow it felt different this time. I’d come all the way out there, even bought her that stupid keychain. I think she sees herself as being generous by even associating with me — like Jesus and the lepers or something. Some Christians wouldn’t talk to me at all.”

“That’s probably true. But you have to admit you said some hurtful things to her.”

“I know. She made me so mad. What right does she have?”

“None. She’s completely wrong and her religion is a morass of faulty logic and misplaced trust. But if you want to have a relationship with her, you’re going to have to apologize.”

Gloria sniffled. “I want a nice sister who doesn’t hate me.”

“I’m just guessing here, but I bet she does, too.”

When Gloria got home, she pulled out some paper and a pen and sat on the bed. “What should I say?” she asked Lily. She pulled the dog onto her lap and squeezed her until she squirmed. Then she put Lily down and wrote:

Dear Angie,

I’m not sure what to write, so I’ll just start by telling you I’m sorry for the things I said over dinner. I came there hoping to make up with you and I know I made everything worse. Of course, your mini-lecture on homosexuality didn’t help, either, and I’m still angry about that. But I deliberately tried to hurt you because what you said hurt me, and that’s inexcusable. I hope you will at least consider accepting my apology.

You were such a sweet kid — you were even a sweet teenager, unlike me — and I admit I was jealous of how much other people loved you. But I’ve always loved you, little sister. I still do, I think, though I’m also not sure what that means when we don’t know each other anymore.

Is there any hope for us? Please write.

Your sister,

Gloria

She looked up the church’s zip code on the Web and then addressed and stamped the envelope. Gloria shrugged on her coat, ran down to the end of her block, and stuck the letter in the mailbox.

When she got back, Gloria dialed Matilda.

After the beep, Gloria began, “Hi Matilda.” Thank God I don’t have to talk to her. “I hope it’s not too late to call but I wanted to check in. The application’s going great —”

The phone clicked. “Gloria!”

“Oh, hi.” Matilda’s exuberant voice made Gloria tired. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Not at all! How’s the application coming?”

“I’m almost done with the essay,” Gloria fibbed. “I’m going to try to finish it this week. It’s due at the end of January, right?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“I got the transcripts I needed and the other letters of recommendation are coming, so I just need yours and I’m all set.” Gloria had arranged the details before she left for Atlanta.

“I’ll add my letter to your application package after you turn it in.” Matilda paused. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“Thanks, that’s so nice of you — I don’t think so. I’ll definitely let you know if I have any questions.”

“Call any time. I’ll give you a ring next week.”

“Have a good evening.”

After they hung up, Gloria wondered whether Matilda expected her to cough up the money for the play before recommending her to Burns. Am I actually participating in this? Academic bribery was not something Gloria had hoped to include on her résumé, and she felt sorry that Matilda would not get her play produced after all — at least, not with Gloria’s money. Maybe I should just forget about Burns. Then she thought how good it would feel to hear people call her Dr. Soren. After her failure with the Gildenson and then Angie, she needed to succeed at something. If Matilda wants to believe I’m going to help out, well, that’s her business. After all, I never exactly said I would. Thus Gloria soothed her aching conscience.

A couple of days later, Gloria called Lu. She had deliberately waited three whole days since their first date so as not to seem excessively eager — even though she could hardly wait to see Lu again. They made plans to meet for Thai food later in the week.

“I love that place because it’s so cheap but it’s yummy,” Gloria burbled. She felt giddy. “I’m a little low on cash since my trip to Atlanta.” She had explained the less incriminating details of her visit over breakfast on Saturday.

“Cheap and good is…good,” Lu said, a little hesitantly.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. I love Thai food. I’ll come get you on Friday.”

Gloria called Max over and over during the hour before Lu was scheduled to pick her up. “What should I wear?” she asked the first time. Then, “Is perfume a turn-off?” Later, “Do you think I should change the sheets?”

Max answered each question with the confidence of a man who already has a lover. His instructions: black dress, small amount of perfume, clean sheets just in case.

“I really like her, Max,” Gloria confided.

“I can tell,” he replied. “You remind me of myself with Jon.”

She rolled her eyes even though they were on the phone. “You and Jon, you and Jon,” she mocked.

“Marsha, Marsha, Marsha,” he mimicked.

“You’re just like that, you know.”

“I’m not ashamed,” he said. “It’s about damn time something good happened to me, romantically speaking.”

“True.”

“Glo, I need to ask you something personal.”

“Now? What is it?”

“Are you wearing clean underwear?”

“Max! Yes, of course they’re clean. They’re even cute.”

“I’ve done what I can,” Max said. “You have eight minutes until pick-up. Better go finalize your personal maintenance.”

Her breath was minty fresh, her lipstick perfect, and her deodorant slippery under her arms when Lu arrived carrying a bottle of Pinot Noir with a label Gloria didn’t recognize. She usually bought $4 Chilean wine.

“I thought we could have a glass here before we go,” Lu said.

Thank God the apartment’s clean. “How nice. Come on in.” There wasn’t far to go, but Gloria led Lu over to the corner she used as an eating area, with a round wooden café table and two chairs. She tried not to think about what color her teeth would be after they drank the wine as she looked for the corkscrew and wine glasses.

“This is a cute apartment, Gloria. I didn’t realize we lived so close to each other.” Lu uncorked the wine and poured their glasses.

“Only a few blocks.” She looked around at her familiar white curtains and blue-and-brown retro-print comforter. It was cute. “I like it — I wish I had a bigger place like yours, but I just can’t afford it. I mean, I work at Macy’s, you know?” As she sipped the delicious wine, Gloria wondered privately how Lu paid the rent, but she couldn’t ask. Instead she said, “How long have you lived in your place?”

“Just about a year. I went through a breakup and decided after that it was time to move in to my own apartment.”

While Gloria said, “Living alone has its merits,” she thought, Must be pretty pricey if she just moved in last year.

“It does. Hey, how did you end up with that job at Macy’s, anyway?”

“It was all I could get.” Gloria took another sip of wine. “I suppose you know about the prize I won and lost.”

Lu nodded. “Matilda mentioned it.”

Gloria felt the blood come to her cheeks. “It was…well, the whole thing was a big mistake, but as a result I was fired from my job as an editor and no other magazine will hire me.” There, I said it. Whew.

“If you didn’t have a job, though, you could write more.”

“But if I didn’t have a job, how would I eat?”

Lu’s laugh sounded uncomfortable. “Speaking of food, are you ready to go to the restaurant?” Their glasses were empty.

“Sounds great. I’ll be ready in just a sec.” When Gloria returned from the bathroom, her teeth were as white as they had been before the wine.

When the check came, Gloria mentally calculated how much each of them owed and put her portion on the table. She waited for Lu to do the same. As she pulled out her wallet, Lu looked at her wonderingly.

She expected me to pay. Gloria was mortified. I did ask her out — so I should have offered. It was too late to do it, though, without further embarrassment, so she sat staring at the potted plant on the low wall next to them while the waiter took their money.

“You know, there’s something I’m wondering about,” Lu said. “I hope it’s okay to bring this up, but — that night we met, after you left, everyone was gossiping about how you have a trust fund.”

Gloria gasped. She’d forgotten what Max told her — that Matilda had spread the rumor all over the party. Laughing, Gloria told her, “No, no, it’s not true. Matilda made that up from something I said — it’s all a misunderstanding.”

“I should have known she’d make something up.”

Gloria was still laughing. “She is a fiction writer.” Lu’s behavior made more sense in light of this new information. “No wonder you didn’t understand why I have a job.”

“I couldn’t figure why you’d work at that place when you didn’t have to.”

“I have to. There is no trust fund and Macy’s pays the bills. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Not at all. Rich people are usually pretty annoying, anyway.”

Gloria could not say, one way or another, how rich people were. “Have you been around them a lot?” she asked.

“Here’s the thing: I do have a trust fund.”

“What?”

“My father died when I was a teenager. I knew he’d left me something, but I didn’t know how much until I turned twenty-one. Then, whoa.”

“What happened?” Gloria leaned towards her.

“My mom sits me down on my birthday and tells me I’ve got all the money I’ll ever need and so does she. My money from my dad was tied up in a trust so I didn’t inherit it until I was legally an adult.”

“And you had no idea?”

“Not really. I knew we had enough money, but we lived in a regular house and I went to a public school, so I didn’t know we were rich.” She smiled and shrugged. “Anyway, people treat me differently when they find out, so I don’t usually mention it. But I figured you should know, given the misunderstanding.” She paused. “I really hope you won’t tell anyone else.”

Gloria wondered if this meant Lu would take her to nicer places for dinner, but realized it would be rude of her to expect it. Without a doubt, she would tell Max about Lu’s wealth. She would be unable to contain herself. “Lu, I respect your privacy and I won’t spread it around that you’re a trust fund baby. But I’d really like to be able to talk to my best friend about it.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I’ll swear him to secrecy.”

Lu looked unconvinced.

“Come on, I have to process with someone. It’s far too interesting to just not talk about it. And I don’t want to lie and pretend I’m not going to tell him. I want to do things right with you from now on.”

A small smile bent the corners of Lu’s mouth. “I appreciate the honesty. That shows character.”

Gloria winced. “So we’re agreed I can talk to him?”

Lu nodded. “Yeah.”

They stood and began walking towards the door. Gloria asked, “Can I buy you an ice cream cone?”

“Sure,” Lu opened the door for her as they walked out of the restaurant. “Then maybe we can drink the rest of the wine at your place.”

They linked arms on the way to the ice cream shop and during the walk back to Gloria’s. When they arrived, she put some jazz on the stereo while Lu poured more wine. They sat next to each other on the bed. I hope we’re not just going to sit here and talk all night. Gloria had been on plenty of dates like that, where both women waited and waited for the other to make the first move. She resolved not to let that happen with Lu.

They sipped their wine and looked at one another. “This is wonderful,” Gloria said. “Where did you get it?”

“I’m a member of a little winery in Sonoma. They sent this last month, so I thought we could try it.”

“You can join a winery? I didn’t know that.”

“The membership was a gift from my mom, actually.” Gloria considered asking Lu about her, but decided against it, knowing that would lead to a decidedly unsexy conversation. Instead, she stood and put her empty wine glass in the sink. Sitting back down next to Lu, she smiled mischievously at her and took the glass from her hand. She set it down on the floor by the bed.

“I’m not done.”

“You can finish it later.” Gloria felt more confident than usual; seduction was one thing she knew she did well. She slid closer and wrapped her hand around the back of Lu’s neck. “Come here.” Gloria kissed her, and Lu kissed her back.

Exploring Lu’s body became one of Gloria’s favorite methods of putting off the Burns application. Listening to the details of Max’s passion for Jon and his fears about their relationship took up at least an hour a day. She was busy at the make-up counter and sometimes didn’t even have time for her lunch break. That’s why Gloria didn’t start her Burns essay until the night before the application was due.

Sitting at her computer, she scolded herself. She had written and then deleted the first sentence several times. Nothing else was done. Why didn’t I start this sooner? She knew the answers, of course. As much as Gloria loved the idea of getting into Burns, the actual process was not the way she cared to spend her time.

Why would anyone let me in this program? I don't know anything about literature and I can barely string a sentence together. Gloria had been to some therapy, and she knew this was negative self-talk. She sort of liked it, though. Putting herself down was so familiar it felt comforting, a scratchy old baby blanket knit by a slightly sadistic grandmother. I'm an idiot, she told herself. I have no talent.

But she knew she was pretty smart. Her college grades had been mostly A’s, her GRE scores in English were excellent, and she thought her former professors would say nice things about her, if they could remember who she was. Combine that with Matilda’s recommendation, and Gloria figured she had a decent shot. I just have to write this freakin’ essay.

She found she could not remember much of what she’d learned in college. She’d read a lot and written paper after paper, but the subject matter and the authors she’d studied were hazy now. She could no longer distinguish among the Brontë sisters. Mark Twain had once been a favorite, but now she couldn’t recall just what had made her laugh so hard. Something about a frog. And then there was Jane Austen — what book was it that had Mr. Darcy in it? He had reminded Gloria of Max. Strange how little she had retained.

To calm her rattling nerves, she took a break and checked email. Nothing but spam. While I’m online, I’ll find out about Mr. Darcy. She Googled and came up with dozens of sites devoted to Austen. Clicking around with her mouse, Gloria poked through each one, knowing she was procrastinating but unable to stop. The fifth site she came to was full of essays. Gloria leaned away from the computer and put her hands on her lap. Even though she knew she was alone in her apartment, she looked behind herself warily. What if…?

Time was running out. It was close to nine o’clock and her brain was empty. I’ll just read a couple of these to get some ideas.

In the end, her essay was a combination of her own pleas for entry into Burns, a plausible pitch to study nineteenth-century novels, and a few choice sentences from Stanford University grad student Elsa A. Woodcock’s paper on Austen. She figured Elsa would never know what she’d done, and hoped she might understand Gloria’s predicament even if she did. Anyway, she shouldn’t put her paper online if she doesn’t want to share. Reading it over just before she went to bed, Gloria thought it was a very good essay: literate, mildly humorous in a highbrow way, and appropriately bootlicking. It sounded like it had been written by someone who deserved a Ph.D.

She went to drop off the application the next day. The marble Humanities building was easy to locate on the far end of Burns campus’s gorgeously groomed quad. Gloria opened the heavy iron and glass doors and followed the signs. As she squinted in the dim light of the hallway outside the English department lobby, she saw Matilda inside behind a desk.

“Hi, Matilda!” Gloria stuck her head in.

Matilda jumped. “Oh, Gloria. You surprised me.” She looked displeased.

“I just came to turn in my application. Should I give it to the secretary?”

“Just give it to me,” Matilda said. “They go right here.” She put Gloria’s envelope in a large cardboard bin marked “applications.” Then she stood. “I hate to run off, but I have a meeting. Can I walk you out?”

They strolled outside. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Matilda,” Gloria said. “You’ve been great.”

“I’m glad I could help. I could really use your help with my play. I didn’t want to mention it while you were busy with your application.”

“Of course. I hadn’t forgotten.”

“Would you like to see the script?”

“Yes! Definitely.”

“I have it right here.” Matilda stopped to pull a thick envelope out of her bag. She handed it to Gloria.

“I’ll start reading it tonight.” Gloria tried to smile. “I bet it’s fantastic.”

After they said good-bye, Gloria walked to the train station. The envelope felt unbearably heavy.

Gloria dutifully read most of the play, but found she could not judge it. She thought some of the dialogue was funny. How it would all come together, however, was beyond her. But it didn’t matter much what she thought — she’d already let Matilda believe she would help produce it. And it was starting to look like she’d have to follow through.

She considered telling Max about her dilemma. He would be appalled, she thought. But he also might be helpful. I’ve got to get out of this somehow. She hated to admit such an embarrassing situation to anyone. Maybe this thing with the play will all blow over.

Matilda left two messages on her voice mail while Gloria was at work the next day. “How did you like it?” she asked in the first one. “Did you get a chance to read it all?”

The second message was more aggressive. “Gloria, where are you? Call me!”

Gloria took Lily for a long walk and ate supper slowly before she returned the calls. Partly, she was putting off the inevitable. Partly, she took pleasure in making Matilda wait. “Matilda, sorry, my phone’s been off,” she said. “I thought the play was really funny.”

“I’m so glad!”

Buttering her up might help get her off my back. “You have an amazing talent.”

Matilda said happily, “You’ll support the play?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“We have a lot to talk about, Gloria. How much it’ll cost, your level of involvement…”

“I wish I weren’t so busy, but I’ve been doing a lot of volunteer work.”

“I understand.”

If I can put her off for a few days, maybe I can figure some way out of this. “Let’s get together next week.”

“But that’s such a long time.” Matilda sounded disappointed.

Shit, when am I working next week? “I do have some free time on Monday,” Gloria told her. That would give her five days. “I could come over.”

“I’d love that. I’ll make dinner for us. Do you like salmon?”

Oh Lord, Gloria thought, though she did like salmon. There’s no way I can go through with this.

Two days later, Gloria told Max the whole story. Her apartment reeked of burned potatoes — she had tried to make gnocchi for dinner. She and Max sat cross-legged, facing each other on her bed, the Chianti bottle balanced on the bedside table. “I never would have thought this of you, Gloria,” he said. “How resourceful. How manipulative. It’s straight off Showtime.”

“This is my life, Max.” He seemed to miss the gravity of the situation. “I’ve either got to come up with the money to produce Matilda’s play, or forget about getting into Burns.”

“How much would the play cost?”

“I have no idea. Thousands of dollars, I guess. Renting the space, costumes, actors, publicity…it must be a lot.”

He swirled the wine in his glass, spilling a drop onto his jeans. “Do you have any money?”

“You know I barely have rent. My credit cards are almost maxed out and I’ve sold everything of value. My parents don’t have extra money, contrary to popular belief. And I’ve hardly spoken to them since Christmas.”

“What if you tell her the truth?”

“That I don’t have the money, never did, and have no intention of helping with the play?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“She’d smear me at Burns.”

“So what?” Max drained his glass. “There are other programs out there. Even in San Francisco. The committee will still see your application.”

“But I told my parents I’d gotten into Burns.” She stood up and began pacing. “You have a point, though, Max. Maybe I’d still get in without Matilda. It’s possible.” That could be her salvation. Maybe she’d be admitted to Burns, and it would be even more of a triumph because she’d done it on her own. That is, with the help of Elsa at Stanford.

“Yes, it is possible. You might still get in.” Max looked her in the eye. “Glo, it’s time to stop lying. Tell Matilda the truth, and then give yourself a break and tell your parents the truth: You haven’t gotten into school yet but you’re applying. They’ll still love you.”

“They’ll be even more ashamed of me.”

“I doubt that. Whatever you decide to tell them, though, you’ve got to get out of this deal with Matilda. Stringing her along is not going to help you in the end.”

“Maybe I could have a fundraiser.”

Max rolled his eyes. Then they gave up on the gnocchi and went for pizza.

That night Gloria couldn’t sleep, and it was not the pizza’s fault. Alone in bed, she thought about the Gildenson and then about Lu. She remembered their second date at the Thai place, when Lu said Gloria’s honesty showed character.

Basically, I’m a liar. Gloria had never admitted this to herself before. Her lies had always seemed necessary. The problem with the assistant’s byline had seemed like a silly mistake — but any magazine writer, Gloria included, knew better than to use someone else’s work without credit. When she considered what Max had said about stopping her lies, she saw how much she’d done it. She’d already lied to Lu once about the show she didn’t come to. Her parents, Angie, Lu, Matilda — Max was the only person she hadn’t outright deceived, and she hadn’t told him the whole truth until that night. She’d avoided her own sister for years rather than face their differences. These, she finally saw, were not small deceptions.

Gloria didn’t know if she had always been a liar. Looking back on her life, it didn’t seem that way, but maybe she had been fooling herself all along. What would happen if I stopped covering things up? Maybe her life would change. Maybe she’d be able to keep the next good job she got. Lu might want to be her girlfriend. Max would be able to trust her. The lies she’d told seemed to form a translucent white barrier around her body. It takes so much work to stay wrapped up, Gloria realized. If I stopped lying, maybe I could relax.

Gloria speed-dialed Matilda at an ungodly hour the next morning.

“H’llo?” Her voice was gravely.

“I’m sorry to call so early, but I’ve got to talk to you. It can’t wait.”

“Gloria?”

“Yes, sorry, this is Gloria.”

“Is something wrong? Is it about the play?”

“Yeah.” Gloria paused. “It’s about the play.”

“You don’t like it after all?” Matilda sounded more awake.

“Well…” Gloria fought temptation. “Um, no. I think it’s a good play, as far as I can tell, but the thing is, I lied to you.” Gloria gripped the phone tighter and forced herself to continue. “I don’t have the money to produce your play. That thing about the trust fund was a misunderstanding. I just acted like I could help you to get your recommendation to Burns. I’m sorry I misled you. It was a terrible mistake, a really — a really bad thing to do.” Not knowing what else to say, she finally stopped talking.

Matilda stayed silent for so long that Gloria started to wonder if she was still on the other end of the line.

Finally, Matilda spoke. Sleep no longer blurred her voice. “You pathetic lying bitch.” The connection went dead.

Gloria stared at the phone for a moment and then tossed it onto the bed. She’d expected to feel relieved, but she just felt like an idiot. Shit! What have I done? Matilda would tell everyone. Gloria paced the floor in front of her bed. I am a pathetic lying bitch.

Lily jumped up on her legs. Gloria ruffled the fur on top of her head. “Ready to go out?” Lily panted and smiled in response. “Okay.” She pulled on some sweatpants and a matching jacket.

At the coffee shop on the corner, Gloria bought herself a latte and a cranberry-orange scone. She and Lily sat at a picnic table in the park; they split the scone. “I suppose it’ll be okay,” she told the dog. “Hopefully this will all work out.” She blew on her latte to cool it.

True, she had been pathetic, trying to get Matilda to sneak her into Burns’ English department. But she was less pathetic now than she had been. She would get in, or she wouldn’t. At least I don’t have to pay for Matilda’s play. I’m done with my stint in bribery.

“Leilani, this is Gloria Soren,” Tiffany announced later that morning. “She’s only been here for three months and she’s already amazing.” Tiffany turned to Gloria. “Leilani Seiverts is the regional cosmetics manager. She’s in charge of, like, all the Aristocrate counters on the West Coast.”

Gloria eyed Leilani’s snug black pants and expensive gray silk jacket as they shook hands. The manager’s make-up was three-dimensional. “Great to meet you, Leilani.”

Tiffany turned to Gloria. “You’re still doing the training today, right?”

“Sure. You wanted me to show the girls how to do eye shadow, right?” In front of the regional manager?

“Uh-huh. Leilani’s going to be your model.”

“Oh, really?” Gloria’s glanced from one to the other.

Leilani put a hand on her shoulder and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun. I love seeing what the girls at the counters come up with. If you make any mistakes it’ll be a great opportunity for everyone to learn.”

“Okay. Sure, learning is good.”

“Let’s do it now,” Leilani suggested. “You can just re-do all of my make-up. Looks like there aren’t too many customers.”

While Tiffany rounded up the Beauty Advisors, Gloria got out her brushes and an assortment of supplies. “Leilani, why don’t you off the make-up you’re already wearing?” Gloria handed her a bottle of remover and some cotton balls. “You can sit in this chair.” She pulled a mirror closer.

Leilani wiped her face diligently. It took a while for her to get all the make-up off. When she was finished, she looked clean and vulnerable.

Tiffany herded the Beauty Advisors into a semi-circle around Gloria and Leilani. One checked her own make-up in Leilani’s mirror, and a new girl stared up the escalator. The others looked curious, though. “Tiffany asked me to do a training on eye shadow application,” Gloria said. She smiled at Leilani. “First, I’m going to choose the right foundation color for her.” The Beauty Advisors all knew how to do that from a previous training. With her fingertips, she tried a few different shades on Leilani.

“Plaster of Paris is her foundation color.” Gloria smiled at Leilani. “That’s the one I use, too.” With a small sponge, Gloria gently applied a thin layer of the foundation all over Leilani’s face, paying special attention to the sides of her nose, which were a little red, and making sure to blend the edges into invisibility. When she finished, Leilani looked ghostly.

“Because she doesn’t have blemishes on her skin or any darkness under her eyes, we’re not going to need any concealer, and I’m just going to give her a light dusting of the Translucent Shimmer Powder to prevent shine.” Gloria powdered Leilani’s face with a brush slightly smaller than a feather duster.

“Leilani has a pink skin tone, so I’m sticking with cool colors.” With a smaller brush, Gloria added a little Rompin’ Rose to her cheeks. “I’m going to use a neutral rose shade of lipstick so that she doesn’t look too made up. I’ll do her eyes first, though.”

Gloria turned to Leilani. “Do you like gray eye shadow?” She’d learned it was best to ask first.

“I do; it’s one of my favorites.”

“Great. I’m going to go ahead and ask you to close your eyes.” In the comfortable routine of make-up application, Gloria had nearly forgotten Leilani was her boss’s boss. Turning back to her coworkers, she explained, “It’s important to prepare the area before you put any color on. That way the eye shadow will stay put. Aristocrate doesn’t carry a fixative product, but I like to use Eye Glue. You can get it at the drug store for a couple of bucks.” Gloria pulled out her tube and brushed a bit on Leilani’s lids.

“Once the Eye Glue is dry, start with a color that’s close to the customer’s skin tone and sweep that all the way across her lids. I’m starting with Tickled Pink, which is a very pale color with a little shimmer to it.” Gloria bit her lip in concentration as she applied the shadow.

“You can see that her eyebrows have an arched shape to them, so you can brush this first color all the way up into the arch. That’ll look polished.”

Gloria outlined Leilani’s eyes in charcoal gray. “This takes a steady hand,” she cautioned, remembering her coworkers’ chemical habits. “If you’re feeling at all shaky, let the customer do this part herself.” Then she layered shades of gray shadow on Leilani’s lids, adding silver in the inner corners and a deeper gray in the creases. “See how these colors complement her green eyes?” Gloria pointed out. “And the gray also works with her outfit. I try to take both of those things into account with each customer. That way she can walk out looking fabulous.”

Scanning Leilani’s face, Gloria realized that only the mascara was missing — and the lipstick, of course, but that would go on last. They don’t know how I do the mascara. That was her trump card. Gloria had always managed to avoid demonstrating her technique — she blocked her coworkers’ view with her body when she put mascara on customers. This isn’t just another customer, she reminded herself.

“Some of you have been wondering how I do the mascara,” Gloria said. The Beauty Advisors nodded, even the bored new girl. “Here’s what you do. The key is, after you put on the color you have to give each eyelash individual attention before the mascara dries. Use a separate lash comb for that, not the applicator, and make sure it’s absolutely clean before you start.”

When Gloria had finished, Leilani’s eyelashes nearly touched her eyebrows. She looked like a silent movie star. Stepping back, Gloria heard one of the Beauty Advisors whisper, “Damn, girl.”

“Hold on,” Gloria told Leilani, “let me put the lipstick on before you look at yourself.” With her lip brush, Gloria applied the color and then dabbed gloss in the center of Leilani’s lower lip. Smiling, she held up the mirror. “There you go.”

When Leilani saw herself, she did not smile back. Her expression blank, she grabbed the mirror. She turned from side to side. She pulled the mirror closer and inspected her eyelashes. “Gloria,” she said in a serious tone, “what are you doing for lunch?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s only ten-fifteen.”

“Breakfast, then.” Leilani handed the mirror to Tiffany and said to Gloria, “Come with me.”

Gloria raised her eyebrows questioningly at Tiffany. “Can I?”

Tiffany rolled her eyes. “Duh.” She smiled.

Tagging along behind Leilani, Gloria followed her outside and around the corner to the Cock and Crow, a touristy omelet restaurant. Leilani didn’t speak. Trying not to show her nervousness, Gloria slid in the booth opposite her and ordered coffee. What’s going on? Surely she wouldn’t take me to breakfast just to fire me.

“I didn’t want to talk to you where the others could hear me, Gloria.”

“Oh. Okay.” Gloria noticed that two hairs at Leilani’s temple were comfortingly gray.

“We’re creating a new position at Aristocrate on the regional level. I’ve been doing all the management as well as the cosmetics training and as we expand it’s getting to be too much for one person. And, as you can tell, not much training is even happening.”

Could she mean…

Leilani finally smiled. “The West Coast Cosmetics Trainer works with the Beauty Advisors to show them how to use our products and how to apply make-up effectively. I think you’d be excellent for the job.”

“Me? That would be great.”

Leilani nodded. “That was part of the reason for my visit today. I’d heard about you and I wanted to see if you were as good as Tiffany said. And you’re even better.” Leilani pulled out a black leather-bound Dayplanner and flipped through it. She ran a manicured finger down one page. “Perfect. If you want the job, I can stay here this week and keep working with you. We’ll train informally for a few months, and then you’ll have a week-long session with our national artist right before you start.” She glanced up at Gloria. “The position doesn’t officially begin until the middle of May, but I wanted to start grooming you ahead of time.” With a wry smile she added, “Also, since the turnover is so high, I didn’t want you to quit, thinking your job was a dead end.”

All Gloria could say was, “Wow.” She said it a couple of times before she realized how much she sounded like Tiffany. “Thank you so much, Leilani.” Why does this feel even better than winning the Gildenson?

“There are a couple of drawbacks.”

Oh no. “Like what?”

“You do have to travel, and you’ll be spending part of your time during the week at the counters in Los Angeles, Portland, and Seattle. But you can be based here and Aristocrate will cover all the travel expenses.”

“That’s not a problem.” I can send Lily to Pet Camp while I’m gone, she’ll like that. “Anything else?”

“I’m afraid we can’t offer much as a starting salary. But we can begin with $52,000 a year, with a raise in six months if your job performance is good.”

Even as Gloria laughed, she felt tears of relief gathering in her eyes. “Leilani, $52,000 would be just fine.” She made $11 an hour working behind the counter, and she’d never earned more than $34,000 a year at Politic.

“Good. I have a feeling you won’t have any trouble getting that raise.”

Gloria ate in a happy daze while Leilani told her more about the job.

“Does Tiffany know?”

“It was her idea. She said you had a lot of talent, more than anyone she’d seen. Including herself.”

Gloria just stared.

“Glo, what are you going to do if you get into Burns?” Max chomped his pork adobo that night. With his mouth full, he added, “School starts in eight months.”

Gloria had wondered about school since breakfast with Leilani that morning. “I don’t know. Could I do both?”

“I don’t think you can be a regional cosmetics trainer and a grad student in English Literature,” Lu said. “That sounds difficult. Plus, when you’re in school you have to go to class.”

The four of them had divided neatly into couples: Lu and Gloria sat on one side of the red leather booth, Max and Jon on the other. Jon had been in San Francisco for several days, and Gloria was sick of him. He monopolized Max, who was entirely willing to be monopolized. Max, who had spent sleepless nights worrying that Jon’s visit would be a disaster, now anticipated his boyfriend’s departure with dread.

As she reached for the lumpia, she could see Max and Jon feeling each other up under the table. God, they’re annoying. She slid her left hand into Lu’s lap. “But I don’t want to miss this opportunity, when I may not even get into school. Anyway, I’ll know about Burns one way or another before the job starts.”

“What do you want to happen?” Jon asked.

“I want to go to Burns. I mean, this is great — but it’s not exactly a life-path sort of job.”

Lu rubbed her hand. “Well, sweetie, you’ll know soon enough. You’ll find out from Burns on May first, right?”

“Right. It’s only three months away, but it feels like a century.”

“Sorry I brought up Burns,” Max said. “I know we’re here to celebrate your promotion, whether you decide to take it or not.” He raised his mango shake. “Here’s to a decent salary and oodles of free make-up.” They all raised their cups and touched glasses.

“I’ve never had Filipino food before,” Max said to Lu. “It’s delicious.”

“I love it. It’s my comfort food. When I was a kid, my parents’ house smelled a lot like this restaurant.”

Gloria crunched into a piece of lumpia. “Yum.” She smiled at Lu and reached for another. “Thank you for taking us here.”

“You’re welcome,” Pushing her plate over to Gloria, Lu said, “Try the adobo.” The chunks of meat and broccoli over rice smelled rich and salty.

Gloria stuck her fork in and picked up a piece. Everyone watched as she put the food in her mouth and began to chew.

“It’s awesome, huh?” Max asked.

Gross! What am I eating? Gloria stopped chewing and stared at Max across the table, horrified by her own reaction. She was afraid to look at Lu. The taste was fine, but the food’s slippery texture felt disgusting in her mouth — worse, even, than mushrooms.

“You don’t like it?” Lu sounded disappointed.

Knowing she’d soon have to either swallow it and pretend it was good, or spit it into her napkin, Gloria held the food in her mouth. Adobo in limbo. It wouldn’t kill me to act like I like it, she thought. Then she realized this was an opportunity to practice honesty.

Gloria spat the adobo into her napkin as delicately as possible. Quickly, she bundled it up and hid it beneath the edge of her plate. “I’m sorry, Lu. It’s not quite to my taste. It was squishy.”

Lu grabbed the napkin and opened it.

“No!” Gloria tried and failed to snatch the chewed-up food back.

Laughing, Lu refolded the napkin. “That’s the part you’re not supposed to eat. It’s a chunk of fat, for seasoning.”

“Oh.” Gloria felt silly. “I was going to try to swallow it because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I mean, what a white-girl thing to do my first time eating Filipino food — spitting it out.”

“Nobody wants to eat that part. Here, let me help you.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No, Gloria. I told you I don’t like lying. The flip side is that I’m not going judge you for telling the truth.”

“But what if it’s a little lie? Just a lie to keep from hurting your feelings?”

“Then you’d be stuck for the rest of the time you know me eating the fat out of the adobo.”

Looking into Lu’s eyes, Gloria said, “I hope I know you for a long time.”

Lu kissed her nose. “I hope so, too.” With her fork, she dug around in the adobo. “Try this piece. And if you don’t like it, it’s okay. I’m not going to freak out.”

As Gloria chewed, a smoky, vinegary flavor filled her mouth. “Mmm.” The pork was perfectly tender. She swallowed. “God, that’s amazing. I’m going to have to order some.”

“See? Now when you say you like something, I can believe you. I won’t wonder if you’re just trying not to hurt my feelings.”

Max and Jon nodded sagely at her from across the table. Gloria rolled her eyes at them, but smiled. “Like you guys are suddenly the relationship experts.”

Max said, “You know where I stand on the honesty issue.”

“Okay, okay.” Smiling, Gloria put her arm around Lu’s shoulders. “I get it.”

Atlanta. March, 2002

Looking around her dark little bedroom in the basement of the church, Angie noticed how few belongings she had: clothes, a couple of towels, a few books. In a box of mementos, she’d kept programs and keepsakes from church functions, notes from Jake’s sermons, and photos of her family. She’d never even bothered to furnish the living room. She could take her suitcase and a few boxes herself, then get a couple of men from the church to carry the bed. And then I won’t live here anymore. She sighed, but it didn’t release the hurt she’d carried with her for two months.

As she pulled her suitcase out from under the bed, she heard crinkling. Looking down, Angie saw Gloria’s letter half-crumpled between the suitcase and the wall. It had been on her only windowsill for a long time and then disappeared. She hadn’t looked for it. Angie wanted to believe she’d forgotten about the letter, but she knew she’d ignored it on purpose.

Re-reading it, Angie thought, It was unChristian of me not to write her back. Gloria’s letter was sweet, overall. Angie managed to summon up some Christian forgiveness, but it faded as she remembered what Gloria had said about her unborn baby. How could she be so cruel? Gloria had never been hateful to her when they were children; she had been Angie’s defender.

Jake was the only person in Atlanta who knew about the baby. When she told him, he’d comforted her with the Gospel of John: “But if we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.” She tried hard to believe that, and sometimes she did.

But it wasn’t only sin, in the Christian sense, that bothered her — the irretrievable loss of her integrity had pained her for years before she met Jake. Before the abortion, she hoped herself to be just and strong, the underdog’s best advocate. Her pregnancy and its ending proved her wrong: her unborn baby died because she couldn’t stand up to her parents’ force of will.

Gloria, Angie believed, didn’t understand that it was important to recognize sin in order to resist it. Of course, Gloria didn’t want to hear what she had to say about Jesus and homosexuals. But, in the world Gloria lived in, Angie might be the only one to tell her the painful truth. Certainly, she’d be the only one to give her hope: God’s love can change anything. Everything. God can make a sinner into the person she wants to be.

Angie was staring out the window, the letter in her hand, when Jake appeared at the doorway. “Oh,” she said, surprised. “Hi.” He rarely came down to her personal quarters.

“Hi, Angie. You’re packing.”

“Mm-hm.” She tucked the letter into her pocket. “My new apartment is right up the street, so the move won’t be too hard.”

“Oh.” He didn’t look particularly happy. “Is it a nice place?”

Angie looked around. The bare walls of her room in the church were bleak white, and the gray industrial carpet smelled vaguely of mildew. The wood floors in her new place would be much better. She might even try to decorate it. “It’s small,” she said, “but it has a lot of light.”

He smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thanks.” The sight of him hurt too much for chatting. She waited to hear why he’d come to see her.

“Since you’re moving out, Caitlin said she’ll take care of setting up for services on Sunday mornings,” Jake said. “I just wanted to let you know you don’t have to be here early on Sundays anymore.”

Angie had always loved having the church to herself on those mornings. She would get up early and clean the sanctuary, mopping the floors and unfolding the chairs, feeling the sun on her skin as it filtered in through the tall windows. “I can still come early,” Angie said. “It’s really no trouble.”

“Not necessary,” Jake said jovially, holding up a hand as if stopping traffic at a crosswalk. “Caitlin wants to do it.”

“Oh.” Angie looked down so he wouldn’t know how her heart was twisting. Clearly, he was not asking her opinion. “All right then. I guess that makes more sense. You’ll both be living here soon, anyway.”

“Right. Caitlin’s going to go ahead and move in when you leave, so she can get the place set up for both of us.”

Turning away from him, Angie resumed her packing. “Tell her she can have it tomorrow.” Over her shoulder she added, “I’m having a meeting of the after school program committee here Sunday. Some of them are going to join us for services.”

“The after school program?”

Angie turned to face him. “What’s wrong?”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I’ve only been to one of those meetings, Angie, and I do think it’s a great program you all are trying to set up. But the other members are just so liberal. Methodists, Episcopalians — their views are different from ours.”

“They’re all saved,” she told him, surprised at his reaction. “I mean, I don’t know if they’d call themselves born again, like us, but I can tell they’re believers. They wanted to come visit our church.”

“Why can’t you meet at Parkview Methodist anymore?” He looked doubtful.

“They’re having construction done, so I offered our church.” Angie felt as if she’d done something wrong, but knew she hadn’t. “It never occurred to me they wouldn’t be welcome here.”

“I remember that one guy. Mark something. He struck me as — you know — what I’m trying to say is that I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t a homosexual.”

Angie inhaled sharply. “Jake, I can’t believe you’d say such a thing.” Angie had never backtalked her pastor before, but she couldn’t let him say that about Mark. “I’m truly shocked. Of all the people on the committee, he cares the most about doing good for these children.”

Jake drew his eyebrows together and rocked back on his heels as though beginning a sermon. “That worries me. Homosexuals are very often too interested in children. I’m not saying he can’t come, but I don’t think he’s someone you should be associating with.”

Angie thought of Mark offering her a room after Jake had turned her life upside down. “Mark is not a homosexual. He’s a normal, nice man and he’s on the committee because he wants to help these children,” she said. Jake’s suggestion disgusted her. After a moment, she added, “I’m proud to have him visit our church.”

“Angie, I’ve never seen this side of you.” Jake’s face and neck were flushed.

“Mark will be here on Sunday. And I’m looking forward to having him here.”

“I’m going to pray on this, Angie,” Jake said as he backed out of the room. It sounded more like a warning than an offer.

As she walked towards the church on Sunday morning, Angie hoped Jake’s sermon would help her figure out how to respond to Gloria. She had been wondering how to make up with her sister since she rediscovered the letter. Usually Angie would have gone to her pastor directly for advice, but that didn’t feel right anymore. She tried to forget what he’d said about Mark.

When she arrived, Jake was making his way to the front of the room. Angie sat in the back row, as she had always done, so she could direct people to seats or handle the occasional crisis. The Spirit caused weeping or fainting spells for a few sensitive members of the congregation.

Jake had just begun the opening prayer — “Father, we thank You for bringing us together today in the name of Your only begotten Son, our Lord Jesus Christ” — when Angie noticed someone peeking in: Mark. She smiled and waved him in; grinning back, he slipped into the chair beside her and pulled out his Bible. The other committee members were seated together closer to the front.

“There is an issue,” Jake began after the usual prayers and hymns, “that weighs heavy on my heart, brothers and sisters. Despite what the Bible teaches us about the sin of homosexuality, some people who call themselves Christians want to welcome unrepentant homosexuals into the church.” He glanced out the window and sighed. “People make very human mistakes. Christians who want to practice tolerance and charity can sometimes take their good intentions too far, and cross over into condoning sin.”

Considering their recent conversation, Angie wasn’t surprised by Jake’s choice of topics. He often developed sermons based on their chats. But was he chastising her for welcoming Mark? Surely not. Homosexuals wanted to uproot the traditions of Christianity — the church that had saved her from her secular family. She thought of how Stephen had devastated her years before. And Gloria.

Mark put away his Bible.

Jake continued, “Remember what Matthew tells us: ‘Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing.’ The people who speak for the homosexual agenda, those who pretend they can both practice as homosexuals and call themselves Christians, are just that: false prophets. Homosexuality is not an ‘alternative lifestyle,’ it is a sin.”

A few people muttered “amen.” Mark stood.

“Are you leaving?” Angie whispered, worried.

“Of course.” He shook his head disgustedly. “I’m not staying here to listen to this.”

Angie looked at Jake, continuing his sermon. His eyes were on her. She looked back at Mark and leaned towards him. “No, don’t go.”

Mark whispered back, “I have to, Angie, this is incredibly insulting. I’m gay.”

Angie, surprised to hear the words spoken so bluntly, sat back in her chair. Jake was right. Angie watched as Mark left through the same doors she’d stomped through two months before, when she found out about Jake and Caitlin. I insisted that he come here, she thought. I’m responsible.

Angie slipped out of her seat and followed him. He was walking away quickly, his back to her. She could tell he was furious from the way he held his shoulders. She jogged a little to catch up.

“Mark, I’m sorry.”

He stopped and turned. “Why are you sorry?”

Angie thought about it. “I’m sorry that your feelings are hurt.”

“Do you agree with him?”

Angie considered her answer. “I do, mostly. But I like you and I was happy to see you at church. I believe in loving the sinner, no matter what.” He didn’t respond, but they resumed walking. “I didn’t know you were, um, homosexual.”

“How could you not know?” Mark half-laughed. “I run a bed-and-breakfast in the gayest neighborhood in Atlanta.”

Angie shrugged. “It just didn’t seem possible. You’re saved.”

Mark nodded, but didn’t turn to look at her. “Your pastor looked right at me when he was talking. That sermon was directed at me, at least partly, and probably also at you. He knew I was gay, even if you didn’t. And he didn’t like me showing up at your church.”

Angie hesitated. “I…I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” Jake deliberately humiliated him.

“I didn’t realize your church was so conservative,” Mark said. “If I had, I wouldn’t have come.”

Angie was puzzled. “At your church they don’t talk about sin?”

“They do. They don’t consider homosexuality a sin.”

“Really?”

“Really. Actually, the pastor is gay.”

Angie looked hard at him to see if he was making fun of her. He wasn’t. “Does the congregation know?”

“Of course. It’s absolutely possible to be gay and Christian.”

“I knew there were people who called themselves Christians who believed that, but I didn’t know I knew any.”

“You do.” They had reached a curb and the wind had started to pick up. “I’m freezing; if you want to keep talking, let’s go in here.” Mark gestured to a bedraggled teashop on the corner.

Angie had only meant to leave church for a few minutes, just as she would sneak out to tidy the kitchen or find tissues for a sobbing member of the congregation. She looked back at the church and then at Mark’s earnest face. Maybe I’m supposed to lead this man back to Christ. “Okay.”

She followed Mark into the shop. They ordered organic mint tea from the longhaired man behind the counter and sat at the only table without dirty dishes on it. As they drank their tea together, an awkward silence grew.

“My sister is…homosexual.” Remembering Jake’s warning about false prophets, she nearly stopped herself from continuing. She had always listened to Jake. In doing so, she’d found Jesus but lost her family. Maybe Mark could explain how to have both. “She just came to visit recently. I hadn’t seen her in years.” Angie shook her head.

“What happened?”

Angie picked up her teacup and then put it back in the saucer without drinking from it. She looked up at Mark and saw compassion in his eyes. “She said she wanted to be close to me again, but we ended up fighting.”

He winced. “I’m sorry.”

Angie sipped her tea. “It was a complete surprise — she showed up at my job one day in January…wait, I forgot, you know her. Her name is Gloria Soren. She stayed at the Blue Pine right before I did. She has short red hair and she was with a curly-haired guy.”

Mark smiled. “I do remember her.”

“Anyway, it was a terrible visit. We had a huge fight about the same things Jake talked about today.”

Mark nodded. “Did you tell her homosexuality is a sin?”

Angie toyed with a sugar packet. “Not in so many words, but, yes, pretty much. I want her to have a husband, a family.”

Mark folded his arms and rested them on the table in front of him. “Your sister probably doesn’t see it that way, though. If she’s gay, she wouldn’t be happy with a husband.”

“I thought she’d be happy to know she could change. If she knew Jesus…”

“Are you heterosexual?” Mark asked. “You are only interested in men?”

“Mark! Of course. How can you even ask?” Angie glanced nervously around at the other customers.

“Imagine everyone telling you that’s wrong and perverted, and that instead of finding a nice Christian husband, what you need to do is repent and learn to like women.”

Angie thought about that for a minute. “That wouldn’t work. I couldn’t do it.” She paused. “But there’s a difference. God’s plan is for men and women to come together in marriage. It’s normal for a woman to be attracted to a man.”

“And it’s not normal for people of the same sex to be attracted to each other?”

“Well…I don’t think it is, no.”

“I don’t think God makes mistakes like that, Angie.”

“The temptation to sin is God’s way of letting us participate in our salvation.”

Mark said, “Let me put it to you this way. Suppose you loved someone deeply but couldn’t be with him for reasons beyond your control.”

Feeling her throat constrict a little, Angie said, “That is awful. I mean, it would be awful.”

“So, even if you do think homosexual practice is a sin, and you think heterosexuality is the only way to be normal, you can see why a gay person might get upset when you talk about it like that. Because the feelings are just as real and strong as yours.”

“Yes.” She smiled at him despite her queasiness. “Why are you talking to me? You were insulted by the service; I’m saying things about homosexuality that you must not like to hear.”

“Well,” he said with a small sigh, “nothing you’re saying is news to me. I grew up in a conservative church, sort of like yours, and I heard it all my life. It was painful for me because I felt I had to choose between being myself and being with God. What I discovered as an adult is that there are a lot of opinions out there. People of good faith disagree.”

Angie remembered the prayer for understanding she’d offered up that first night at the Blue Pine. “It’s confusing,” she said. “You’re telling me you’re gay, but I can also tell that you’re walking with God.”

“I see the same thing in you, Angie,” he said with a smile that showed the dimple on his right cheek, “and that has nothing to do with your being straight.”

Angie nodded. “Have you tried changing?”

“When I was a teenager, my parents sent me to a Christian summer camp for juvenile delinquents because they suspected I was gay. That’s where I met my first boyfriend.”

“But you stayed a Christian?”

“I was lucky — the pastor at the church where I went after school was an enlightened man. He said God makes us all, just as we are. That’s part of the reason starting this program here is so important to me. Kids need adults who won’t try to scare them to death.” He sipped his tea. “Anyway, there are lots of gay Christians. We have conferences and everything.”

Angie was shocked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I’m not.” He laughed. “God loves everyone, not just straight people.”

“I just don’t understand how you can be a practicing homosexual and still love Jesus,” Angie told him, shaking her head. “I believe that you are, as a person, but overall it doesn’t quite make sense.”

“Come to my church next Sunday,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“Thank you, Mark, but I don’t think I can do that.” She drank the rest of her tea and then stacked the cups and saucers neatly together. “I need to be getting back now, it’s almost time for our planning meeting. Will you still come?”

Mark closed his eyes for a second. Then he opened them and said, “Sure.”

Angie knew Caitlin had replaced her when she could skip Sunday services without troubling Jake in the least. She’d had no intention of visiting Mark’s church when he first asked, but the more she thought about it, the more curious she became. She wanted to meet these Christians who had a gay pastor.

“No problem, Angie. I’ll look forward to hearing about your experience at the other church,” Jake had said distractedly when she told him she would not be at Sunday services the following week. She knew he did not look forward to any such thing; he had not even asked which church she was going to visit.

Aching over the rejection but secretly pleased with the freedom, Angie biked to Moore Avenue Baptist Church, her only skirt draped over the crossbar so as not to drag the ground. She’d tried to dress appropriately, knowing most other churches weren’t as casual as hers.

The red brick building with a bright white steeple was beautifully tended. The winter chill was finally lifting and yellow March daffodils bloomed along the church’s front walk. Fluffy, white-flowered pear trees had just started to blossom, and she could see the pink and white buds on the dogwoods and azaleas. They were almost ready to pop.

Angie wheeled her bike around the side of the building and locked it to a rack near the parking lot. Mark, handsome in tailored gray slacks and a blue-and-white striped button-up shirt, was just getting out of his shiny silver Camry. “Angie!” He hurried over to her. “What a surprise. I would have given you a ride if I’d known you’d decided to come.”

“That’s okay, I like to bike.” She hadn’t told him she was planning to visit because she wanted to be able to change her mind if she got too nervous.

“Come on in.” They walked towards the front door.

Almost everyone looked normal. Many of the other women were beautifully dressed and made-up; a few others wore neatly creased pants and stylishly short hair. The latter, she supposed, were the lesbians. Sliding into a pew mid-way down the aisle and watching as Mark greeted people he knew, she noticed how happy everyone was to see him, even the sweet-faced elderly couple who looked like Jake’s parents. Mark had already told her he was out to his friends at church, so she knew they knew. That didn’t stop them from hugging him and smiling. At first she admired their Christian charity, but then a troubling thought arose: Maybe everyone here is homosexual. Would they assume she was one of them?

With relief, she looked to her right and saw a regular family — father, mother, and a blonde toddler — sitting next to her. Mark finished greeting his friends and took the seat to her left.

“What a gorgeous church,” Angie said to him. The communion table was draped in red satin, and behind it was an intricate stained glass window depicting Jesus on the cross. The wooden pews shone and the carpet looked new. Angie tried not to feel jealous, and almost succeeded.

“We’ve done a lot of renovations recently. I’m glad you like it.”

Mark nodded to the front of the church. “There’s our pastor, Reverend Fenley. Jo.”

Angie looked but didn’t see a minister — only a group of women laughing near the flowers. “Where?”

“Right there. With the glasses, in the blue dress. She doesn’t put on her robes until just before she starts the prayers.”

“Oh!” Trying to cover her surprise, Angie added, “I didn’t see her.”

“And the woman next to her is her partner.”

Angie swallowed hard. “Partner?” She’d known the minister was homosexual, but this was even worse.

“As in, life partner.”

Angie didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept quiet. She was afraid to be among such people — avowed homosexuals and people who didn’t mind having a homosexual, partnered minister. Still, she could feel the spirit in this church; the joy in the people around her was uplifting. They were happy to be in church — that was obvious. The pastor’s face, she could see, was intelligent and open. Besides, she’d been around Mark enough to have no doubt that he was devout in the Lord. Surely the people here were, too.

The last couple of months at her church had been painful. Since Caitlin had become Jake’s fiancée, members of the congregation weren’t quite as interested in Angie anymore. She’d considered them her brothers and sisters in Christ, and believed they felt the same. She hated to admit it, but it was an unavoidable truth: members of the congregation flocked to Caitlin as they had once flocked to her.

The minister, now clad in black pastoral robes and purple vestment, walked to the front of the sanctuary. The format of the service was similar to what Angie was used to, but the content of the sermon was completely different.

“Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,” Reverend Fenley began, “was radical. He was not afraid of outcasts — lepers, adulterers, and sinners of all sorts. They received His love as much as the most pious of His disciples. Today I place a challenge before the members of this congregation. Ask yourself, ‘Who has been cast out of my community?’ Whoever they are, regardless of who they are or what they have done, the task before us as followers of Christ is to welcome them back.”

All around Angie, members of the congregation nodded, as if in response to a familiar refrain. As the pastor continued with her sermon, Angie thought of how unwelcome Mark had been at her church.

Afterwards, the couple sitting next to Angie turned to greet her. “Welcome to our church,” the woman said. “I’m Nancy, and this is Sam. The little one is our daughter.”

Angie shook hands gratefully with Nancy. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Angie.” She waved at the little girl. “Hello.”

Sam stuck out a hand. “Have you visited us before?” His voice was higher than Angie had expected. When Angie looked closely, she realized Sam had the smooth face and rounded body of a woman. He’s not a man.

Angie stared. “Uh…” Trying to recover her composure, she shook Sam’s hand and said, “No, I haven’t.” She managed a smile. “I’ve really enjoyed being here today. Thank you.”

After they left, she turned to Mark. Trying to hide her panic, she asked, “Ready to go?”

“Sure,” Mark said. “I’ll walk you out.”

They strolled into the sunshine.

San Francisco. May, 2002

“Your spring break lasted forever,” Gloria told Max after she hugged him hello at the door of her apartment. “I missed you every day.” He’d spent the entire week in Atlanta with Jon.

“I missed you, too, Glo.” He smiled.

It was her day off. The morning was bright and clear. She nearly jumped up and down at the prospect of a whole day with him. Instead, she asked, “Do you feel like brunch?”

“I already ate. You should let Lily out off-leash more often, you know. Let’s take her up Bernal Hill.”

Though the park at the top of the hill was close to Gloria’s house, the climb was nearly vertical. Walking up there meant hiking at least a hundred yards on an incline. “It’s so steep.”

“Would a little exercise kill you? You work out once a year.”

Gloria took a step back from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “First you spend every bit of your time off flying to Atlanta for some guy you just met, and now you insult me?” Her happiness had dissolved. “You have no idea whether I’ve been exercising or not. Or how much my dog plays off leash. Christ, you wouldn’t even answer your phone when I called you last week.”

“Gloria, I can’t be available to you twenty-four hours a day.”

“How about five minutes a day — or even every other day? That’s not asking a lot. Even when you’re not in Atlanta, you’re on the phone with Jon all the time, or he’s coming to visit you. I want you to be happy, but you’re not being much of a friend.” Her resentment had come rushing out faster than she expected. They stared at each other in silence.

“The exercise comment didn’t turn out the way I intended it,” Max said after a few seconds.

“What did you mean to say?”

“That maybe it would be good for us both to exercise. And it would be fun to bring Lily.”

“Why didn’t you say that, then?”

“I feel pulled between you and Jon. It’s hard to have two primary relationships at once. You both want attention from me and I don’t know how to divide myself.”

“I came first,” Gloria said. “Who’s Jon? Some guy you met a few months ago, just like you meet a million guys. I’ve known you since we were nineteen and we’ve been best friends all these years. I don’t see why he’s more important than me all of a sudden.”

“He’s not more important than you, but he’s not just another guy I’m going to date for a few weeks. I’m in love with him.”

“You’ve been in love plenty of times.”

“Really, Glo, this is different.”

Gloria backed into her apartment and sat down on the bed. “Well, I didn’t mean to pester you by calling.” She still felt rejected. “I wanted to see how you were.”

Max closed the door and sat down beside her. He smiled sympathetically. “I don’t want you to stop calling. Next time I’ll answer the phone, no matter what.”

“Not during sex or dinner. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

Laughing, he hugged her. “Okay, not during sex or dinner.”

“I am glad you’re in love,” Gloria said, and she meant it. “Jon seems perfect for you.” Though the day had lost its glow, she tried to rally. “If we don’t go up the hill too fast I think I can manage it.” Bernal Hill Park had panoramic views of the city. She loved to look down and pick out her apartment building, the red slate roof of her favorite grocery, the Catholic church in Noe Valley with the huge, fancy spires.

They hitched the dog to her leash and started out. As they walked, Max asked, “So what’s new?”

“Not much. Things with Lu are good; I saw her a couple of times last week. Work’s fine — I’ll start my official training next week unless I get into Burns.”

“Did you hear back from Angie?”

“Not a word — and now it’s been months.” Gloria sighed. “I bungled it.”

“Maybe not. She might be thinking about what to say to you. Working up some Christian charity on your behalf.”

Normally, Gloria would be eager to rehash the situation, but Max’s recent absence and her lingering anger made her reticent. “I hope so.”

“Me too.”

They walked for a while without talking. “Tell me about your trip,” Gloria said when they reached the top of the hill and her breathing began to settle down. “I can’t believe how little I’ve heard about Jon this morning. Was it fun?”

“It was wonderful.”

“Spring in Georgia is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It was amazing — rows and rows of pink and white dogwoods up and down the streets. The whole place looks like it’s been decorated for a carnival. We ate dinner every night on Jon’s patio, with flowers everywhere. And pollen.”

“You like it better than you did when we visited?”

“It’s growing on me.” He paused, watching as Gloria detached Lily’s leash and released her to play with a friendly-looking mutt. “I’m going there for a while after I graduate. If it works out, maybe I’ll stay longer.”

Gloria thought of the prize she’d won and lost; she remembered the day she was fired from Politic and the unanswered letter to Angie. And now Max is leaving. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him waiting for her reaction. Gloria took his hand. “Good for you, Maxopolis.” She couldn’t manage to sound pleased, but at least she’d said something supportive. It was the most she could muster. “I hope it’ll be great. I’ll come visit.” Her voice cracked and tears dripped down her face.

He put an arm around her and rested his cheek on top of her head. After a few seconds, he said, “I’ll miss you like crazy.” He sounded choked up. “I need to see what will happen with Jon. You understand that, right?”

“Totally. I do.”

“And if it doesn’t work out I’ll come back and you can buy me a lot of margaritas.”

Gloria managed a pitiful little laugh. “That sounds good.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“I know.”

What am I going to do without him? She thought of asking the question out loud, but decided against it. He probably felt guilty enough.

“What are you going to do there? Teach?”

Max straightened up and they faced each other. His nose was red. “Who knows? I can always adjunct at one of the colleges there, finish up the diss. It’s so much cheaper to live there that I won’t have to work full-time.”

“That’ll be nice.” For a minute, Gloria flirted with the idea of going with him, but decided against it. There was nothing for her in Atlanta. “Can I hog your attention until you leave?”

“Absolutely. And I, in turn, will hog yours.”

His promise provided little comfort. They’d see each other nearly every day for a few weeks, she knew, but then he would be gone. Our trip to Atlanta was supposed to get my sister back.

“Hey! I almost forgot,” Max said. “You were supposed to find out about Burns by May first, right? Today’s the fourth.”

“Yeah. Every day I run for the mail when I get home and there’s nothing. It’s driving me nuts. Maybe today.”

“Just call them and ask if you got in or not.”

That idea had not occurred to Gloria. “You think I could?”

“Sure. I had to do that when I was applying for schools. I still hadn’t heard from Columbia, so I just called and asked.”

“Oh.” Gloria thought about it. “I have to admit, I’m afraid to find out.”

“At least you’ll know. I mean, your letter could have been lost in the mail or something. It would be better to know than to not know.”

“Let’s call them when we get back to my house. It would be good to have you there, in case they say I didn’t get in.”

“No problem,” Max said. “We’ll do it today.”

“I want to get this over with,” Gloria said. She whistled to Lily, who ran over, fur flopping in the breeze. Reattaching her leash, Gloria said to Max, “Come on, let’s go. Race you down the hill.”

By the time Gloria and Max got back to her apartment, Gloria was a wheezing, nervous wreck. All they’re going to say is yes or no, she told herself. Just call. You can do this. During the past few weeks, she’d grown accustomed to wondering; now she dreaded the transition to knowing.

“You know, Max, a phone call that determines the course of your life usually comes unexpectedly,” she said as she poured them both glasses of water. “I think it’s funny that I’m the one to place the call.”

“You have a point,” he said. “You hardly ever hear of someone calling Ed McMahon and getting the sweepstakes.”

“Don’t jinx me.”

“You’re just procrastinating by talking about it. Go ahead and call.” Max was flipping through the phone book. “Here’s the number.”

“Could you go in the bathroom while I call?”

“I thought you wanted me here.”

“Well, I want you close, but not too close. I’ll feel self-conscious if you’re listening.”

Max rolled his yes. “Fine. I have to use the facilities anyway.”

“Stay until I tell you to come out.”

After he’d closed the bathroom door, Gloria dialed. The phone rang six times. “English department,” a bored voice said.

“Hi.” Gloria said. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hi, this is Gloria Soren. I’m calling because I applied to the English Literature Ph.D. program this year but I haven’t heard from the department yet.” Her voice only shook a little.

As if he had said it countless times before, the secretary answered, “Letters went out April 20.”

“I don’t live far away,” Gloria explained. “It shouldn’t take two weeks for the letter to get to me.”

He sighed and Gloria had a feeling he was about to hang up on her.

“Wait, could you please just look and see if I got in or not? I’d really appreciate it.”

Snappishly, he replied, “No I cannot.”

“Come on. Just look and see if I’m in or not. I’m begging you.” The frustration was overwhelming.

“I’m not allowed to give out that information.”

“Then who is?”

“Hold please.”

Gloria recognized the sounds of the local light jazz station. She doubted anyone at Burns was going to help her, but having already worked up her nerve she also wasn’t ready to quit, so she stayed on the line. Two minutes later, she heard someone picking up.

“This is Matilda Randall, office manager, how can I help you?”

Gloria didn’t know what to say. Even if, somehow, another Matilda Randall worked there, there was no mistaking the voice.

“Hello, is anyone there?”

“Yes. Matilda?”

“This is she.”

“This is Gloria Soren. Why are you calling yourself the office manager?”

Now it was Matilda’s turn for silence. After a few seconds, she said, “That’s my job now.”

“I thought you were a teacher.” Gloria’s mind reeled. “A faculty member.”

“I was until last year. I’m not anymore.”

“You’re not a professor?” Gloria’s voice veered into a shriek. “You’re a secretary? You’ve got to be kidding me. What happened?”

“I don’t care to discuss it, Gloria. But I never told you I was still faculty.”

“Whoa. But you implied…” Wobbly, Gloria sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. “Oh my God. I guess you haven’t mentioned teaching recently. Holy shit!”

Matilda didn’t respond, so Gloria kept talking as she considered this new information. “You tricked me. Your recommendation wouldn’t have meant anything. But you weren’t going to admit it, were you? Even after I came clean with you?”

“No.” Her tone was unconcerned.

“Were you really dating someone on the committee?”

“I was a while ago.”

“I can’t believe this, Matilda. I just can’t believe it.” Gloria sat with her mouth hanging open. She could hear Matilda breathing on the other end of the line.

After a few seconds, Gloria remembered the reason for her call. She said, “I actually called to find out if I got in. Can you at least tell me that?”

“You didn’t.”

Gloria managed to hold the hurt of those words away for a moment. “Do you know why not?”

Matilda chuckled. She said cheerfully, “I don’t think the admissions committee ever got your application.” Gloria heard her laughing as she hung up the phone.

“Max! Come out here!”

He opened the bathroom door. “I’m on pins and needles. What happened?”

“I didn’t get in. But it’s not because I wasn’t admitted, it’s because Matilda didn’t give them my application.”

“That’s crazy.”

“She’s mad at me, remember? I lied to her. But get this, Max. She’s not a professor.”

He stared at her. “Yes she is.”

“Nope.” Gloria told him what Matilda had said.

“Holy shit!”

“That’s what I said. I’m getting the emergency cigarettes.” Gloria pulled them out of the freezer and offered one to Max. They lit up. I didn’t get in, I didn’t get in, she reminded herself. I was such an idiot! That was true, in a way, but the comfort of putting herself down was gone. It was all too silly to feel sad. “Max,” she said, starting to laugh, “this is so stupid.”

He smiled uneasily at her and drew on his cigarette. She could tell he was trying to figure out her emotional state so he could respond appropriately.

Gloria thought of herself buying Matilda expensive cocktails and pretending she’d produce her play. Big Poppa. She doubled over with laughter. She puffed on her cigarette and then cracked up all over again at the thought of Matilda pretending to be “in” with the admissions committee. “God, I’d love to know why Matilda was demoted,” she said. “So much for you and your inside scoop at Burns.”

“How could I not have known? I missed some crucial gossip.” Max shook his head. “I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow.”

She didn’t know what she would tell her parents; she’d think of something. Would they believe me if I said I decided not to go to Burns after all? Since she saw them so rarely, she didn’t have to worry about it much. She’d think of a good story. Actually, come to think of it, she’d just tell them the truth.

Atlanta. May, 2002

“Want to have lunch?” Mark asked Angie. They were wrapping up a late-morning tour of school facilities. During the weeks since her visit to his church, their contact had been mostly business, but friendly, too. “There’s a coffeehouse nearby called Sacred Grounds, but they have lunch food, too. Salads and that kind of thing.”

“Sure, I’m hungry.”

The place was just down the block. “Here it is,” Mark said as they approached. He winked at her. “Can you tell it’s run by Christians?”

The door to Sacred Grounds was plastered with Christian signs — crosses, fish, slogans, even JESUS SAVES bumper stickers. As they entered, she saw that the tattooed man making coffee drinks wore a t-shirt printed with the words “Jesus Freak.” He had several facial piercings, too. Worn but comfortable-looking sofas lined the walls. In the middle of the room, wrought iron chairs with bright seat cushions encircled tables decorated with Christian-themed mosaics. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Are you sure they’re Christian?”

“Absolutely. They’re Christian punks.” He grinned. “It’s a subculture I think Jesus would approve of.”

“Christian punks,” Angie repeated, almost to herself. The only punks she’d seen before were the skinheads and skaters who glared fiercely on street corners. “You are full of surprises.”

After they ordered and sat down, Mark asked, “So how’ve you been?”

“I’m okay,” Angie said slowly. “So much that has been stable for me during the last few years is changing, and it’s confusing. I moved out of the church and into my own place.”

“That’s big.”

“Jake is getting married and he and his wife are going to be living there.” Angie shook her head. “That’s a long story for another day, but over the last few months things have happened that make me question my commitment, not to God, but to this particular church.”

“Getting distance from it makes you see it differently?”

“Maybe. And the way Jake treated you that day. When I really get quiet and listen to God, I know that what Jake did was about him as a person. His fears.” She paused. “That wasn’t God speaking through him.” I’ve mistaken Jake for God.

Mark nodded. “You’re right.”

“I’ve thought a lot about your church since the day I visited,” Angie said quietly. “You know, I was really nervous at first. It’s so…liberal compared to what I’m used to. But after I got over that, I enjoyed it. I liked what Reverend Fenley had to say, and the people were so warm. I felt God there.”

“I thought you’d like it.” He smiled. “But maybe that’s just because I do.”

“How did you end up there?”

“I quit going to church for a long time after I left home. I’d visit with my parents from time to time, but I knew I was gay, and I was hiding it from my parents, from my home church. I guess I just didn’t believe there was a place for all of who I am in a church.”

“Did you still pray?”

“Yeah, absolutely. God was with me whether or not I went to church. I never believed that God judged me, but it was obvious that most of His followers did.” He smiled wryly. The waiter placed their iced teas in front of them, and Mark took a sip of his. “Then I saw an article in the newspaper about churches that welcome gays, and I decided to visit one. I never left.”

“What a relief.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve found so many friends there, and Jo has been like a second mother to me. When I came out to my parents, they disowned me, so she unofficially adopted me into her family.”

“I’m so sorry — about your parents, I mean. That must have been awful.”

“It was. Is. Jo’s even tried calling them, and they won’t listen. That was a long time ago, but they’d rather not have a son at all than have a gay one.”

Angie could imagine how disappointed his parents must have been, but that was no excuse. “They’re so lucky to have you as a son.”

Mark blinked hard. “Thank you.”

Angie understood that Stephen had just been too scared to tell her the truth. She felt a rush of compassion for Mark and Stephen — and for herself. She said, “I’m not in touch with my parents either, but for a different reason. They hate that I’m a Christian.”

Usually other Christians reacted to that statement with horror, but Mark just pursed his lips and nodded casually. “What’s their religion?”

“They don’t have one. They think only stupid people believe in God or practice a religion. And they think Christianity is the worst of all.”

“I have a few friends whose families think Christianity is just foolishness for the weak.”

“Really? I don’t think anyone else in my church has that problem. Almost all of them were raised Christian. Anyway, my parents are sort of the opposite of your parents, because they’ve got no problem with Gloria.”

“Did they tell you not to contact them?”

“Not exactly,” Angie said. “They told me not to call them or come to their house if I couldn’t keep my religion to myself, but I’m not sure they really meant it. Gloria didn’t say that, exactly, she just dropped communication with me. And, I have to admit, I didn’t want to see them, either.” She shook her head. “I’ve been so wrapped up in the church and so angry with my parents that I didn’t try very hard to stay in touch.”

Mark gave her a puzzled look. “You were angry with them because of their attitude toward Christians?”

“That’s part of it. They wouldn’t listen to me or even try to understand. Also, my parents pressured me into doing something a long time ago that I feel was wrong. I wanted to put all that behind me and be with my new church family, and since my parents and my sister weren’t open to becoming Christians, I didn’t see how I could have a relationship with them.”

Mark nodded as the waiter brought their sandwiches. “Sounds like you regret that now.”

“I don’t know. When my sister came to visit in January she said some horrible things to me. The strange thing is, though, I miss her more. She wasn’t always awful.”

“Do you miss your parents?”

“Yes.” Her heart felt heavy. “A lot.”

Mark swallowed his mouthful of pastrami before he said, “Me too.”

When Angie arrived at her own church for prayer meeting that night, Caitlin waylaid her. “Could I see you in the office, Angie?”

“Sure.” God, please give me strength for this. Every day since she’d agreed to it, Angie had regretted telling Jake she’d serve as a bridesmaid. But she couldn’t change her mind now.

Caitlin closed the door behind them, her face serious. “We’ve had a change of plans.”

For one ecstatic second, Angie thought the wedding was off.

“Jake and I are going to have to get married in California,” Caitlin continued.

Trying to hide her disappointment, Angie said casually, “Oh, okay.” Then a wonderful thought occurred to her: I won’t have to be a bridesmaid after all!

“My mother’s health just isn’t good enough for my parents to travel, and my family lives a little outside of San Francisco, in Felpsville. We’re going to get married there.”

“I understand,” Angie said, edging towards the door. “Your mother will be in my prayers.”

“We’re going to have a reception here afterwards, so that we can celebrate with all the members of the church.” Caitlin expression grew animated. “But here’s the good news, Angie. My parents have offered to pay for plane tickets for the whole bridal party. That means you can still come!”

Angie tried to look happy. “Oh. Well. Thank you.” Caitlin’s face was expectant. Am I supposed to say something else? “Praise the Lord.”

“Yes indeed.”

The door creaked and a young woman Angie had brought into the church stuck her head in. “I’m sorry to bother y’all,” she said, “but my mom’s crying in the ladies’ room again.” Angie and Caitlin stepped forward at the same time. The girl looked at Angie, and then down at her shoes. “She was asking for Caitlin.”

“I’ll be right there,” Caitlin told her, glancing guiltily at Angie. “Just a minute.”

The girl disappeared from the doorway.

Angie resolved to show no emotion. “You should go.”

“You’ll come to California for the wedding? Jake really wants you there. We want you there.”

Angie was touched by the sincerity on Caitlin’s face. She could not think of any socially acceptable reason not to go to the wedding in California, but she was about to refuse anyway when she thought of the letter from Gloria. I could see her. I wonder if God is bringing us together. She thought of how Mark had tried to be close to his family and been rejected. “Of course, Caitlin,” she said. “I’ll be happy to. Thanks for including me.”

San Francisco. May, 2002

“I’m not nearly as upset as I thought I would be about Burns,” Gloria told Lu over sandwiches in the sunny park the next afternoon. They had spread a blanket out on the grass. Lily played nearby, chasing butterflies and sniffing other dogs’ poop.

“That’s good. Why would Matilda do something like that, anyway?”

“Maybe she’s jealous that I’m dating you.” That’s probably part of it. Gloria shook her head. “I’m not going to bother petitioning, though. I think it’s a sign. Getting Matilda in trouble would certainly come back to haunt me eventually.”

“Think you’ll apply somewhere else next year?”

“Maybe. But in the meanwhile I’m going to be an Aristocrate Regional Cosmetics Trainer, starting next week. It’s not a Gildenson award, and it’s not a doctorate, but it’s something.” Grinning, Gloria added, “You don’t mind dating a make-up girl instead of a Ph.D. candidate?”

“You can do whatever you want,” Lu said. “As long as you’re happy and productive, who cares?”

“Maybe, but I have to admit…” Gloria stopped.

“What?”

“I think I was more interested in Burns because being Dr. Soren would make me feel good about myself than in spending four or five years poring over nineteenth century novels, or whatever.” There. I said it out loud.

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t get in.”

Feeling shy, Gloria said quietly, “I think so, too. I’m actually a little relieved.”

Lu nodded.

“I’m not sure what I want in the long run. But I’m having a great time with you, and this new job might be cool. I have Lily and my own place. Screw Burns.” Watching her dog roll in the grass, Gloria smiled. She didn’t notice that Lu failed to smile back.

They stayed in the park until the fog began rolling in from Twin Peaks. “I’m getting cold,” Gloria said. “Let’s go in.” She reached in her messenger bag for Lily’s leash.

“Sure.” Lu nodded but didn’t move. She looked worried.

“What’s up?” Gloria asked. She realized, thinking back on the afternoon, that Lu had been remote the whole time. Gloria hadn’t noticed because she was so busy talking about Burns.

“Well, I ran into Matilda at the coffee shop this morning,” Lu said.

Before she could even catch her breath, Gloria was filled with dread. She tried to act casual. “Yeah?”

Lu looked pained. “I don’t know what to think, Gloria. There must be some explanation — she deliberately destroys your application and then tells me this. But she said some awful things about you that she swears are true.” She paused. “And later I asked Andrea, and she says they’re true, too.”

Gloria struggled with the urge to run back to her apartment. Instead, she picked at a blade of grass and asked, “What kind of things?”

“She said the reason you don’t work at Politic anymore and you lost the Gildenson is that you stole your assistant’s work and passed it off as your own. That it wasn’t just a mistake.”

Gloria closed her eyes. That bitch.

“Well, Gloria, did you?”

Difficult as it was, she looked Lu in the eye. “I told you, it was a mistake. And, yes, a big one.”

Lu’s expression was blank and there was no sympathy in her voice. “So what does Matilda have to do with all this?”

Gloria told her about her deal with Matilda. She explained her desperation to redeem herself by getting into Burns, her fake interest in Matilda’s play, and her confession. “The whole thing was incredibly stupid. But I realized that I had to stop lying, so I confessed to Matilda and I stopped.” Gloria was having trouble looking at Lu. She knew the evidence was damning. “Do you hate me, now that you know all this?”

It was a long time before Lu answered. “Gloria, I don’t hate you at all. But I don’t know you. You told me the Gildenson was a mistake — and this isn’t what I’d call a mistake. It was deliberate. We’ve been dating for five months and you never told me any of this until I found out from someone else.”

“I know,” Gloria said, ashamed.

“I really like you.” Lu sounded like she might cry. “But how can I trust you? You’ve cheated and lied…”

“But I’m changing. I’ve changed a lot.” Gloria’s plea sounded weak, even to her own ears.

“How have you changed?”

“I told you, I stopped lying,” Gloria protested. “I’m trying to be a better person. Isn’t that something?”

“I doubt you’ve changed much,” Lu said. She put on her jacket and picked up her backpack. “It’s not like you’re a different person. You’re the same woman who did those things — very recently. I’m sorry, Gloria, but I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Lu, please.” Gloria started to cry.

“I won’t date a liar.” Lu slung the pack over her shoulder and loped off across the park.

I hate her! Gloria wiped a couple of tears off her cheek. But I really like her, too. Truth-telling certainly hadn’t paid off. Gloria sat in the park until she couldn’t stand the numbing cold. Then she got up, and she and Lily trudged home.

When Gloria got back to her apartment, she had a message on her cell phone voice mail. Lu won’t be calling me anymore, she realized, tearing up a little. It would take a while to get used to all the implications. The hurt hung over her head, waiting to fall.

Gloria clicked the button to see who had called. Because the phone call had come from the 404 area code, she assumed the caller was Jon looking for Max. Can’t you two leave each other alone for five minutes? Irritated and jealous, she punched the code and listened to the message.

“Hi Gloria, it’s Angie. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but I did get your letter and I’d like to talk about it. I also wanted to let you know that I’m coming to Felpsville for a wedding later this month and I wondered if you wanted to get together. Give me a call. I’ve moved out of the church, so I have my own phone line now.” Gloria jotted the number on her hand.

In her joy she forgot, briefly, that she had just been dumped. Clapping her hands, Gloria kicked her legs out in the little jig she privately thought of as her Happy Dance. She wants to talk to me! And she’s moved out of the church? Thrilled and curious, she thought, Maybe she’s coming around.

Although it was late Atlanta time, Gloria called back anyway. “Hey Angie,” she said when her sister answered the phone. “I got your message. Oh, this is Gloria.”

Angie laughed. “I know your voice, Gloria. Thanks for calling back.”

“Sorry it’s so late. I didn’t want to wait to call you.”

“It’s fine,” Angie reassured her. “I was up.”

“I can’t believe you’re coming out here. That’s great news. I’m so glad you called.”

“I said I’d come out there for the wedding because I wanted to see you,” Angie said, “but then it took me a while to call because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to hear from me after so long.”

“Of course I wanted to hear from you,” Gloria said. “I’d given up hope.” They both paused. “Does this mean you accept my apology?”

“Yes, it does. And I apologize to you, too — both for taking months to call you, and for the mini-lecture, as you called it. This might come as a surprise, but I’ve realized that I was out of line.”

Gloria was incredulous. “Are you serious? I mean, apology accepted,” she said. “But —”

She was about to ask what prompted the turnaround when Angie blurted, “I wanted to know if you could go to this wedding with me. I mean, I know it’s not your sort of thing, but there will be dinner, at least. Everyone gets to bring a guest.”

Gloria heard loneliness in her sister’s voice. “Of course. I’d love to.” She knew she’d hate it, actually, but it would be worth suffering through if she got to see Angie. “By the way, who’s getting married?”

“Jake and a woman from our church, Caitlin.”

“I thought you said —”

“I’ll explain when I see you, I promise. Let’s just say I made a mistake.”

“Wow. ” Gloria didn’t know what else to say.

“Do you think you could pick me up at the airport?”

Gloria agreed to pick her up at SFO on a Friday afternoon and drive her to Felpsville for the rehearsal dinner. Though Gloria tried not to get her hopes up, as she hung up the phone, they floated happily to the ceiling. Then she remembered she’d just lost her lover, and the hope balloons popped.

Two weeks later, Gloria was driving to meet Angie. She’d taken out a loan for the five-year-old black Toyota Corolla several days before so she could travel for work. Buying a car, she’d discovered, was a particularly satisfying form of retail therapy. First she got to watch Max wrangle with the auto salesman, who finally extended Gloria a fair offer, and then she got to drive around, watching the world go by from behind the windshield. She’d practiced in a deserted parking lot so she didn’t scare other people on the road. The car was no substitute for a girlfriend — she’d had to stock the glove compartment with Kleenex so that she could cry over Lu and drive simultaneously — but it was something.

That morning, she’d trained the Beauty Advisors in the Palo Alto store — they were learning how to cover blemishes, using the curriculum Gloria was developing. After the training, she had vacuumed the car and put an Enya CD in the stereo, figuring wordless music less likely to offend her sister. A quarter of her books were at Max’s. The only bottle of wine she had was tucked into a cabinet. She knew some Christians insisted on drinking wine at church because they believed it was Jesus’s blood, and other Christians absolutely refused any alcohol, and she wasn’t sure which sort Angie was. Gloria wasn’t taking any chances.

Feeling excited and nervous, she drove through the pick-up queue at the San Francisco airport. It was arranged by airline: Delta, United, now even Hooters. She stopped at the curb in front of AirTran. Angie was standing there in a t-shirt and jeans, her suitcase propped next to her. Gloria grinned and giggled at the sight of her sister. Jumping out of the car, Gloria hugged her enthusiastically and Angie squeezed back. “Let me take your bag.” Gloria picked it up and put it in the trunk. “I’m so glad you’re here!” Opening the passenger door for Angie, she asked, “How was your flight?”

“Not much happened,” Angie smiled. “That’s best you can hope for, I think. I was scared to death when the airplane landed, though. It looked like we were going to hit the water.”

“I know, it’s so scary landing at this airport,” Gloria said, starting the engine. “That’s part of the reason I always take Valium when I fly.” Uh oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. She quickly added, “My doctor prescribed it.” Actually, Max’s friend who was a doctor had prescribed it. Close enough.

“Hm.” Angie nodded. She didn’t seem to have heard Gloria’s accidental drug confession.

They pulled out of the terminal area and onto the freeway towards San Francisco, twenty miles north of the airport. “What are your plans this afternoon? I know I need to get you over to Felpsville for the dinner tonight.”

“I need to be there by six or so.”

“Okay.” She looked at the car clock. “It’s only two o’clock now, so do you want to hang out in San Francisco for a while first? You haven’t been here in forever, have you?”

“I haven’t. We did some missionary work in San Francisco maybe three years ago.” Before Angie left California with Jake and the others, she’d lived in the same small coastal town as their parents.

“Where did you go for your missionary…stuff?”

“The Tenderloin. It was awful, drugs and filth everywhere. We did help a few people, but it was hard, hard work.”

Considering the grinding misery of the Tenderloin, Gloria doubted Jake had helped anyone with anything. “I bet,” she said. “Remember when we used to drive up and go to Chinatown?” Their parents had been big on cross-cultural experiences.

Angie smiled. “That was fun. And North Beach, too. Daddy would go on and on about the Beats, like we were a class instead of his family.”

“I know where we could go. Have you ever been to Bernal Heights?”

Shaking her head, Angie said, “No, I’ve never heard of it.” The neighborhood’s charming strip of restaurants and small shops nestled at the base of Bernal Hill, close to the freeway they’d take later. It was full of lesbians, which worried Gloria a little, but that couldn’t be helped. Angie probably won’t notice, anyway. She steered the car in the direction of Cortland Avenue, the heart of the neighborhood.

As they stepped out of the car, Gloria saw two women kissing on a bench outside a bar. Normally she would have noticed how cute they were, but anxiety over Angie’s reaction squelched her appreciation. “Let’s walk this way,” Gloria suggested, heading the opposite direction.

“Sure.”

As they strolled around the neighborhood, Gloria pointed out the always-empty vegetarian restaurant, the video store with all the classics, and the corner bookshop that would special-order anything. She liked having Angie beside her as she walked the familiar sidewalk. The lovers were still tongue-entangled when the sisters headed down the opposite side of the street. I wish they’d go inside, at least. Hoping to keep them out of Angie’s line of vision, she moved to the outside of the sidewalk.

“What are you doing, Gloria?”

“Just moving over here.” She tried to sound casual.

“Why?”

“Oh, no reason.”

“It is because you don’t want me to see the women across the street?”

Gloria looked at her, startled. “Um, yeah. I thought it would upset you.” Oh no, another fight.

“I’ve seen that in Atlanta before. I can’t say I’m entirely comfortable with it, but you don’t have to block me from people kissing.”

“Oh.” Gloria felt her stomach muscles relax. “Okay.”

“Believe it or not, I actually have a gay friend now.”

Gloria stared at her with round eyes. “You do?” What self-hating gay person would be her friend?

Angie nodded, smiling a little proudly.

“And you said gay instead of homosexual.” The latter term irritated Gloria to no end.

“Mark says people like it better.”

“That’s true.” She must know a real, live queer. “Mark who?”

“The owner of the Blue Pine.”

“Of course.” The one who made those awesome grits.

“He came to my church one Sunday a few months ago and we ended up talking.” Angie glanced at Gloria as they continued walking. “And eventually we became friends. I’ve told him about you. He’s a Christian, too. I didn’t think hom — gay people could be Christians, but he is. And he goes to a church where the pastor is gay.”

Gloria swallowed the urge to take the Lord’s name in vain. Instead she said, “Angie, I’m shocked. This is certainly good news to me. You visited a gay church?”

Angie smiled. “Well, some people there are gay. Not everyone.”

“So you don’t think I’m going to Hell anymore?”

Her sister shrugged. “I’ve done a lot of thinking and praying about this. Who am I to say who’s going to Hell? I do know that I want you in my life.”

Gloria didn’t know what to say, so she took Angie’s arm and squeezed it. They had reached the end of the street, where a community garden was in full bloom. Gloria led Angie to a wooden bench near a wall covered in hot pink bougainvillea. They sat down and faced each other. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. I thought I’d botched it so badly in Atlanta that you’d never talk to me again.”

Angie smiled at her. “I thought about it. Mark helped change my mind. And he pointed out that I’d botched a few things myself.”

“I owe Mark a sister.”

“Pretty much.”

“I am sorry for the things I said,” Gloria told her. “The thing about — about the abortion was the worst possible thing I could say to you and the furthest thing from what I believe. Thank you for giving me another chance.”

Angie hugged her. “I’m sorry, too.”

Gloria sat back and looked at her sister. “Mom and Dad want to see you. I told them you were coming and they asked if they could come over for a walk tomorrow. Dad specifically wanted me to tell you that he doesn’t want you to change.” She smiled. “They say they just want to see you.”

Angie nodded. “I do want to see them. I didn’t know if…they felt the same.”

Gloria nodded, then told Angie about the Progressive Activist’s Survival Guide. “I think Mom’s softening. And Dad — well, he misses you. That much I know.”

The next morning, Gloria dressed carefully for the wedding. She covered her anxiety with her prettiest, frilliest dress — a pale blue sheath with a sheer white overdress printed in tiny blue flowers. Her strappy white high-heeled sandals matched her purse, and her light lipstick was so tasteful as to be almost nonexistent. Instead of spiking up her hair, she smoothed it down with floral-scented pomade and clipped a blue rhinestone barrette to the side. She didn’t want to embarrass Angie, or herself, by looking too out of place, and Gloria knew she did not blend well in suburbia. As she checked herself in the mirror for panty lines or other flaws, she thought she looked pretty respectable. First Baptist Church of Felpsville, here I come.

She left at two so she’d arrive in time for the four o’clock ceremony. In the Corolla, she retraced the route she’d taken the night before across the Bay Bridge and along the freeway through Oakland. Rows of tract houses turned into stucco cottages with flowers in the yards. Then those were gone, too, and only the occasional windmill or pasture full of horses interrupted the brown hills. Gloria realized she’d had to do a lot of traveling to spend time with Angie. This is a worthwhile cause, she reminded herself as she watched her gas gauge sink below the half-full mark. Jerking her eyes back up at the road, she recognized Exit 278 and put on her right-turn blinker. Veering towards Felpsville, she entered small-town America.

Gloria crawled past the strip of Burger Kings and Taco Bells and into the center of town: a hardware store, a café with a droopy green awning, law offices, the county penitentiary, and then an enormous white-pillared church. The sight of it filled Gloria with unexpected fear. This institution had not been kind to people like her, and yet she would be part of it for the afternoon. Dressed-up people milled around in the parking lot. A sign in the front yard read, “Bible Camp Starts June 13. Exercise Daily — Walk with the Lord.” Turning into the entrance, she saw a teenaged boy in a black suit and lavender boutonniere waving her forward. Gloria was looking around for a parking spot when he approached the window. “Hello, ma’am,” he said. That made her feel old. “You can just pull up here and I’ll park the car for you.”

This would be considered a car jacking in San Francisco. She got out and handed him the keys. “Thanks.”

“You can just go on inside.” He pointed to the quadruple front doors of the church.

In the marble foyer just inside the doors, another usher greeted her. This one was an elderly man who also wore a flower in his lapel.

“Welcome to First Baptist Church,” the man said in a quavering but formal tone.

Gloria did not feel welcome at all, but she nodded at him and tried to smile.

He continued, “Are you on the bride’s side or the groom’s?”

“My sister’s a bridesmaid, but I think she’s mainly a friend of the groom’s.”

He escorted her to a seat halfway up the aisle on the “bride’s side,” reasoning aloud that a bridesmaid must be a friend of the bride’s. The pew had been shined to such a high polish that Gloria slipped when she sat down, and nearly collided with a flower-hatted old lady who was already seated.

“I’m so sorry.”

“That’s all right, dear,” the woman said. “I’m Caitlin’s aunt.”

The aunt didn’t hold out a hand to shake, so Gloria smiled and said, “Hi, I’m Angie’s sister Gloria.” She couldn’t tell if the elderly woman was nodding at her politely, of if she had Parkinson’s, so Gloria smiled at her a bit longer. Then she felt in her purse for her cell phone and turned it off.

Inhaling the old aunt’s powdery scent, Gloria looked around. Every window in the church was constructed of stained glass in saturated colors. She didn’t know what each one depicted, exactly, but she recognized Jesus by his loincloth. Wide lavender satin ribbons festooned each pew, and bouquets of white roses and pale purple freesia adorned every other available space. A foppish man pounded glorious music out of the organ at the front of the sanctuary. He should be in San Francisco. She wondered if he snuck out to the Castro when his church friends were tucked away in bed.

Gloria sat quietly and tried to be inconspicuous. So far no one had noticed the interloper in their midst, and she wanted to keep it that way. Then, all at once, the music changed and a rustling went through the crowd. “Here they come,” the aunt whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. The others in the same pew craned their necks to see the door, so Gloria did, too. A matronly woman poked her head in and scanned the congregation. Then she disappeared and the door opened all the way. A generic blonde girl in a lavender dress toddled out, a basket in her hand. She made her way hesitatingly up the aisle, stopping now and then to wave, sprinkling white rose petals on the red carpet. At the front of the sanctuary, three groomsmen and the minister filed in silently through a side door. I wonder what Angie’s bridesmaid dress looks like? I have a feeling it’s lavender.

Gloria didn’t wonder long, as the bridesmaids walked single file behind the little girl, crushing her rose petals underneath their dyed-to-match shoes. They wore a tasteful shade of lilac, but the floor-length taffeta dresses fit them all poorly, and each gown had an enormous, tacky bow just above the ass. Angie, the third and last bridesmaid, was a size smaller than her dress. Gloria saw her nearly trip over the too-long hem. She’s always had trouble with heels, Gloria remembered with affection as she watched her sister stagger. Someone had arranged Angie’s hair in a twist on the back of her head and decorated it with a sprig of baby’s breath that looked like it might pick up radio waves. As Angie walked past Gloria’s row, they glanced at each other and Gloria smiled. She wiggled her fingers in a little wave, but Angie didn’t smile back. She winked quickly at Gloria and then kept her eyes straight ahead. I wonder what happened with the minister.

Watching the wedding party assemble at the front of the church, Gloria wondered if she and Lu could have had a future together. Even if they had gotten that far the wedding would have been radically different from this. But the idea made Gloria sad. She missed waking up to see Lu, hair rumpled from sleep, beside her in that bed with the beautiful quilt; she missed the shape of Lu’s hand in hers. The year before, the mayor of San Francisco had made same-sex marriage legal for a month. Gloria had gone in the February drizzle to see the rows and rows of couples lined up outside City Hall for their government sanction. She’d felt thrilled and jealous and impatient. Relationships don’t need state approval, she had told herself, but she’d wished she were getting married. The couples had seemed so happy. She knew half of them would be back to door-slamming and name-calling a week later, just like straight married people, but still.

The grinning black-and-white-clad straight people at the front of this church seemed nearly as happy to marry each other as the gay folks had been at City Hall. Gloria pulled a tissue out of her purse. She hoped she’d find out what it was like to marry someone she loved.

The marriage ceremony at the First Baptist Church of Felpsville was the soul of efficiency. The preacher, who looked like a large, round version of Jimmy Carter, told the couple to love God first and one another second. He gestured broadly with powerful hands; Gloria could see a huge football-shaped ring on his right ring finger and the gleam of a gold wedding ring on the left one. The bride and groom stared misty-eyed at each other. Then they lit a candle, symbolizing their life together with God.

The bride isn’t very cute, Gloria thought as she watched, even in that get-up. She’d clearly had a better dressmaker, hair stylist, and make-up artist than she’d provided for her bridesmaids. Still, she’s rabbity. The thought pushed her grief away. Angie stood dazed as the couple repeated their vows. She looked like someone having a bad dream with her eyes open. Gloria noticed streaks under her eyes.

“You may kiss the bride,” the minister said. As the couple’s lips touched briefly, Gloria saw Angie flinch and look away. The two turned and, holding hands, faced their guests.

“Presenting Reverend and Mrs. Jake Dorsey.” The organist began the recessional, the newly marrieds walked back up the aisle, and the wedding was over. As soon as she could get through the pastel-clad crowd, Gloria went into the lobby of the church to find Angie.

“Hey,” Angie tugged on her arm. “Right here.” Gloria had walked past her.

“There you are! Are you okay?”

Angie glanced around. “We’ll have to talk about it later.”

Gloria nodded. “Then let’s get out of here.”

The valet found the car quickly and Gloria and Angie followed the signs to the nearby country club where the reception and dinner would be held. “Girl,” Gloria said, shaking her head at Angie as they got out of the car and walked together into the building, “that dress is really something. It looks like it was made for someone else.”

“I know. The woman who made it had my measurements, but it came out all wrong and there wasn’t time to fix it. I wish I could change into jeans.” Angie sounded like she might cry.

Gloria nudged her affectionately with her shoulder. “You’re still way better looking than the bride,” she stage-whispered.

“Shhh!” Angie elbowed her back, but Gloria could tell she was pleased.

The reception hall was more overdecorated than the church. “Go sit down and I’ll get you a drink,” Gloria said. “What do you want?”

“Just water is fine.”

“C’mon, it’s a wedding.”

“Okay, iced tea.”

Angie seated herself at the end of a row of chairs against one wall, while Gloria went up to the bar. “Hi,” she said to the woman serving drinks. “I’ll have white, and also an iced tea.”

“White what, hon?”

“Chardonnay is fine, or Pinot Grigio would be better if you have it.” Gloria smiled graciously.

The woman glowered. “We don’t have alcohol here,” she said, as though Gloria should have known. She was pouring the iced tea.

What kind of wedding is this? Gloria thought, and then remembered: Christian. She tried to stop herself from looking peeved. “Then I’ll have a Diet Coke,” she said.

“We don’t have diet.”

Now Gloria couldn’t hide her chagrin. “No diet?”

“Do you want regular instead?”

“No thanks, I’ll just take the one iced tea.”

Gloria brought the tea to Angie and then excused herself. “I’ll be right back, okay? Five minutes.”

Gloria slipped outside and drove the quarter-mile to a convenience store. She bought a diet lemonade Snapple and two miniature bottles of vodka. Pouring half the Snapple out the window of the car, she added in the vodka, closed the bottle tightly, and shook it. Then she drove back. Inside the reception hall, she asked the bartender for a cup of ice, poured her cocktail over it, and took a swallow. Now that’s more like it.

“Sorry to leave you, Angie.” Gloria sat down next to her. “They don’t have the kind of drink I like here, so I went to the store.” She tucked the half-full Snapple bottle under her chair.

“That’s okay,” her sister replied dully. “I’m just people-watching.” The room was starting to fill up.

“When is dinner?”

“I don’t know — soon, I guess.” Waiters were loading platters of roast beef onto a table at the rear of the hall.

They sat staring at the other guests. These women bring heterosexuality to a new level, Gloria thought, scanning the room. She felt butch in comparison to them, with her short hair and clipped fingernails. The younger women almost all had blonde highlights, and the older ones wore poufy styles that made their heads enormous. Regardless of skin tone, they all had on gold jewelry. She wondered if she looked strange to them, too.

With a slurp, Angie drained her glass. “Want some more tea?” Gloria asked. “I can get it.” She didn’t want Angie to have to walk in those shoes.

“What are you drinking? I’ll just have a sip of that.”

“Uh…” I can’t lie, I can’t lie, Gloria told herself. Damn. “It’s diet lemonade,” she said. She looked away. “And vodka.”

“Gloria!” Angie sounded shocked but not entirely horrified. She swatted Gloria’s arm playfully.

“I told you they don’t have my kind of drink.”

Smiling incredulously, Angie said, “You’re drinking alcohol?”

“Yeah.” Gloria was embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Can I have some?”

Now it was Gloria’s turn to be surprised. “Are you kidding me?”

Angie snickered. “No.”

“Of course you can have some.” She handed Angie her cup. “Drink this, I’ll get more ice.”

When Gloria returned, she poured a second cocktail and asked, “Isn’t having alcohol a sin, or something? I thought Christians couldn’t drink.”

“Well, some do and some don’t.” Angie lowered her voice. “It says in the Bible that Jesus drank wine, and it’s hard to see how a little bit of it could hurt. Jake says it’s a sin, but I’ve noticed he says a lot of things that don’t make much sense.”

“Really? But he’s your minister.”

“Right.” Angie looked around as if afraid someone would overhear her next words. She whispered, “He might not be for long. I’m thinking of joining Mark’s church. Don’t tell.”

“Who would I tell?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a secret right now.”

“I won’t say anything.”

Angie looked forlorn. “I wish we didn’t have to go through this.”

“We could go,” Gloria suggested. “We already went to the wedding, and that’s the important part.”

“What if we leave for a little while and then come back?” Angie asked. “They won’t miss us.”

“Great idea! We’ll park the car somewhere and finish our drinks.” Gloria stood. “Come on.” Taking Angie’s arm, she helped her sister up. “You know, it’ll be easier to walk if you take smaller steps and put one foot in front of the other, like this,” Gloria demonstrated. “And stand up as straight as you can. It helps with balance.”

“Do you have any idea how many times you’ve showed me how to walk in heels?” Angie said exasperatedly. “I just can’t do it. I feel like I’m about to pitch forward.”

“Then put your arm through mine. That way you won’t fall over, at least.” Together, they made it out to the parking lot.

Angie held both cocktails while Gloria eased the car up the street. They pulled into a shady parking spot in the strip mall and Gloria turned off the engine. She flipped the switches to roll down the windows and they sipped in silence. “That’s the store where I got the vodka,” Gloria said, pointing, “in case we need more.”

“I don’t think I’ll need any,” Angie laughed. “This is more than I’ve had in years. I can feel it already.” Her drink was two-thirds gone.

Gloria seized her chance. “Why are you leaving the church? Why is the minister marrying someone else?”

Angie looked serious again. “I was wrong. I mean, I was right that he was planning to marry someone. But it wasn’t me.”

“Were you in love with him?”

Angie nodded.

“And he knew, but he married this other woman?”

“Yes. Well, he knew after they announced their engagement.” She frowned. “I think Caitlin knew the whole time. She was always acting sorry for me. And they spent a lot of time together, but I thought that was for church business.”

That minister is even stupider than I thought. “I’m so sorry.” Gloria wished she could protect her sister from such heartbreak. “That must have been horrible. Why were you in the wedding?”

“I was trying to prove I was over him.”

“I can understand that.”

“Today I realized that, actually, I am getting over him. Well, maybe not entirely, but I’m making progress.” She took another sip of her drink. “I knew some of the things he said…about Hell, about people being damned just weren’t right. They didn’t fit with my experience of God. But I was so infatuated that I went along with it all. I thought he must be right, because he’s a minister. But he’s just a man. No more, no less.”

Gloria nodded. “That’s why you’re not living at the church?”

“Right.” Angie closed her eyes, then opened them. “Moving out was terrible. I’d been living there since we rented the building, working at the church every minute I wasn’t out trying to earn money or find new members. Caitlin wasn’t…as involved with the congregation. But when they got engaged Caitlin just took my place.”

“Poor Ang.” Gloria had forgotten her old nickname for her sister until that moment.

Angie flashed her a little smile. “It’s nice to hear that name again.”

“You shouldn’t go back to that reception,” Gloria said. “They didn’t treat you very well. Anyway, he’s not going to be your pastor for long.”

“Right.”

“Who cares about their undercooked roast beef dinner? We can get tacos.”

“That would be fun.” Angie smiled.

Gloria looked over at her sister, wondering how Angie might respond to what she was about to say. “I had a romantic disaster recently, myself.”

Angie cocked her head sympathetically. “What happened?”

“I was dating this woman, Lu, and she broke up with me. I didn’t see it coming at all. Actually, that happened the day you called to say you were coming here.”

“I’m so sorry, Gloria. Did you like her a lot?”

“Yeah,” Gloria admitted, sipping her drink. “I did.” She breathed deeply to keep her voice steady. “We had a lot of fun together. I miss her.”

Leaning back in her seat, Angie sighed. “Aren’t we a sight? When I was a little girl I figured we’d both be married by now.”

“I figured you would be. It’s a little more complicated for me.”

Angie nodded. “I guess it is.”

“But instead of getting married, we’re drinking in the parking lot up the street while the church secretary eats her wedding cake.” Gloria had to laugh.

Smiling, Angie held up her drink. “To the unexpected.”

“Hear, hear.” They drained their cocktails, and Gloria started the engine. “Can you drive?” Angie asked. “You just had vodka.”

“Not to worry, it’s only one drink.” Gloria winked at her. “My liver is much more experienced than yours.” She pulled around the corner into the Taco Bell drive-through. They bought combo meals and ate them in the car. As soon as Angie unwrapped her burrito, a clump of beans landed on the front of her dress. The grease spread into a brown Texas-shaped blob. Angie dabbed at the stain, but only succeeded in enlarging the panhandle.

“Don’t worry about it, Angie,” Gloria giggled through the first of her three Taco Supremes. “You’re not allowed to wear that dress again anyway.”

Laughing, Angie rubbed harder. Texas morphed into Mexico. “I’m burning this when we get back to your house.” She bit into her dinner, and a few ground bits of maybe-meat landed on her skirt. Angie didn’t even wipe them off.

A couple of hours later, the sisters parked in front of Gloria’s white stucco apartment building. “Here we are,” Gloria said. “This is where I live.”

Gloria ushered her sister into the building, insisting on carrying the suitcase even though Angie was both taller and stronger than she. “I’m the big sister,” she joked. “Besides, we wouldn’t want to tear your pretty purple dress.”

Lily jumped off the bed when they entered the apartment. “You’ve never met Lily, have you?” Angie scratched behind Lily’s ears. “I’ve had her for three years.” She felt a pang as she realized how long she and Angie had been estranged.

“How adorable. A family member I haven’t met yet.” Lily tried to maneuver for a French kiss.

“She’s always putting the moves on people.” Gloria showed Angie the kitchen and bathroom while the dog followed at her aunt’s heels. “Just make yourself at home.”

“Thanks. I’m exhausted.”

When they woke up in the morning, side by side in Gloria’s double bed, Lily was standing on Gloria’s chest licking the side of her face. “Jes—” she started to say, but then remembered who was beside her and changed it to, “Stop that, Lily.” She scratched behind the dog’s ears.

“Morning,” Angie said, sitting up.

“Sorry we woke you. She’s wild before her morning walk.”

Yawning, Angie replied, “It’s no problem at all.”

“I’d better take her out,” Gloria said, heading for the bathroom. By the time she had her sweats on, Angie had already made the bed.

“I’ll fix us some breakfast,” Angie offered.

As she walked around the park with Lily, Gloria’s sadness came back. The last person to make me breakfast was Lu. Whenever Gloria slept over at Lu’s apartment, Lu made those delicious eggs and bacon. Don’t be silly, Gloria told herself. Having your sister back is way better than some girl. She couldn’t help but feel, though, that having both would be even better.

Breakfast cheered her up. Angie’s eggs were deliciously light and she had somehow conjured a hollandaise sauce out of the contents of Gloria’s fridge. They were eating when they heard a knock at the door.

“If this is Mom and Dad, they’re early,” Gloria said as she peered through the peephole.

“Angie, Gloria, it’s your parents,” their father called from the other side of the door. “We couldn’t wait.”

Gloria unfastened the lock and turned the knob, Angie a few steps behind her. “Hey!” Gloria said brightly, stepping back to allow her parents through the door of her apartment. They didn’t respond; they stared at their other daughter. Colleen looked thrilled, just for an instant, and then her face pinched. Harold smiled like a child at his own birthday party. Angie stood still.

“Angie,” Harold said warmly, taking a step forward, arms outstretched. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Dad.” They hugged, hard. Angie’s body relaxed as her father held her. After a few seconds, they pulled apart, teary-eyed.

“We missed you so much, honey.”

Angie stepped back and looked at him. Tears streaked her cheeks. She nodded back at him as if to say, “Me too.” Angie glanced over at her mother. Colleen still had not spoken. “Mom?” Angie took a few steps and stood in front of her so that they were eye to eye. “I’m glad to see you.”

Colleen pursed her lips. “I’m glad to see you, too, Angela. I hope we can have a pleasant visit.”

“Do you think I want to be unpleasant?” The pain in Angie’s voice was obvious.

“I don’t want to talk about religion.” Colleen looked at Angie, and her face began to soften. She reached out and touched a strand of her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry. I sound worse than I mean to because I’m nervous.” She pulled Angie to her in a fierce hug. “Honey, I missed you.” Gloria saw rare tears in her mother’s eyes.

Two thoughts: Maybe maybe maybe we can be a family again and She’s stealing them back. Although Gloria was ashamed of the latter thought, she noticed neither parent had embraced her. She pushed herself over to her father, who was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, intending to hug him. But then Colleen and Angie broke apart, Harold put his kerchief away — the moment was lost, and they all sat down, Gloria unhugged.

Gloria watched her parents stare at Angie while Angie stared at the floor. Everyone wondered what to say. Finally Harold interrupted the silence: “Well, it’s been a long time.” Colleen, Angie, and Gloria all nodded. The silence returned. Harold tried again. “Angie, you’re here for a wedding?”

“Yeah,” she spoke hesitantly. Gloria realized Angie didn’t want to tell their parents exactly who was getting married. “And I wanted to see you all. I…I’ve been away too long. I’m sure we still have a lot of differences, but I wanted to see you.”

“Our old house in Atlanta isn’t there anymore,” Gloria told her parents. “Angie says they’ve turned it into condos.”

Their father winced. “That was a good, solid house. What a shame, to tear it down.”

Their mother shook her head. “I have so many memories of you two as little girls there. I’m sorry to hear it’s gone.”

An awkward pause followed. Finally Gloria said, “It’s nice to have the family all together again.”

“It certainly is,” Harold said, emphatically, and everyone nodded in response. A silence settled over them, as each considered Angie’s long absence. Finally, Harold said, “Why don’t you girls finish your breakfast and then we’ll all go for a walk.”

“Have y’all eaten?” Angie asked. “I could make more.”

“We’ve had plenty,” her mother said. “You go ahead and eat, and then we’ll go up Bernal Hill to see the views.”

Gloria walked over to the table. She picked up Angie’s plate and handed it to her.

Angie shook her head. “Thanks, I’m full.”

“Me, too.” Gloria scraped the remaining eggs into Lily’s bowl and rinsed the plates in the sink. “Let’s go.”

As they walked out of Gloria’s building, Harold said to Angie, “Did your sister tell you she’s going to start a Ph.D. program?”

“I heard. It sounds great.”

“We’re so proud,” their mother said. Gloria could tell she meant it. They strolled towards the base of the hill in pairs, Gloria and their mother in front, Angie and their father behind them.

“About that,” Gloria began nervously, glancing over at her mother but talking loudly enough for the others to hear, “I have something to tell you all.” God, it sucks being honest. She imagined herself jumping from the top of Bernal Hill. Taking a deep breath, she plunged. “I’m not going after all.”

No one spoke. A lie formed in Gloria’s mind, but she forced it back. I’m going to tell the truth if it kills me. And it might. “I didn’t get in. I did apply, but I told you I had been accepted because I was embarrassed about working at Macy’s.”

“You lied to us?” Her mother looked flabbergasted. “And Angie too?”

“I did.” The flat sidewalk had become an incline, and Gloria began to breathe heavily. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all the truth.”

Her mother shook her head. “You didn’t have to lie. We weren’t going to disown you for getting fired or having a bad job. What kind of parents do you take us for?”

“Of course not,” her father added.

“How did I know that?” Gloria looked at her. “You disowned Angie.”

“Gloria! That is not what happened and you know it,” her mother said. She was getting out of breath, too.

Before she could continue, Angie interjected. “You don’t make it easy for your children to be honest.” Gloria and her parents turned their heads sharply towards her but kept walking. “I don’t like it that you lied to me, Gloria. But I see why you couldn’t tell them the truth.”

Angrily, Colleen said, “Angie, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. That’s outrageous. We’ve always said you could both come to us with anything.”

Angie didn’t speak.

“Why the silent treatment?” Their mother turned to look at Angie, who stared down at the sidewalk. “I have been supportive. The only time I haven’t supported you was when you decided to join that preacher’s cult. I’m your mother” — she stopped talking to take a breath — “but even I have limits.”

Angie lifted her head. “How about when I was pregnant?”

“When you got pregnant, we took care of you. But now I open a book and find out you think we forced you into it.”

Angie bowed her head; Gloria saw her lips move. They all kept walking.

“Angie, do you feel that we forced you to have that abortion?” Harold asked, panting a little from the climb.

“Yes.” Angie looked at him, and her voice was quiet but firm. “You did.”

Colleen turned abruptly. They stopped walking. Gloria could see the veins in her mother’s forehead. “How dare you! What, did you want to raise a baby at that age? Or give it up and then spend the rest of your life wondering what happened to it?”

The four of them faced each other on the steepest part of the incline. Tears gathered in Angie’s eyes. “I do wonder what happened to its soul. I know I couldn’t have kept it, but I could have at least given it a chance to live.” She started to draw a breath, but it turned into a sob. “Someone would have wanted my baby.”

Colleen said, “How can you say we forced you into it? You went of your own accord. We got you the best doctor we could find, and you never protested once.”

“Mom, I found out I was pregnant and I had an abortion the next day. You never asked me what I wanted, and when I told you I wasn’t sure you insisted on doing it anyway. I was scared.” She looked at their father. “Why did you let that happen?”

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded choked. “It seemed…” He looked at his wife. “It seemed like the right thing to do. You were too young to get married and I thought…” He stopped to wipe off his glasses again. “I thought it would be less traumatic to have the pregnancy over with than to let you carry the baby to term. Your mother and I agreed on that. And when you didn’t say no, we heard yes.”

“Why?” Angie looked from one parent to the other. “Why did you assume you knew what I wanted? What would be less ‘traumatic’ for me?”

“You weren’t thinking clearly,” her mother said. “You were scared and we were the adults.”

“I wish I’d fought harder. If I could change anything in my life, it would be that.”

Angie dropped her face into her hands. Colleen and Harold stared. Gloria dug in the pocket of her jacket for a tissue and handed it to her sister. Then she realized she was crying, too, and she pulled out another one to dry her own eyes.

Gloria looked down at the sidewalk, not wanting to see her parents’ faces. To Angie, she said, “Mom wasn’t ready to have me when she did — I found out last Christmas. She would have had an abortion if it had been legal.” Angie’s looked at her, but she didn’t speak. Gloria turned to Colleen and Harold. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I mean, on the one hand it hurts that you weren’t ready for me when I came. But wouldn’t it have been better to wait?”

Colleen nodded. “I was too young.”

Angie looked at Gloria doubtfully. “But if she’d had an abortion, the person born wouldn’t have been you.”

“But what does that matter?” Gloria asked. She shrugged. “I mean, I’d like to think I’m special, but what’s one genetic combination over another, really? It’s what you do once you’re here that counts.”

“I don’t agree with that,” Angie said. She looked at her mother. “You wanted an abortion but it was illegal.”

“Right, but…”

“And then all those years later, you decided I should have an abortion because you couldn’t get one when you wanted it.” Angie’s voice rose a notch.

Uncertainty crossed their mother’s face. “Maybe I did.”

“Don’t you see, Mom, that’s awful.” Angie said, her voice loud. “That was for me to decide, not you.”

“So maybe we made a mistake! It’s possible. I can’t do everything right,” her mother yelled back. Another family walking up the hill on the other side of the street turned to stare. She continued more quietly, “But we didn’t hurt you on purpose. You know that.” She held out her hand to Gloria, who gave her the last tissue.

“But you did hurt me, whether you meant to or not.” Angie shook her head. She breathed deeply before continuing. “All these years I’ve prayed and prayed, I’ve tried to forgive myself for letting that happen. And to forgive you. I need to find a way to do that, for my own peace of mind.” Glancing at her father, she added, “To forgive both of you.”

Their father drew his shoulders up. “We won’t have someone — even our own daughter — telling us what our moral failings are,” he said in his teacher voice. “We love you and we tried to be good parents to you. But to have you pestering us every time we see you to ‘come to Jesus’ is more than your mother and I can take.”

“I didn’t ask you to come to Jesus this time,” Angie pointed out. She had stopped crying. “I said I’m trying to forgive us. And it’s really hard.”

“Dad,” Gloria broke in, exasperated, “can’t you be a little nicer? Can’t you say you’re sorry you didn’t listen to her?”

“Well.” He looked down at the sidewalk. “Of course we did what we thought was best.” He paused and then continued, “But, Angie, we didn’t ask what you wanted. Your mother and I assumed we knew what was right for you, and I am sorry we did that. I’m sorry that decision has caused you so much pain.”

Angie nodded slowly. “Thank you.” She looked at her mother. “Mom?”

“I’m sorry, too, Angie. I wish I had done things differently so that you wouldn’t have joined that church —”

“Mother. The church has been wonderful for me.”

Her mother sighed and shook her head. “Maybe so. But I — I am sorry.”

Putting a hand on Angie’s shoulder, her father said, “The church took you away from us.”

Gloria and her mother nodded in unison.

“It’s not my church’s fault that our family hasn’t been close. I’m not going to pretend I’m not a Christian,” Angie told them. “I can’t do that. But I will stop trying to persuade you to convert if you stop putting down my religion.”

Gloria saw her mother’s shoulders drop slightly. “Can you do that, Angie?”

“Of course. Can you?”

“If it means having my daughter back.”

“I’m flying back to Atlanta this afternoon,” Angie said, “but maybe I could come back and visit again soon.”

“We’d like that,” their father said, and their mother nodded in agreement. “And we can certainly help you out with the cost of the ticket.”

Smiling a little, Angie said, “Thanks.”

Gloria looked from face to face: they all seemed pleased but wary. This is what people mean by “cautiously optimistic.” No one spoke.

“Let’s tackle that hill,” Harold finally said. “We don’t have far to go.”

Gloria looked up. The top was maybe fifty feet away, but she sighed. It wouldn’t be easy.

Gloria took her place beside her mother and they all began walking. After a few steps, her mother said, “Gloria, I’m sorry you found out about…when I was first pregnant with you. It was hard, and we were young, but I did want you.”

Gloria knew that was a lie, but she could live with it because she understood. She is saying this because she loves me. She put a hand on her mother’s shoulder and they kept walking together.

“Doesn’t your flight leave pretty soon?” Gloria asked after their parents’ Volvo station wagon disappeared into traffic. They were standing in front of her apartment building.

“Oh, not until three or so,” Angie said, “I’ve got plenty of time.”

Gloria looked at her watch: almost twelve-thirty. “Actually, you don’t,” she said. “Security at SFO takes forever now, and it’ll take us a while to get there. You need to be there pretty soon. Come on, I’ll help you pack.” It felt good to take care of her baby sister.

“Friday was the first time I’d been on an airplane since 9/11,” Angie said as Gloria opened the gate to her apartment building. “I was surprised at how different it was. I had to take my sneakers off in security, and then when we got on the plane they didn’t feed us anything but crackers.”

“I hate that. Like people don’t get hungry anymore. On some of the flights you can buy food, but it’s $10 for a muffin and coffee.” Gloria opened the door to her apartment. Lily ran over to greet them and she scratched behind the dog’s ears. “I’ll pack you something to eat while you get your things together.”

“Thanks, Gloria. That’s sweet of you.”

Ten minutes later, Gloria was rolling Angie’s suitcase back towards the car. Angie carried her dinner: a peanut-butter sandwich and a slightly soft banana in a plastic grocery bag. Gloria put the suitcase in the trunk and opened the door for Angie. Once they were buckled in and headed towards the airport, Gloria said, “Did I lie a lot when I was a kid?”

“Did you lie?”

“I was trying to figure out when I started lying. I realized recently that I do it a lot. I’d started to do it without even realizing it, actually.”

“Hmm.” Angie stared out the window for a few seconds. “Just the usual things. I remember a couple of times you said I ate the last of the ice cream but it was really you.”

“God, what a brat,” Gloria laughed. “I doubt Mom and Dad believed me.”

Angie smiled. “I don’t think they did. I never got in trouble for it.”

“Well, I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry I lied to you about Burns.”

Angie nodded. “Why did you?”

“I thought since I’d lied to Mom and Dad I should lie to you, too, so that the stories would match up.”

“But when you told me all that I hadn’t talked to them in years.”

“Yeah.” Gloria turned on her blinker and carefully moved over one lane. “I think I also lied because I wanted you to be proud of me. The same way I wanted Mom and Dad to be proud.”

“Gloria, I’m a waitress. I never finished college. You don’t have to impress me with a Ph.D.”

“I know.” Gloria’s eyes watered. “I know this sounds dumb, but I thought they always loved you more.”

“I thought they loved you more, at least in the last few years. It’s been awful being cut off from all of you, knowing you’re still a family without me. The church has helped, but being kicked out of your own family hurts more than I can say.”

They rode in silence past the sports stadium. Gloria thought of all the queers she knew whose families wouldn’t talk to them.

“It’s awful being rejected by your family, either way,” Gloria said. She took her hand off the two o’clock position on the steering wheel to put it over Angie’s. “I won’t lose touch with you again, Ang. I promise.” She sniffled and pointed to the glove compartment. “There’s Kleenex in there.”

Angie pulled out tissues for both of them.

Gloria blew her nose and then said, “Max is moving to Atlanta this summer. When we came to visit you, he fell in love with this guy who lives there.”

“Uh-huh,” Angie said, looking a little confused.

“I doubt he’s just going for the summer. I have a feeling he’s moving there permanently. So I’ll probably be out to visit a lot. I’m definitely coming sometime in the summer.”

Angie smiled. “That’s great.”

“With my sister and my best friend there, I may not go anywhere else on vacation,” Gloria said, grinning back. She veered onto the exit ramp and moved into the Domestic Flights lane, then followed the signs into Departures.

Gloria pulled up and stopped the car next to the Air Tran curb. She set the emergency brake and turned off the engine. “Thank you for coming, Angie. Really.”

Angie laughed a little. “Thanks for going to that wedding with me. It would have been a whole lot worse without you.”

Gloria giggled. “Whenever I see a Taco Bell I’ll think of you.” She popped the trunk and they got out of the car. Gloria pulled out Angie’s suitcase. She set it gently on the curb next to them.

“Have a good flight.” Gloria didn’t know what to say next, so she took a step back and looked at her sister. After a moment, she said, “I just realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“We do have the same nose. I always thought yours was cuter and had a nicer curve. But actually they’re the same.”

“Yeah, Glo,” Angie said, reaching out to hug her. “They’re the same.”

Gloria squeezed back. “Don’t forget to eat your dinner.”

“I won’t.” Angie stepped back and pulled the handle of her suitcase up. She held up the bag of food. “I’ve got it right here.”

“Good.” Gloria looked at Angie and laughed. “My make-up is all over one side of your face. There’s mascara everywhere.”

Grinning, Angie rubbed her cheek. The streak spread.

“It’s useless,” Gloria said. “Maybe I should stop wearing so much of it.”

“You look good without it,” Angie said, still smiling. “I guess I’d better go.”

“Okay,” Gloria didn’t want Angie to leave. “Give me a call when you get home, just so I know you got in all right.”

“I will.”

Angie walked into the airport, wheeling her suitcase behind her. After the sliding glass doors closed behind her, she turned and waved. Gloria waved back. She got into the Corolla, put on her blinker, and pulled away from the curb. As she merged onto 101 North, she pulled out the Kleenex.

Thus the Sorens reunited, warily, their family held together with Air Tran tickets and sticky history. Their separation and re-formation was, as Max would say, a poignant commentary on the post-millennial family.

Colleen and Harold had much to consider. Christmas seven months in the future and yet a large Douglas Fir rose in Colleen’s mind like a marvelous stage production of the Nutcracker, and on it were her daughters’ childhood ornaments. She had five years’ worth of Christmas presents to give Angie. Her mind turning to future conversations with her children, resolved to cultivate non-political topics of conversation. Literature, maybe?

Harold asked himself questions. For one thing, why had they let their younger daughter go so easily? Each decision had seemed right at the time, yet they had made mistake after mistake. Hindsight so much clearer than foresight. He resolved to worry more. With a little more worry, he might be able to keep them all together. He would try.

Technically speaking, they would not all spend Christmas together that year; Angie would come home for the holiday, but Gloria would miss her flight from Seattle (perhaps on purpose? She does have that ambivalent streak) and the whole family would not be together until December 26. But they would be together. They would eat the ham, and argue about Angie’s abortion, and sit around the kitchen table, putting themselves back together.

Acknowledgments

I first offer my love and gratitude to my dear parents and sisters, whose care and wisdom have shaped me.

To Valarie Eilert, my partner in life, thank you for your daily belief in me and in this process. My deepest gratitude, also, to my kind and brilliant early readers: Aishe Berger, Sasha Clayton, Chrissy Elgersma, Sarah Edrie, Cindi Harrison, Thea Hillman, Julie Kubala, Anna Mills, Carolyn Moore, Nami Mun, Kim Paulus, Brooke Perry, Donna Jo Smith, Lindasusan Ulrich, and Valeria Vegas. Thanks to Seth Harwood and the Podiobooks.com staff for help with the audiobook version of Glitter Girl.

For wise guidance, thank you to Donna Diamond, Susan Gold, Nora Herold, and Albert.

Thank you, Ellen Harris — Latin teacher, neighbor, and mentor — for showing me the beauty and utility of language.

Thank you to Noe Valley Voice Editor Sally Smith, who gave me my first job as a writer and then kept me at least partly employed for another dozen years.

Thank you, Sarah Schulman, for demanding I write a novel and then explaining how. Thanks also to Rebecca Brown and Rachel Pollack, my other Goddard professors, who taught me patiently.

I’m grateful to the many professors in the Religion department at Emory University who showed me the divine is enormous and includes us all.

I extend my gratitude to all the activists who made it possible for me to live as an out lesbian; may this novel carry our work forward.