Inner Secrets

by Suzie Carr

Copyright © 2011, Suzie Carr. All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher.

Also by Suzie Carr:

The Fiche Room

Tangerine Twist

Two Feet Off The Ground

Follow Suzie’s Blog:

http://curveswelcomed.blogspot.com

Follow Suzie on Twitter:

@girl_novelist

T.A. Royce (@editor_girl) – Thank you for your wise and thoughtful guidance. I’m glad that we’re on this journey together.

Chapter One

December 1

Dear Journal,

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Hope Steele. I turned twenty-eight yesterday and I’ve got something to confess.

I am gay.

Just seeing these three words scrawled out on my page jolts me. I am charged tossing my truth out and seeing it stand on its own, strong, confident, fearless. I’ve told two people in my life to date, my best friend, PJ, and her girlfriend, Rachel. I’ve lived the better part of my life with this secret, and might just lose it if I have to live another moment hidden. So, here I am, confessing my truth on paper, hoping I can get to know the real me through this journaling.

So what’s the big deal that I’m gay?

Well, you see, I’m married. I’ve been married to my husband Ryan for two years, ten months, four days, ten hours and thirty-one minutes.

January 27

Dear Journal,

I've got something to confess again.

A pretty, new girl named Lucy started at work two weeks ago. I’ve been a lustful fool ever since.

On her first day, I volunteered to show her around, introduce her to her new colleagues, to the coffee machine, to the copier, to the storage room. I treated her to a skinny latte at the office building’s café. We sat across from each other, sipping our sweet treats and sharing smiles. We chatted about office lingo and company history. She asked intelligent, pointed questions about expectations and what I liked most about the firm. And for the love of God, I couldn’t focus on anything but her pouty, glossed lips and the feathery angle of her eyes.

I dreamt about her last night. I dreamt we had stayed late to work on a project. She followed me to the storage closet to help gather some envelopes. A soft glow from the office lights illuminated her face, glistened on her lips, danced in her eyes. I reached around her for a box. She smelled bluesy, soulful. Well, one spark fed the other and before I could blink, she backed me up against the shelves and started making out with me. Her passion, soft lips, intensity left me breathless, spinning. I woke with a desperate hunger, one that only this girl could feed.

I stared at the back of my husband’s head for several minutes, watching as he breathed in and out peacefully, unknowing that his faithful wife was not who he believed her to be—a woman who was physically attracted to him and a woman who was dying to start a family with him. I was no more this woman than I was the Queen of England.

I then cried into my blankets.

I'm going over to PJ’s now. I pray she can set me straight.

I left a note for Ryan that chicken dumplings were sitting by the milk on the top shelf of the fridge when he got home. I told him not to wait up for me.

January 28

Dear Journal, I am a mess!

Okay, so I’m still feeling gay this morning, despite my wish that PJ would help set me straight last night. I’m such a rambling idiot, though. I should’ve sat on her couch, admitted my crush on Lucy, and let her and Rachel talk some sense into me. After all, Rachel is Ryan’s cousin. Who better to set me straight?

Instead, they listened as I droned on and on about Lucy’s glistening skin, the way her hair flirts with her collarbone, the way her hips sway in perfect pendulum fashion each time she passes me by. I couldn’t stop.

They must’ve thought I was nothing more than a babbling, horny girl trying to get her lesbian side on. I’m still not sure what I expected the girls to do when I told them about my crush on Lucy. I guess a trio of screams and leaps? We weren’t thirteen giggling over our first kisses. These are two put-together women in love, in perfect love, who dine on gourmet tuna and relax on vacations to exotic places.

They have careers with real future and value. They play intelligent games like chess and belong to a Shakespearian book club. I wanted them to revel in girl talk alongside me. Was this too much to ask from two girls who love talking about girls?

If only PJ would’ve smiled more, crossed her arms over her chest a little less, sprinkled out a speck of interest, and definitely not brought up Ryan. Couldn’t she tell I needed to unleash about Lucy? How else would we get down to the bottom of my life, my future?

February 1

Dear Journal, I'm addicted to euphoria.

I think I’m an addict; a euphoria one, that is.

You see, I’m thinking this because without any euphoria, I’m blah. I don’t mean just any blah. I mean can’t-wrap-my-brain-around-work blah; need-three-cups-of-coffee- blah; want-to-eat-everything-on-the-planet-that-is-fried-or-covered-in-chocolate blah. Okay, so maybe I’m making this sound a bit more serious than it actually is. In all honesty, two days ago, I focused just fine, drank one cup of coffee, and was perfectly content eating carrot sticks, hummus, apples, and brown rice. Then again, two days ago, my beautiful co-worker, Lucy, was not calling out sick to work.

Do you see where I’m going with this? Ever since she started at the firm, I’ve been jolted to life. Then, when she called out sick two days in a row, I was ready to collapse from the lack of euphoric nutrition. I kept looking over at her desk, seeking a jolt to get me through the next mailing list spreadsheet. When I saw the black leather chair where her lovely body should be, my spirit fizzled, the light snuffed out. One month prior, I didn’t even know she existed. Now, she crosses my mind when I breathe, blink, sleep.

I crave her smile, her nod, her invite to the café for a mid-morning and mid-afternoon cup of coffee.

I’m addicted to euphoria.

This is a major problem because this addiction is causing me to partake in stalker-type behavior. I mean, just today, when I was sure no one noticed, I snuck by her cubicle just to catch a glimpse of a picture of her and her niece. Who does this? Next, I’ll be stuffing myself under her desk, sniffing her sweater or something creepy like that.

This all has me wondering if I’m normal. Maybe I’m just a simple adrenaline junky. This can be easy to solve if this is really my issue. All I have to do is shake things up in life to get a shot of nirvana. I can take up skydiving. Yes, that ought to do the trick. I’ll quench my thirst for bliss by jumping out of an airplane.

Who the hell am I trying to fool? I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her like a couple in a Hollywood love story, a gay couple, of course.

February 19

Dear Journal, fantastical fool, Hope, here.

I remember reading an article in a nature magazine once that educated me on the sad statistic of how only three percent of mammals mate for life. Of this three percent, only some remain monogamous. One that does is the black vulture. They discourage infidelity. You know what a vulture would do if he caught another vulture cheating? He’d gather all of his other vulture friends and coordinate revenge. Together, this swarm of vigilante vultures would seek out the naughty, philandering vulture and attack him. I imagine that this keeps fidelity pretty high on their priority list. Fidelity out of fear.

PJ confessed to me that several years ago she kissed another woman when she first hooked up with Rachel. Not just once, but on many occasions. She still carries around the guilt.

How do I feel about this?

Relieved.

I am so relieved that PJ and I are just a couple of screwed up friends—friends who will always stick together and protect each other from such vicious attacks, even if we are dead wrong. We’re both imperfect. She’s a kissing fool, and I’m a fantastical fool, dreaming up these naughty scenarios where I’m tickling erogenous zones that I shouldn’t be tickling.

PJ threw a lot at me tonight. She said my lustful confessions are bringing up this guilt she had long ago repressed. She said she keeps playing back the sneaky kisses in her mind, and with each revised clip, a mountain of guilt is blocking her path.

She thinks she cheated. I don’t.

She sat across from me, a pepperoni pizza and pitcher of Blue Moon beer crowding between us, and squirmed against the checkered seat. I asked her what was going on. Then, just like that, she tossed out every truth she’d hidden over the past several years, leaving nothing for me to imagine. I heard all about this girl named Tiffany and her husky voice, her smoldering eyes, her size four jeans that hugged her hips just right, even the butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder blade. She spoke about her as if she’d just hooked up with her the night before instead of years prior. She rambled on, highlighting this stranger’s best assets.

PJ needed me tonight. She wanted me to advise her, tell her what to do. Should she confess all of this to Rachel and hope enough time has passed to lessen the blow? She looked to me for this answer.

Me. Can you imagine? What a joke, huh? What was I supposed to tell her that she didn’t already know? She didn’t outright cheat on Rachel. Although, some might argue a kiss weighs heavier than sex. She admitted if Tiffany appeared before her again, she’d be defenseless to her beauty, to her smoldering eyes, to her sexy ways.

How can I judge?

If Lucy, or some other hot babe, tossed me against a stack of shelves and started to make out with me, I’m not so sure I could stop it either. This turns me on. How pathetic of a counsel am I?

So you know what I did? I told her, “PJ, you need to come clean to Rachel. But,” I said, praying for guidance that I'd dole her advice she could really use. “You need to fess up carefully. You need to whitewash the truth.” I pictured Rachel, staring at PJ with her innocent doe-like eyes, reaching out to her with her forever-faithful heart, urging her to unleash her troubles. I swallowed, and added, “You need to whitewash it like you were sandblasting it. As a matter of fact, you need to bleach the damn truth, double process it. Fry the crap out of it so it’s unrecognizable.” I latched onto my best friend's hands, saddled her in, and kicked my idea of a plan into high gear. “Oh the heck with it, PJ. Why bother? Does she really need to know? Can’t you just deal with the guilt by eating a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream?”

She shrugged. I shrugged. We drank another pitcher of beer.

An hour later, the stress lines stretching across her forehead finally recoiled. By the time we said goodbye, her shoulders even lowered back down to their normal position.

March 23

Dear Journal, I got caught.

9:20 a.m.

Something’s definitely wrong with Ryan and me. I have never left the house without saying goodbye to him. This morning I did. I didn’t even realize this until I got to work. Even worse than that, he never called me to tell me, ‘Hey you forgot to say goodbye to me.’

So, I’m trying to figure out what this means. Is this the beginning of the end? Is this the part when the marital seam rips open and nothing, no superglue, no super-strength thread, no master tailor in the world can sew us back to our original shape? Is this the pinnacle moment that I’ll look back on ten years from now and say, ‘Yup, that’s when I knew we were over’?

5:40 p.m.

I basked in a warm, delicious bath an hour ago, soaking up the lavender and chamomile, enjoying soft jazz when Ryan knocked. He poked his head in and asked permission to enter. “Of course, honey. Why are you even asking?”

He entered. His arms remained latched behind him as if roped into place. A question rested on his lips, I could tell this much even through the steamy, candlelit haze. “I found something this morning and I’m a little confused by it.” He flicked his arm straight out and in his hand he cradled my latest copy of a lesbian romance novel. The cover, sporting two sets of curvy lips in a kiss, revealed the erotic nature of its contents.

Bubbles rippled around me, victims of my galloping heart. Oh how I wanted to sink under them and find refuge to think of an answer other than, “Oh, that silly thing. That was a gag gift from your dear cousin Rachel.” I giggled. He didn’t.

He bit his lower lip, cocked his head slightly, and then walked out, closing the door with a whisper, leaving me to wade in my deflated bubbles.

I take back what I wrote earlier. Maybe this is that pinnacle moment that I will look back on and say, ‘Yup, that’s when I knew we were over.’

April 22

Dear Journal, I’m selfish.

Ryan came home in a frenzy, caught up in some strange whirlwind, citing that things were going to change big time for us now. He was offered a transfer to the Dallas office and he was getting a ten thousand dollar raise.

I begged him not to take it.

I couldn’t leave PJ and my job, not now while in the midst of my confusion.

I couldn’t leave Lucy.

He loves me so much. He said he would decline it if Maryland was where I wanted to call home and raise our kids. I hugged him so hard; I feared I cracked a few ribs.

Then he asked me again when we were going to start having kids.

“Soon,” I told him.

May 15

Dear Journal, my head is spinning.

I’m extremely aggravated with my best friend at the moment. We just met for drinks at the Asian Bistro, and well into our second round I started to tell her about how attracted I still am to Lucy. I went into painstaking detail about how adorable she looked today; about how her hair hung in big, teasing curls, how her pencil skirt lengthened her legs, and how her lips shimmied with crimson lip gloss. Then, I told her about the incredible moment when she treated me to a flirty smile as we both reached for the same coffee mug, and PJ shot up from the table with such force, as though fire erupted in the restaurant’s kitchen. She said that she’d heard enough and needed to leave. She barreled out of the restaurant, leaving me alone with half a Mojito and the unpaid check.

I called her as soon as my head stopped spinning, and you know what she did? She actually had the nerve to tell me I was acting like a self-absorbed, ungrateful person who, at the moment, didn’t deserve someone as great as Ryan.

So, I hung up on her. Guess who tried calling me back five minutes later? Yeah, and then every twenty seconds thereafter.

I’m still pissed, and way too hurt to hear her voice. How dare she judge me? How dare she criticize me? How dare she tell me I don’t deserve Ryan? Even though maybe I don’t deserve him, a best friend is never to shed light on something so painfully obvious. Best friends are supposed to cover these ugly truths up with nuance, smooth over our rough edges with a fine chamois, and color our stains with rosy, balanced hues. Not tear us into shreds and then throw us in the fire.

So now what? I’m not allowed to tell her what’s happening in my life? This is no longer permitted? What kind of bullshit is that? I have to go back to bottling up my real feelings? So, it’s okay for her to go around kissing every hot girl that throws herself at her, but me, I’m a rotten, no-good wife for checking out a pretty girl’s legs, hair and glossy lips?

I obviously hit a nerve with her. Sometimes I wish my confession hadn’t stirred the soil of her own guilt. Maybe then she’d look at me with sympathetic eyes.

Great. I think Ryan just walked through the front door. Time for me to go pretend I’m the happy-go-freaking-lucky wife now.

May 16

Dear Journal, I teetered over the line.

So, I did it. I did what I said I’d never do. I walked up to that thin line, climbed on top of it, and flirted with its dares, its lure, and its insane concoction that blurred right from wrong. There I stood, one foot dangerously close to nirvana, one clinging to reality, toying between indulging or walking away. Guess which one I chose?

Here's how it all went down: PJ came by work today and we made up over a couple of Panera sandwiches. She even wanted to meet Lucy. Of course, Lucy was offsite today. Anyway, she explained how she’s confused over how best to counsel me, and I told her I didn’t need any counseling. I just needed my best friend back. So, she invited me to go out to dinner with her and Rachel. We had just finished eating Cobb salads and sour dough bread when we drove by the parking lot to Club X. Men directed a flow of steady traffic into the parking lot with flashlights. Intrigued, I nonchalantly suggested we go in and see where all the girls were flocking. PJ didn’t even flinch, despite Rachel’s tug at her arm. She turned her wheel like I asked her to drive thru McDonalds for a hamburger. My heart flipped. This would be my first ladies night.

The scene radiated more heat than an Arizona summer day. Everything from the soft lights, the heart-pumping music, and the sweet smell of sweat and perfume set my heart racing. After meeting up with several of their friends and downing a drink, we all ventured to the dance floor. Then, a cutie with trendy dreads and the sweetest smile caught my eye. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Her free spirit, her sexy vibe, her soft features lured me in. The club was dark, it was hot, it was sexy. But not as sexy as this girl. Before long, she took my hand and guided me to the beat. I’ve never danced so dangerously close to a girl before. Our bodies melded, and before long everyone around me blurred. Her hands hugged my hips, her legs brushed against mine, her breath nestled against the back of my neck. I’d never felt so free, so natural, so desperate to erase that line that has kept me from experiencing anything this sexy before.

The sad truth I discovered: In this lifetime, with Ryan, I would never breeze through a moment like this so uninhibited, so fluid, so nurtured. The good news is I’ve stopped thinking about Lucy now. Of course, now I can’t stop thinking about this adorable girl with dreads named Nadeen.

June 18

Dear Journal, I’ve made a gigantic mistake with Nadeen.

She finally lured me in, danced the tango with my curious soul. I couldn’t resist her. I had to indulge in those golden shoulders, those feline eyes, those perky breasts, those wild calls from deep inside, as if possessed. How could I resist such temptation?

I could’ve easily gone from Ryan to her in a blink if she hadn’t pulled out a small buffet of drugs right after we ended our romp in the cotton sheets of a bed that I had no right to share.

I’m a cheater.

A fucking cheater.

~

When I arrived home later that night, I tossed beside Ryan in bed, watching him breathe in and out, relaxed and oblivious. The longer I stayed with him, the more I was giving up a part of myself.

I opened Pandora’s box. How would I ever close it? I wanted more. I needed more. Nothing else would satiate this burning desire to saddle my legs around curvy hips and explore the beautiful gift of a female.

Could I live this dual life?

I needed to explore this more.

So, the very next night, I lied to Ryan for his own good, telling him I needed to meet a deadline at work. Then I ventured back to Club X alone. I scanned the room for Nadeen and saw no sign of her. I ordered a bottle of Corona and sipped it at the bar as I wandered my gaze from one girl to the next waiting for some magical zap to send me reeling.

My eyes landed on a tall, curvy girl with long, dark hair landing in a pile of soft curls half way down her demure back. She sipped a red drink from a skinny straw and met my gaze. She smiled, arched her back slightly and waved me over to her. I obeyed, trancelike. Her name was Isabella.

For hours, we danced under the sizzle of the steamy night and then we ended up at her place tangled up in pleasure; a pleasure I couldn’t deny myself any more than a druggie could deny a line of cocaine.

I was hooked on these raw, animalistic urges to mount her and climb to the Everest of ecstasy.

Two nights later, desperate to continue my discovery, I landed in elation again, back in Isabella’s arms, surrounded by her lovely, round, firm breasts. That very night, just as we both laid on our backs breathless and satisfied, a man opened her bedroom door. I catapulted off her bed, propelled by a supercharged fright.

My heart bucked. I stood before a handsome man with dark, cropped hair, deep-set eyes, and a Calvin Klein model body.

I scurried around the floor gathering up my undies, my bra, my pants, anything to cling to but the sex filled air I’d just left in my wake.

They both laughed.

“Take it easy,” Isabella said. “He’s okay with this.”

“You girls pick up where you left off,” he said. “Don’t mind me. I’ve just got to grab a set of notes from my dresser.”

My hands gripped my pants still, and I stood hunched in a protective stance ready to defend.

“Relax,” Isabella said again, curling up out of bed. “We’ve got an open marriage.”

He kissed her and patted her naked ass. “Have fun with your new friend. I’ll be seeing Jack tonight, so don’t wait up for me.”

She nuzzled his neck. “Think of me?”

“Always,” he said and rushed out the door.

~

At this point, I could’ve stopped cheating, fessed up to Ryan, and set him free. But I was too much of a chicken shit to do any such thing. I was a euphoria addict, after all.

I was addicted to sex with her. We had started to see each other several times a week at this point; always at lunch, so as not to raise red flags for me in my marriage.

As luck would have it, Ryan and I grew closer now that Isabella fed my hunger. He and I ate dinner together more often and even went on dates together a few nights a week, usually following one of my afternoon dates with Isabella. The guilt washed away as easy as if coaxed by a mid-afternoon rain shower.

I toyed with fate, but like a druggie, needed my fix. Isabella loved raising the danger stakes, dragging me into bathrooms, into storage rooms, once even into a dressing room at Kohl’s department store.

One afternoon, she arrived at my work, pulled me into a corner and whispered that she wanted me, but her husband was already using their bedroom. Not wanting to get caught at work, I offered my bedroom.

As time passed on and I grew more brazen and daring, and addicted to Isabella’s touch, I agreed to countless romps in my bed.

Sex with her was the perfect way for me to be true to who I really was without breaking Ryan’s heart and unbalancing the otherwise perfect life we shared. Isabella would never ask me to leave Ryan. She also enjoyed our arrangement. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect way to enjoy life.

About two months into our affair, I was straddling her on my bed, kissing her long milky neck and getting high off her earthy smell. I indulged and lost track of all time and place, enjoying her soft murmurs and her gentle sway below me.

Then, she cried out for me to stop. I ignored her plea and continued to explore her. She grabbed my shoulders and pushed me out of her way. She rolled out of my bed not taking her eyes off the room behind me. I turned and standing behind me was my husband.

Shock stretched across his face as Isabella scattered out of the room like a cockroach in new light.

“I wasn’t feeling good, so I came home,” he said, his voice tainted with outrage and gruff as though he’d spent the last several hours getting drunk at a smoky bar.

My heart clenched. I couldn’t swallow, much less speak.  I groveled in a direct meager flight response to the lack of air and tight grip on the delicate balance between winning and losing this battle of disbelief that I fully deserved. Silence littered itself around us. The smell of sex burned my nostrils, robbed me of a dignity I didn’t deserve. “Ryan—”

“—No, you don’t get to explain.” Tears spilled down his ravaged face. “Just clear your shit out of my condo.”

With a slap, he marched out of the room.

I froze stuck on his emphasis of “my” condo, the same condo he invited me to move into six months before we wed, and the same condo he referred to as “our” condo for the years that followed.

I balled up in my bed, void of dignity, and cried for hours.

I had lost his respect, forever.

~

A few hours later, he called.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, digging for my voice from under the rubble of what I thought was a formidable, unsinkable masterpiece.

“A month? Two? Three years? Give me some indication, please.”

“Two,” I said.

He sighed. “Two years?”

“Months. Two months.”

“So you’re gay now?”

“I’ve always been,” I said, wavering on a beam of humility.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He scoffed. “So, you protected me by fucking some whore behind my back?”

“Ryan…”

“I wasted three years with you.”

“Wasted?” This word ravaged through my core like sewer water littered with dead rats, battered recycles, dirty disease.

“Why two months? Why our bedroom?”

My eyes slammed shut, burdened by the weighty space bearing down on me. “I was just trying to figure out who I was.”

“Man or woman, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t give you the right to screw with my life like that. You still cheated.”

 “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve always been selfish. But this just tops it. It’s unforgivable.” He groaned. “You’ve got three days to get your stuff moved out,” he said, then hung up.

He loathed me, despised me, and hated me.

~

August 2

Dear Journal,

He thinks I’m selfish.

This is not the person I want to be; a cheat, a liar, a thief of time, selfish. I want to be someone others can respect and trust; someone more like the man I just destroyed.

~

I called PJ. She coaxed me up the slippery walls of my gloomy well of hysteria with her sisterly instinct. I confessed everything to her, and she reassured me that she still loved me and still believed I was a good person who was just confused.

I didn’t buy it.

“What are you going to do about this chick, Isabella?”

“It’s over. I can’t relive that horrible scene.”

“So now what?” she asked.

“Now, I’ve got to figure out where the hell I’m going to live.”

“Where is he right now?”

“I don’t know. He told me I have three days.” I was hoping she’d offer me her extra room.

“I can help you tomorrow. I’ll check with Rachel’s real estate friend, Tara, to see if she knows of any place for rent.”

I could see myself now, crammed into a studio apartment in a dark basement with a bed serving as a table and couch. That would be too nice for me; I deserved a prison cell. “Sure, that’d be great.”

“Okay, hon. I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what I find out.”

I mumbled a goodbye, and then stuffed a pillow over my face hoping it would block the crushing sadness for all I just lost; my dignity, my respect, my integrity, and my peaceful freedom.

~

At work the next day, I tried to bury Ryan’s hateful reaction in a pile of productive calls and research. I plowed through a ton of gleaming apartment ads on Craigslist.  Many promised safety, convenience, beauty, and fun-filled sunny afternoons spent poolside with friendly neighbors.  Of course, those were for fortunate people who could afford luxuries like organic fruit and vegetables and soft Egyptian cotton sheets. Where I could afford to live, I’d be lucky to dash from my car to the front door without getting shot in the head.

Location was only one of the problems waving its smartass finger at my fading hope. I also ran across the issue of security deposits that totaled more than I earned in two months at the accounting firm.

To think that only a few weeks ago, Ryan and I were planning a four-week trip to Europe. I’d dreamed about this type of trip ever since first meeting a couple at a bed and breakfast in Vermont who had done the same thing. Their stories entertained me and stoked a fire within that I didn’t even realize was smoldering. Ryan and I had folded the corners of page after page in the traveler’s catalog dreaming up whimsical days trekking through Paris with backpacks and electric nights partying on the Riviera. Now, I worried where I’d salvage the means for basic shelter, preferably free of cockroaches, drugs, and gun-wielding boys sporting pants with waistbands down to their knees.

I cried most of the morning. Yes, I succumbed to self-pity, the woe-is-me type of indulgence. I hiked to that dark cave in my mind, reserved for down-in-the-dirt moments like this and slid into a mental fetal position. If I weren’t surrounded by a bunch of nosy, happy people, I’d stomp my feet, enraged with petulance, and stammer that I was only human, and human beings made mistakes.

I sulked into my folded hands, leaning hard into them as if punishing some part of myself would ease the pent-up guilt.  Coworkers brushed by concerned about marketing reports as my life bowed in the balance of survival.

I had fucked up my life.

I kicked my wastebasket. An apple core, a yogurt container, and a few orphaned reports scrambled out to freedom. Everything angered me now—the flashing message signal on my phone, the flickering fluorescent bulb above my head, the useless chatter of the latest television sagas being discussed.

I sunk deeper into my chair to avoid all form of contact. My mascara must’ve bled down to my cheeks in all this chaos.

At one point, Sally from the mailroom walked by and asked me if everything was okay. She smelled like sour cantaloupe, pungent, nauseating. I brushed off her worry with a flip of my hand and a reassuring smile.

Then, Ed from sales barged into my rage fest with a nervous shrug and a stack of reports he needed me to file. Colleague after colleague strolled by after that just to get a good look at me wallowing in a sea of self-induced suffering.

For the better part of the rest of the morning, I managed to side-step pensive stares and reassuring nods with a simple tilt of my head. Then Lucy arrived.

Calm, reassuring Lucy with her rosy cheeks and cinnamon eyes sat on the corner of my desk and placed her delicate hand on my back. “You want to go for a walk?”

To my horror, I bawled at this sincere gesture. I bucked up and down like a freaking bronco. The harder I tried to stop the tirade of tears, the more they pressed, leaking down like rainwater from a clogged gutter.

She circled her hand round and round across my back, nurturing me back to sanity one comforting swirl at a time.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated at least a half dozen times. “I shouldn’t have come to work today. I just thought if I came, I’d focus on something other than what’s going on in my life right now.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice rolled out of her like spun cotton.

I wrestled with how much to say. Everyone would eventually know I left Ryan. They didn’t have to know how. So, I blurted out amongst a hiccupped sob, “Ryan and I are separating.”

“I’m so sorry.” She continued to rub my back still.

My breathing relaxed. “I’m just overwhelmed, that’s all.” I straightened up and her hand fell past her trim waist.

She handed me a tissue. I dotted it under my eyes.

“Here,” she said grabbing another one. “Let me help you before you smear black all over your face.”

I settled in as she wiped my skin, inhaling her minty fresh breath. “He asked me to move out so I’m trying to figure out all my options.”

She stopped wiping. Her eyes sparkled. “So, you’re looking for a place to live?”

“Yes. There’s a lot to sort through out there.”

She paused, nodded, and then said, “I might know of an extra room you can rent in the house I live in, as long as you don’t mind living with four other people?”

For the first time that day, my breath released all the way from my diaphragm, traveled up my windpipe and out my mouth in one satiny, smooth motion. My tears stopped, levied by her smooth dewy skin and her gentle eyes, and by the promise of a silver lining to what I could only call the worst day in my life. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, there’s plenty of room. It’s a big estate house.”

My hope rose. “That sounds so nice.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and continued, “It’s a beautiful home owned by one of the roommates. He was married, got divorced when he found out his wife cheated on him with his cousin, of all people, and he kicked her out leaving him with a mortgage too large to cover on his personal trainer’s salary. Though, he did get the sweet end of the deal. She left everything behind, beautiful furniture, elaborate fixings, a house full of technology and the latest gadgets. Supposedly his cousin is a millionaire who invests in mobile home parks, so she didn’t need any of it. But, he is still stuck with that hefty mortgage payment. So, he took on some roommates. We’re a colorful blend, that’s for sure.”

“Nice.”

She grazed on my flowering smile. “You can come check it out, see if it’s something you’d be interested in, and if the roommates agree, you could move in right away. But, there’s just one thing. You’d have to share a bathroom.” She wrinkled her nose as if she just told me I’d have to pee in an outhouse. “My boyfriend and I rent the only room with a master bathroom.”

I blinked, wilted by the reference to her boyfriend, as if I deserved a beautiful girl to come waltzing so easily into my life the day after I crushed my marriage.

“Don’t worry. You’d be sharing it with the cleanest girl of all. You’ll never have to lift a toilet brush.” Her lips spread into a beautiful smile.

Over the last six months, and over a dozen or so coffee breaks, how had she never once mentioned a boyfriend?

“You have a boyfriend?”

She cocked her head, a playful smile rested on her lips. “I never mentioned him to you?”

“I would’ve remembered that detail.”

Her smile inflated.

That smile. She could short-circuit the entire network of computers with it.

“We’ve been together for a few years now. He’s a writer.”

I rolled my number two pencil with my index finger, suddenly feeling inadequate with my assistant marketing role. “Is he published?”

“No. Not yet. But he’s trying.”

I felt happy about this tiny ray of imperfection. “Must be hard for him to focus when living with so many people?”

“That’s why we took the big room. It’s like a hotel suite. We even have a Jacuzzi tub.” Her cheeks shimmered. One fleck lit up its adjacent partner and soon her whole face beamed. “Everyone’s pretty cool. We all keep to ourselves for the most part and keep the invisible lines protected. That’s why it’s been such a struggle to find the right balance in another roommate.”

“Why even bother then, if it’s working out?” I asked.

“Ralph needs the money because he needs to replace the roof.”

“Ralph? I take it he’s the divorced guy?”

“Yes. He’s by far the most difficult one to deal with in the house. He’s very…” she searched the drop ceiling above for the right word. “…regimented.”

“So, is there like an interview process? Do you all line up and interrogate the prospect and then convene behind closed doors to share suspicions and reservations?”

“We’re not that bad.” She giggled and flung her head backwards. Her soft brown waves rolled around her back like prairie grass in a soft summer breeze. “But, yes. We do interrogate.”

I lingered on her friendly gaze, and just as quickly snapped away from it, seeing Ryan’s hate and disgust all over again. She had a boyfriend, I reminded myself again. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”

“Perfect,” she said in a sweet lullaby tone, then marched off with a skip in her step.

As soon as she rounded the corner to her cubicle, I left PJ a message, asking if I could come over after work and discuss a favor.

Chapter Two

That night, when I arrived at PJ’s spouting buckets of tears, she scooted me into her foyer and instantly shared in my emotional outburst. The two of us hugged like a couple of inconsolable widows.

“I’m a mess.”

She didn’t argue.

“Am I going through a mid-life crisis?” I flung off my shoes.

PJ stretched out her arms. “Your boobs are still perky. Your teeth are all yours. Should I keep going?” Pity rested on her smile.

I hid under the blatant truth that, yes, I did just squander any chance that I had to face a day without guilt. “I want to go back to the way things were before.”

“Before you were gay?”

“Yes.” I said this and bowed my head catching my one-word wish mid-fall. “Point taken.”

“Let’s drink some wine. Seems we both need it. Rachel’s being difficult tonight.”

“Rachel?” Rachel might’ve been a bit OCD, but never difficult.

She twisted her gaze away. “I guess I should just tell you the truth.” She squared back to me.

“You told her I cheated.”

“No.” She shot me a look. “Ryan told her.” Her cropped layers sprang up like they wanted to run from her.

“What, did he just barge in here and spill it out to you over a bottle of Chardonnay?”

“He wanted answers. We didn’t have any.”

“He hates me doesn’t he?”

She squirmed, readjusted her silk scarf. “Just give him time.”

“Rachel’s going to hate me.”

She caressed my arm. “Hope, sweetie, Rachel’s not capable.”

The bright foyer light tingled through my thick, black ponytail, searing what little of my dignity remained. “I should go.”

“Don’t be silly.” Her fingers gripped my arm tighter. “She’s just confused where to place her loyalty right now. She’ll get over it once we all sit down and drink a glass of wine together.” She pulled me into her living room with ease. My sandal’s less than stellar grip on her ceramic tiled floor served as no match to her earnest attempt in easing me into what would most likely go down as the second worst evening of my life. “Rachel,” she said as we passed hall. “Come drink a glass of wine with us.”

In a snap, Rachel appeared with her strawberry blonde hair heaped on top of her head, wearing a fitted Orioles t-shirt and brown capri pajama bottoms. She carried a smile dripping in southern hospitality reserved only for those moments in life when best behavior ruled over compulsions to unleash judgments. It didn’t matter how thick the sugar coating, disgust pushed through the fabricated crystals of nicety. I deserved to suffer the plight. She didn’t.

Her long stretch down the hall mirrored what I knew would be the fate of my night – long and painful.

For the next hour, we sat in the living room sipping sangria and ignoring any trace of the obvious. We carried on about “American Idol” and the rising price of gas, completely side-stepping any topic that would reel us in too close to uncovering the ugly details of my demise as a decent wife, a loyal person. Rachel deserved an Academy Award for her remarkable performance as a friend with no memory of my awful deeds.

I wondered just how much she despised me. To talk about girls leveraged a certain level of acceptable bonding. To act on it, well, that undermined years of trust and respect. Did she think I was capable of much worse? First adultery with a stranger, next her girlfriend? Was that why she huddled up real close to PJ? I avoided eye contact with the two of them, staring instead at the fake flower arrangement of lilies on the coffee table.

As PJ droned on about a girl in their book club and how she dragged her three kids to every meeting, I planned my delivery of how to beg these two unsuspecting women to let me shack up in their guest room. How could I color over the pretense that I might invade any sense of privacy they’d grown accustomed to enjoy over the course of their life together?

I cranked open my mouth, ready to launch a ball neither would want to catch. When PJ stopped talking, we shared a moment of reprieve where the three of us volleyed the break in silence back and forth like an egg, each careful not to fumble and crack open contents too raw to confront.

When I could stand the game no more, I sat forward, alerting them to get ready for my important pitch. “I need a place to live. Can I stay in your guest room for a few months?”

They snapped their heads in unison towards each other. The space between them served as the interstate to their silent, but serious, plight. Their eyes flicked and blinked and told stories that could fill five-hundred-page novels. PJ’s eyes waned off a warning, where as Rachel’s fought a strong rebuttal.

I shot up from the couch. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like this.” I collected my pocketbook from the coffee table. “I’ll just go.”

Rachel teetered forward. “Don’t go.”

PJ rubbed her fingers together, fighting off the stress I just plopped on them.

“I should. I’ve got other options. Lucy offered me a place to stay.”

“Lucy from work, Lucy?” PJ asked.

I dropped my pocketbook back down. “Yes. That Lucy.”

“That’s not a good idea,” PJ said. “You’re too vulnerable to start living with someone like her right away.” She pointed her eyes to Rachel now who popped her eyes back in response and threw her hands up in the air, obviously not agreeing with whatever covert message PJ shot her way.

She wouldn’t even look at me.

“Oh for goodness sakes,” I finally snapped. “Why don’t you just tell me how you really feel about me and get it out in the open where we can discuss it? I cheated on Ryan. I didn’t murder him.”

PJ blocked us with outstretched arms like a lame referee. “Take it easy.”

 I continued, “I made a mistake, I get that.”

Rachel backed away, as if I’d just slapped her clear across the face. “I’m not judging you.” Her eyes glossed over in a fresh cover of tears.

“Damn it,” I said. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, too. I did a terrible thing. Ryan hates me. He has every right to. I can’t have you girls hating me now, too.”

PJ closed in on Rachel, clasping her hand in hers. “We don’t hate you and we’re not judging you.”

Rachel settled her eyes on mine. “I don’t hate you,” she said in the sweetest Rachel voice.

I cautioned my words. “I could really use your help until I can wrap my brain around what I’ve done and figure out a way to move forward.”

PJ squeezed her hand tighter.

Rachel cleared her throat. “We’ll make it work. We’ll set up some ground rules and it’ll be a piece of cake.”

“Of course,” I said, grateful for even her forced understanding. “You set them. I’ll follow them. You won’t even know I’m here. I promise.”

And so, commenced our first night together as future roommates.

LUCY

I have always been nosy. I’ve always wanted to know everything that was going on. If you asked Adam, he’d tell you that I suffered neck aches not because I slept wrong, but because I craned a little too far out of the comfort zone just to hear what another person was saying at the table next to me. He was right. I didn’t know what it was about gossip that intrigued me so much. I supposed it was primarily that gauge it offered to highlight that others existed with similar concerns to mine. I was glad to know I wasn’t the only crazy lunatic out there worried about what her parents thought or about if the world was going to end for me sooner than later or whether I was the only person in the world who had a sister as perfect as mine let on to be. I fit in better knowing others were out there like me.

Now, this rumor about Hope being a lesbian and breaking off her two year marriage over it, this was the most intrigued I’ve ever been. Even above the time my sister, Julie, landed in jail for shoplifting. Yes, as heart-thumping as eavesdropping on that was, this one had piqued my interest to a whole new height. I didn’t know why. I wasn’t gay. I’d never tingled at the sight of a woman. I supposed I was just curious about it. I didn’t have any gay friends. If I was being honest, the part that intrigued me the most was that I thought she liked me. I enjoyed the idea of playing with this tidbit, and testing out whether she really did find me attractive or not.

I caught her looking over my way a lot. She could’ve just been checking out the pictures hanging on the wall. My eyesight was so bad when I wasn’t wearing contacts that I couldn’t tell where her eyes were pointing. I liked to think they were pointing at me.

Of course, this rumor could’ve been completely misguided. Amy, one of the designers, supposedly saw Hope out several weeks ago at a gay club. So, I was just going on her speculations.  Because Amy was gay, she claimed to have gaydar and said she had a hunch all along that Hope was really a closeted lesbian. Whatever! I seriously doubted that Hope would’ve ever tossed Amy a flirty vibe, so where Amy was coming from with her gaydar claim was beyond me. If you asked me, Amy was just an overbearing woman who wore clothes that were too tight for her squishy figure and who thought every woman not attached to a man had the hots for her.  Well, thankfully I was attached to a hunk of a man because that was one woman I wouldn’t have wanted flirting with me.

All kidding aside about me wanting to test this Hope-is-gay theory thing out, I liked Hope. She was real, not like these other people I had to work with all day. I saw us becoming friends, especially after the other day’s meltdown. I thought I successfully nursed her back to the perky Hope we all loved.

After talking with Hope, I told the gang that I had a potential roommate. They all balked like I told them they’d have to start sleeping on the floor without a blanket and pillow. One day they were excited to interview a potential, the next they thought it was sabotage to their current paradise. I was the first to admit that living with other people could be difficult. Adam couldn’t stand it. It tormented him. I didn’t mind so much. I kind of enjoyed the company, seeing as Adam was usually hunched over his laptop tucked away sight unseen in our bedroom. To go home at the end of a long day of training these bozos, minus Hope Steele of course, and then having no one to chat with while chopping an onion for my salad, would depress me. I enjoyed roommates. I doubted that Ralph or Hana enjoyed it as much, though. Reina on the other hand, she was all about chopping onions and chatting about life.

I told Adam that he was building character by sharing his living space. He said it was turning him into a bitter twenty-nine-year-old man. Hey, what did I know? I was just the girl who wanted everyone to get along. I realized it was hard for Adam to live with someone like Ralph who was so precise and anal about everything. His wife left him and he behaved like the only way to keep the world spinning, was to rein everyone and everything in under his control. He put up this air of command, prancing around the house in his gym shorts and muscle shirts like he was Mr. Olympia, but really he was just a scared little boy in a man’s overbuilt body. He didn’t know how to prepare tuna salad or boil eggs, much less chop an onion without spilling a lake full of tears in the process.

Adam complained, but yet, he stayed. He stayed because it was affordable. He stayed because deep down he was a softy and he knew I enjoyed being surrounded by all these fun people. When I shared time with the others, he could write. Win-win.

We have planned our future like two entrepreneurial geniuses. Once his student loan bills were paid off, we’d get married and move out on our own. Well, after, of course, he published his first novel and earned a nice advance. I didn’t lose sleep over the potential disaster in this idealistic plan because, and this will sound awful, I doubted he’d succeed in the literary maze. I was concerned for his mental welfare once he unleashed his work to the world. I didn’t see thousands of fans grazing over his words. I’ve tried on many occasions to sit for five minutes and read a chapter. He watched me with wide eyes, waiting, ready to pounce on my reaction. I offered them. And they were lies. I didn’t particularly care for run-on sentences, grandiose adjectives, and constant belittling of my intellect with repetitive phrases. He hadn’t mastered the whole writing thing, yet. He needed training. He needed to stop pounding the keyboard and start reading bestsellers to see how it really should’ve been done. He refused, citing he didn’t have time to stop the creative flow.

What Adam should’ve done was get into modeling. He inherited natural highlights, golden skin and a chiseled smile that would sell millions of magazines. When we hung out on a bench at the mall, he didn’t see all the girls, and guys, checking him out. I pointed them out and he told me I was crazy, nudged my arm and blushed.

So, we lived waiting for his big break in the writing world. We lived amongst roommates who drove him batty, and me happy. The haul would be a long one for him. So, I waited his slow ascent up the novelist’s ladder ever so happily in this big, beautiful mansion.

As long as I was in it for a while, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone like Hope sharing my world, chopping onions alongside of me for salads too pretty to eat and perhaps the occasional sipping of wine to ease the tension of me wanting to test an advance in the form of a lingering gaze.

~

“Have you seen my wallet?” Adam barged into the bedroom carrying his laptop in the crook of his arm like he was carrying his first-born.

“Yeah, it’s right where you left it this morning.” I motioned to his nightstand. “In the top drawer.”

He moved in on the nightstand. “I forgot to pay Ralph our rent.”

“Oh, I already did. I told you this morning.” He must have been too busy typing. “I also let him borrow a few dollars. He told me about how his ex refuses to buy new cleats for Johnny when the boy’s feet have clearly outgrown the ones from last year.”

He slouched into a tired hump. “He’s going to take that off our rent payment then, right?”

“Adam, the guy needs a helping hand.”

“We’re not loaded, hon. I’m a civil engineer earning a recent college grad’s salary, not some Wall Street wiz. He should see if the kid’s team can hold a fundraiser for new equipment.”

I bit my lip and just readjusted on my laptop screen combing Facebook for drama worth reading. I swallowed back a stream of worried words piling up the back of my throat. They tasted salty, bitter, and too familiar. I nodded, short and punctuated, the way I always did when I just wanted the conversation to end. I would not win it. I never did. How do you argue with a man who views every day without a published book as a waste of time and resources?

Adam wasn’t selfish so much as scared; scared his youth was quickly ebbing and being replaced by a future with piles of bills and no other way to pay them except for sacrificing his writing career for a job he hated. If only he understood that this fear would trap him.

He didn’t get that. Adam always worried about money.

The ironic part about all of this was that Adam was the king of career and life advice. Everyone, including me, ran to him when life struck us with a blow. Like the time Ralph neared a nervous breakdown when the fence fell down and he learned it would cost him ten thousand dollars to replace. Adam swooped in and calmed him down first, then gathered a bunch of his coworkers and built him a new fence in two days. It only cost him a mere two thousand dollars in material and another four hundred to feed the hungry men some good sirloin steak and beer.

Adam comforted anyone with a cause or a seemingly impossible issue as long as it didn’t affect his plan.

He came over to me and kissed the top of my head. “One day, we’ll be able to give lots of it away. You watch.”

I punctuated the scene with another nod and a smile.

“I’ll be working out in the basement if you need me.”

Once he shut the door, I reread a posting from my niece, Angie, who had decided at her thirteen years of maturity that maybe she should quit school. The deeper I read into her posts and responses from her friends, the more I learned that she believed she inherited the stupid gene, but definitely not from her mother’s side of the family because her Auntie Lucy was no dummy. I smiled at this despite its sad birth in a Facebook post about being stupid. That little girl needed a lot of attention, and unfortunately her mother did not offer a patient side when faced with any form of mediocrity.

The next thing on my agenda, aside from tending to my worry-wart boyfriend’s financial diatribes, was to write my letter of resignation to the firm. They would not be happy with me, and not just because they’d spent a great deal of resources on training me, but, I liked to think, more so because I rocked at training. In fact, I was probably one of the only ones who didn’t have sweaty palms before launching out a full scale presentation on what to do with the firm’s newest software interface.

God help the staff because now they only had Chuck, Dorothy, Sam, and Leonard to teach them the ins and outs of a program clearly not so user friendly to anyone not intimately versed in coding.

Oh well. I charged ahead to bigger things in life. At least I hoped. Time would tell. Nothing would spell success like a Ph.D. in organizational development, and a teacher’s assistantship, right?

Adam placed the graduate school bug in my head a year ago after I’d had my second layoff in the training field. At first, I thought it would be just another kink in the hose that would shut us off from the much-needed supply of air flow we needed to move forward in life. Then, Adam shed some new light on how much brighter our future could be if I took the time to build this foundation first, while we coveted the resources to do so, before the kids and the mortgage came along, before I got stuck in a commuter job where we’d have to be tied to a metropolis. He mapped out a future where we snuggled up on a mountain side, him writing novels and me teaching organizational development to a bunch of online students from all over the world.

Granted, he dreamt in idealistic tones. In no way did I see myself living life as a mountain woman putting my credentials to work in a virtual connection. I let him dream up our idealistic future because it carried him through the present a whole lot happier.

This three year program would offer me time to figure out what I wanted out of it, and it would allow Adam the time to understand that we wouldn’t be packing up and hiking up a mountain side anytime soon after I graduated.

This opportunity trumped any other for me. Any self-respecting person would be thrilled at the chance to further her education while getting paid to do so. I needed more of an edge to get ahead. I would not be that woman clipping coupons and shopping at three different grocery stores to find the cheapest prices on apples.

So, when I received word that I’d been awarded a fully-funded Ph.D. education and a teacher’s assistantship on top of it, I did have to stop and think about it seriously. I liked my trainer position at the firm, and I liked the people. I did flinch for a few days about giving up such a great gig that, unlike other places, promised many years of employment.

The indecision kicked my butt.

Then, I talked to my sister.

See, she only got so far as completing two classes at Bryant University the year she met her husband. Then, she quit and raised her daughter. She raved about those two courses like they granted her an honorary doctorate from Yale.

She told me I’d never survive the Ph.D. program. So, the very next thing I did after closing the door after her, was plop down to sign on the dotted line.

So, propped on my bed, laptop in hand, I was about to end a great thing. I typed my first sentence, and stared at it for a few minutes trying to find a way to break it to them any gentler. I didn’t want to create a rift. The office cranked out massive amounts of stress, to the point the government should actually consider bottling up its by product and using it as an alternative source of energy. The place couldn’t face a loss in manpower.

I hated rocking the boat, even if it meant sailing on the open sea without a sail just to spare the boat from being lonely. That place needed me, and I liked being needed.

But, I liked proving my sister wrong even more.

~

Quitting sucked. I despised leaving a task incomplete. At least a dozen projects still needed life breathed into them, and I cringed at their early deaths. No one took initiative but me. That would mean the plan to update all training modules would cease; the plan to add the firm’s branding theme to all computer desktops would never happen; the plan to train each employee on how to properly record inquiries from prospective clients would fail miserably. I lost a great deal of sleep over the inquiry management project, and wanted to see it through. I lost sleep because the ideas were piled up neatly in the corner of my brain where no one could access them, and no one would ever realize the great magnitude of such a system. I just needed time to roll it out.

I was trapped in a geek’s brain. I dreamt about organizing, while others dreamt about real issues that mattered. My brain was wired differently from others.

I’d known this from the time I celebrated my eighth birthday and my mother left me and my sister alone for the afternoon so she could go get a massage. My then twelve-year-old sister immediately sat her butt in front of the television and watched three hours of cartoons, a privilege we were never granted in our house. Me? I went straight to my mother’s bedroom, unhooked the ironing board from the back of her door, and dug into an overflowing basket of wrinkled shirts. I didn’t rest until every one of those shirts hung perfectly wrinkle-free from the pull-up bar on my mother’s bedroom door. My life at eight-years-old presented itself complete with a clear path. I would grow up and iron clothes for a living. I couldn’t wait to set basket after basket of wrinkled clothes free from their heaps. I didn’t have the faculties to label my passion just then, and if I had possessed such a mature ability, I would’ve called myself a control freak.

I had only worked at the firm for eight months, yet, the guilt encased me. The trainers loved my ideas, and were eager to follow in my lead. None of them were equipped to take charge of any of the projects I proposed. They didn’t have the will or dedication to focus long enough.

I worried about Dorothy the most. She was so shy. So painfully shy. I wouldn’t have hired her as a trainer if I were Chuck. I think he pitied her. One day, Hope tossed out the idea that maybe he suffered an inferiority complex and wanted to build himself up around someone who he could outshine at the front of the training classroom, and that’s why he hired an introverted trainer like Dorothy.

Either way, my news would not thrill him. He relied on me, even though he took all credit. Ceding credit for my ideas didn’t really bug me that much. I didn’t want to rock the boat at work, and then have to come in every morning and fight my way through the day. I only cared about the project.

The day arrived to quit. There I sat like a statue in a chair, my letter of resignation crinkling under the pressure of my tightened fingers on it, waiting for the right moment to launch.

I glanced over at Hope. She twirled her pretty dark hair again, and sipped on some green tea, no doubt. I pretended to stare off into space, hard at work concentrating, and this offered me the chance to sneak some extra peeks at her. I adored the way she handled her tea cup, like a woman in charge.

She looked up, just as Chuck whistled across the cubicles.

Here I went, grabbing life by the horns and pulling it in a direction that called out to me. I walked by Hope and inhaled her light breezy scent. She smiled up at me. Me, like a big idiot, winked at her. I might’ve shocked her more than myself.

I would miss Hope most of all.

~

The next day in the office, I invited Hope to lunch.  She sat across from me wearing a smile.  She wore her hair down. I adored how it rested on her shoulders, the ends nice and blunt and freshly trimmed, its color rich and bold like java.

We munched on chicken wrap sandwiches. Fresh cilantro and sweet mint blended together in a symphony of earthen pleasure on my tongue. Hope told me about her friend’s room offer and how she accepted it through the sheer pressure of friendly duty.

I overinflated, pretending to understand, but inside my heart sunk into gigantic pool of disappointment that not even the spicy, Cajun chicken could cure.

For the past couple of days, I had daydreamed about coexisting in that big estate house with Hope. I envisioned us flirting over bowls of Cheerios, her tossing out the advances, me accepting them with a coy smile. This dream planted something wild and defying, something completely foreign, yet form-fitting.

In a valiant, selfless effort, I asked her to tell me every detail of her new room.  She shrugged this off and said it was just a room.  I opted to squeeze out of this a theory that Hope was not thrilled to be taking up residence in her best friend’s former ironing room. At least that’s what our spare room has turned into. Or maybe she thought it strange that I wanted to know the details.  Maybe even a little freakish considering we were just coworkers in her eye and not the secretive lovers of my dreams. Do coworkers really need that level of detail fleshed out of the most intimate room in a house where sleeping, changing, dreaming took place?

We sat across from each other on hard plastic chairs that pained my butt. A sea of coworkers littered the space around us, their microwaved frozen entrees stinking up the air, their petty complaining scratching at the back of my neck.

Hope would not be living with me. I would not be working with her. A panic rose in me that caused my breathing to rattle. Would I ever see Hope again? How would she react to my resignation?

In my daydream that morning, I imagined she would tell me she was happy for me, but sad for her. I also pictured her asking me every minute detail about my teacher’s assistantship and new graduate program, raking in my information and caressing it as if she really cared about any of it.

Just as she sipped the last of her Diet Coke, she stood up. “I’ve got to get back.”

“Wait.” My hand flew to her forearm. “I wanted to tell you before you heard it from anyone else. I gave my two weeks’ notice this morning.”

Her eyes shot open, her jaw dropped, her cheeks flushed, basically every nervous detail I summoned up in my prayers that morning, she answered. My news visibly upset Hope Steele.

Chapter Three

HOPE

In Lucy’s last two weeks, I had invited her for coffee every day. With a sweet smile, she declined all invites, citing Chuck, her boss, needed her now more than ever.

“Just tell him you can’t,” I pleaded. “You need to eat.”

“He really does need me to tie up loose ends.”

“One lunch? You can’t pry yourself away for one last lunch?” I’d met married couples celebrating fifty years who were less loyal.

She agonized over declining; tilting her head to the side, wincing at her responsibilities like the fate of the free nation depended on her explaining the day-to-day grind of training. “He wouldn’t understand, and I wouldn’t feel right leaving him this way.”

I backed off, surrendering my hands in the air like a Good Samaritan allowing her to continue saving the rest of us from future bad training days.

On her last day, we’d been chatting and then she’d glanced over at Chuck, who was standing in his office in his usual power stance, hands on hips, chest bellowed out, his head perched up and out discerning the world from above his pointy nose, and she once again ran to his aid.

I never realized the job of a trainer could be so demanding. How many loose ended projects could exist that would take precedent over cinnamon swirl bread, bold and spicy Arabic coffee, and time with those she was leaving behind in this banal world of mailing lists, paper, and promotional campaigns?

If it were my last two weeks, I’d be totally different. I’d be vacating the building at least every hour to walk around and get fresh air, go for bathroom and coffee breaks, get lunch, maybe leave early. I simply wouldn’t care about unfinished projects. I guess that’s what happened when a person didn’t tie any meaning to her job other than a paycheck at the end of the week. Meaning for me happened outside work; in my workouts, in my friendships, even in the dreams I still had to travel through Europe.

If I left that day and never came back, a temp could easily move in to my spot and take over, even if she simultaneously decided to listen to heavy metal and watch an episode of “Jerry Springer.” That’s how superficial my work had become.  Somewhere between graduating college, taking a few design classes, and cheating on my husband, my life now centered on being a single lesbian who carried countless flaws—soon to be discovered by PJ and Rachel, my new roommates.

On my first night as a roommate, PJ presented a set of ground rules. “This is just to create a system so we don’t drive each other nuts.”

She listed twenty rules, and whoever broke two of them agreed to shop for, pay for, and cook for an entire week. Their rules super exposed my flaws. In fact, I was just one more fuck-up away from having to cook all meals the next week. I broke rule one the other day and left my coffee mug in the sink. Supposedly this caused Rachel to freak out because she needed order in every detail. “It’s just a coffee mug,” I said to PJ.

“Yes, but a dirty coffee mug to an OCD sufferer sits more like an atomic bomb ready to explode.”

That morning, I managed to break rule number two. I forgot to put my wet clothes in the dryer before heading out to work. About an hour into my work day, I got the text from PJ. “Sweetie, you forgot the wet clothes. Rachel put them in the dryer for you.”

“Sorry,” I replied back. “I guess I’ll be doing the shopping this week. I’ll go right after work.”

Yup, seemed I couldn’t stop flubbing up my life, and now I was dragging these two innocents down with me.

With Lucy in with Chuck now, I stalked her cubicle from the safety of mine. All trace of her life was erased from the clothed walls. No more adorable photos of her and her niece.

I peeked over at them. She stood next to him, pointing to a document. Chuck patted her back and they broke into huge smiles. Then, he hugged her. A long lingering hug. I scanned the room to see if anyone else caught this display of inappropriate boss-to-employee behavior. Nope. Just me.

A few minutes later, when she sat back down in her cube, I dove in for one last try at convincing her lunch with me would be better than pleasing Chuck. She agreed this time.

An hour later, I sat across from her at a small round table in front of the bay window facing the wooded trail of Cedar Lake Park.

She spoke about graduate school like I would no doubt one day speak about my future trip to Europe. Her voice rose in pitch when she told me about her teaching assistantship. She couldn’t believe her luck that she’d get her entire program paid for by doing what she loved to do anyway, organizing lessons and training people. She’d get to lead discussions, prepare the presentations, and even conduct a few webinars.

Yahoo.

To get a pulse on her life, I broached the boyfriend subject. “Your boyfriend must be so proud of you.”

She stared down at her plate and tossed a crumb around in front of her a few times. “Yeah, it was actually his idea.”

Later that day, long after we shared sandwiches and chocolate mousse pie, long after we indulged in long streams of laughter and witty banter, I helped her carry her plants to her car on her way out to freedom. She drove a baby blue Corolla and dressed up the seats with a sunflower blanket. I leaned down to place the spider plant on the floor behind her driver’s seat and wondered if I should offer her a hug goodbye.

I surfaced and we just stared at each other.

“So, I guess this is it,” she said, cocking her head to the side. The sun danced along her cheeks causing her to squint.

“Work is going to suck here without you.”

She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and smiled. “I’m going to miss you.” She tucked a folded up piece of paper in my hand. “Don’t be a stranger. That’s my contact info in case you change your mind about that room. Another person paying rent might allow us all to eat more than Ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese.”

I chuckled.

She merely raised her eyebrows. “I’m not kidding. I’m back to being a student.”

I backed away, enjoying the play in her eyes.  “I’ll definitely think about it.”

~

PJ and Rachel drafted rules for everything. For instance, Rachel asked me to hang the toilet paper so the tissue rolled down off the roll instead of up from the roll. Then, one morning, I sat down with a bowl of cereal without placing a mat down on the table first and Rachel’s eyes nearly popped out of her pretty little face. PJ swept in and saved the day, plucking up my bowl of Cheerios and sliding a matt under it. “There you go, sweetie. It’s just a little trick to keep the cherry wood in top shape.”

I felt like a twelve-year old.

Our friendship began to suffer, too. In the first week, we all acted so cordial and happy to see each other every morning and then again at the end of our hard working hours. We’d launch into dribbles of our days, accounting for every laugh we enjoyed, every tidbit of gossip we discovered. Then, by day four, when my happy-go-lucky entrance into the kitchen at breakfast was not so joyfully reciprocated due to a lover’s quarrel over the electricity bill, the reality of my invading their privacy side-swiped me. They looked up at me, their dilated pupils warning me to get the hell out of their kitchen while they dueled over wheat toast and eggs frittata. I tip-toed around the counter, grabbed a banana, and sped out.

I conducted quite a few soul-searching sessions with myself in the shower that first week. In one, I forbade myself to get in their way. Whenever I’d see them in a room I was about to venture into, I’d turn on my heel and go the other way. This worked for about five minutes in reality. It never failed that whenever I needed a glass of water or a snack, one of them was always in the kitchen chopping their veggies or preparing some fat-free, sugar-free dessert.

I just needed to bide myself some time to get my head together. Then, after that, we’d all become good friends again and laugh about the blip in time when we all lived together and drove each other nuts.

By the end of week three, this idealism ended.

I overheard Rachel and PJ arguing about me. I was tiptoeing down the hall and to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea, when I heard them in the living room.

“It won’t be forever,” PJ said. “If she leaves a sandal lying around, just put it off to the side and forget about it.”

“Forget about it? Our lives are upside down now.” Rachel puffed out the air in her chest, taking with it about ten years of her life. “If she wouldn’t have cheated on him, we wouldn’t be having this argument or giving up our space or spending way more on groceries and water and electricity.”

“I know. I’m stressed, too. She’s our friend, though. We can’t just kick her to the curb.”

I clung to the wall for balance, thrown off kilter by the amount of trouble I placed in their lives.

“Of course not,” Rachel said.

PJ rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand. “This is just temporary and we have to do it with an open heart or else it’s not going to help any of us.”

“I can’t look her in the eye, yet. I’m just disappointed in how she handled it all.”

This slap of truth stung, searing my face like frostbite.  I slid backwards, chilled in humility. I scurried on back to my bedroom, tea-less and lonely.

For two days, I managed to avoid the girls. I needed to sort through the new piles of disarray, organize them into something I could understand and interpret, and into something I could eventually confront.

Until then, I couldn’t shackle them to my mistakes, too. I needed a new view, a new chance at redemption.

I called Lucy.

“Hey you,” I said when she picked up. “Know who this is?”

“I know exactly who this is.” Her voice rose. “Has the place fallen apart, yet?”

I could hear her smiling. I pictured her wearing a flowing skirt; one leg crossed over the other, bouncing to a happy beat, her twirling a piece of her hair. “It’s not the same.”

“So, what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m interested.”

Silence.

“In the room,” I added.

She chuckled. “Of course. Okay. So, you’re interested.” Her voice trailed off.

“Is it still available?”

“Yeah, of course. At least, I’m pretty sure it is. Can I call you back in an hour and let you know for sure?”

“Sure,” I said, beat down slightly by this flip in certainty.

I stewed for several long minutes, fretting more on her lack of pounce than where I’d be living. She cut the agony short by fifty minutes. I answered the call on one ring. “So, what’ll it be?”

“Come by tonight and check out the place. Everyone should be here.”

“So,” I dragged out. “It’s still available?”

“Yes! Yes, of course! They’re all super excited to meet you.”

My heart bucked with renewed gusto. “I’ll be there.”

~

Shortly after talking to Lucy, PJ knocked on my door. She sat me down the same way my mother did the day she asked me if I wanted to wear a training bra. She even patted my bed, urging me to take a seat next to her.

“So, Rachel and I were talking and I wanted to see if I could discuss something with you?”

I searched her face for hate, for disgust, for pity. All I found was my best friend PJ. “What’s on your mind?”

“I was hoping we could talk about your plans and how long you think you’ll need to stay.” She winced on her last word.

“That won’t be necessary.” My voice shook, perpetuated by the hard notion that I had to move on with my life if I was ever going to get past this dreadful path. “I found a new place.”

“You did?” Her entire face brightened with a hope I hadn’t seen since I trampled into their front door with my belongings in tow.

“I did.” I lied so well. They deserved their shot at a peaceful life uncluttered and untainted by my actions. “I know you need your privacy, and you deserve it. Besides, you’re getting ready to start a family and probably want to pick out colors and furniture for this room.”

She stared straight into my eyes. “You don’t have to go just yet.”

“The two of you are cramping my style,” I teased.

“We’re so sorry for getting in your way. We’re just a couple of anal girls.”

I laughed.

She punched my arm. “I love the shit out of you.”

The magnitude of my actions hit me. Regardless of what she said, I was tainted in the eyes of my best friend. No doubt, she saw a selfish girl with no self-control and no respect for love. “Likewise.” I folded my lower lip into my mouth to keep my chin from wavering out of control.

“Where are you going to go?”

“Lucy’s.” I said this with a straight face, as though I’d already signed the papers.

She placed her hand on my shoulder, arched her eye at me. “Lucy’s?”

I nodded. “Yup.” I would not let her talk me out of this.

“Well,” she shrugged. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

The sparkle in her eye pierced my safety and deflated it in a matter of nanoseconds. Standing knee deep in the muck of uncertainty, I did my best to relay confidence. “Yes, I do. I’m ready to move on.”

“You’re going to be fine out there. Just keep your wits.” She ran her fingers through my hair, like I deserved the rights to her heart, to her friendship, to her forgiveness for putting Rachel in a weird position through all of this.

“Do you think Ryan will be all right?” I asked, treading with care.

“I was wondering when you would bring him up.”

“I’ve been afraid to,” I said. “But I really need to know.”

“He was banged up by it. After we talked, he looked better.”

I pictured Ryan, sitting on their leather couch, arms tightened around his shallow chest, looking much like a sick, orphaned child with big tears running down his high cheeks, dispelling my obnoxious acts.

“I feel so guilty.”

She looked away and fretted with her fingers. She swallowed and her jaw flexed.

“Do you think he’ll stay in Maryland or go off somewhere else now that I’m not holding him here?”

“He doesn’t hate Maryland. He hates his job.”

He could’ve escaped if I’d been more decent. “I screwed that up for him.”

She nodded. “What’s done is done. He’s not really cut out to be a Texan anyway. A cowboy hat would swallow up his scrawny body.”

I laughed. “What a sight.”

We sat staring at each other, our laughter dribbling to a halt.

“He’ll be alright, Hope.” She cradled my hand. “By the time he left that night he already started dreaming up his future as a business owner. He’ll focus on that and be just fine.”

Shame engulfed me. He would go on without me and thrive, fueled by his anger of how I wronged him. “Don’t ever tell Rachel about kissing Tiffany. Being honest is not worth the hurt.”

 “Oh, I actually already told her about that after we talked about it that night. I felt horrible about it all that time and in one second, she cleared up all my guilt when she told me it was not a big deal.”

Her virtue branded my culpability deeper.  “She’s one lucky girl.”

“I’m the lucky one.” We sat staring at our entwined hands. Her hand clammed around mine, claiming her top spot in our friendship. “So, how much longer do I get to spend with you?”

“I’ll be out of your hair really soon.” I tousled her choppy layers.

“You can stay as long as you need.”

“We make better friends than roommates.” I stood up and shook off the dust of our roommate status. “But thank you. I know it took a lot for you to offer that to me.”

She nodded, and twisted into a crooked smile. “We’re going to be fine, right?”

“Of course.” I walked out of the room and straight into the bathroom leaving her to second guess the integrity of my response.

~

After PJ left my room, I turned to the one confidant that never let me down – my trusted journal. I needed to unleash, needed to unload some of the nerves flittering around in my belly. I needed a clear mind.

I sat perched on my bed, opened her up, and spilled my guts.

August 26

Dear Journal, I’m scared shitless.

What if I screw up? What if I show up at Lucy’s and everyone hates me? What if they start asking about my new relationship status? Do I lie and tell them I have a girlfriend so I can start off upfront and honest about who I am? What if they start to ask why Ryan and I split? Do I start off lying twice? What if they absolutely flat-out refuse to give me a room? What then? Rent a room at the motel down on Route One? Sure, and then, maybe I’ll even become friendly with the other homeless tenants. We can start a softball team and call ourselves The Misfits. PJ would tell me I was just being ridiculous and that I should just waltz in there with my head high and charm my way into their lives. Well, I can’t keep relying on PJ to solve my issues. So, where does that leave me now?

An hour later, showered and dressed in casual jeans and a fitted tee, I took off to Lucy’s. As I drove, my heart raced along with the engine, each fighting for the upper hand. My heart won. It idled high, so high it took my breath away.  I almost missed the turn into the gated community. I pulled up to the intercom and buzzed Lucy. Five minutes later, I pulled into the governor-style driveway circling around the front of the house and parked in front of the second garage as instructed. I wanted to throw up. Then, I thought about Ryan, and realized that if I could tell my husband I was gay, I could certainly survive and excel at meeting a bunch of strangers and winning them over. I had to convince these people I was not a creep, criminal, or weirdo.

So, with renewed spirit, I climbed out of my car and faced the night head on. That’s when Lucy popped on the scene. She ran towards me, her hair waved behind her like a beautiful scarf, silky, soft, and flowing. She hugged me and then welcomed me up the brick steps to the double door entrance. Once inside, she smiled, and asked me to take off my shoes and pile them up with the others.

“We’ve got a blend of cultures, and some of them insisted this be the rule. Works nicely because we hardly ever have to vacuum.”

I looked up at the heart-shaped staircase. Peace hugged me. The scent of freshly-baked bread danced in the air.

I wanted this to be home.

9:30 p.m.

Dear Journal,

I just got back from meeting my new roomies. Well, except for Adam. I didn’t get to meet him. He was writing. Odd, yes. Minor detail, though, compared to the great experience.

At first, I freaked out when Lucy led me into the living room where they would interrogate me. But wrapped up in her sweet spring scent, I held my head up high, approached the gang plank, and walked it like my life depended on it. I indeed charmed my way into my new home, into my new pretty, yellow room with a vaulted ceiling.

I can’t wait to cook meals with Reina, the round, pudgy roommate from India, and Hana, the small Korean woman who spoke in a whisper and smelled like chamomile tea. Ralph, the owner, intimidated me slightly with his burly build and deep voice. He eyed me quite a bit while I fell into chuckles with the girls. Then, I asked him a pointed question about how to begin a running plan, and he softened to putty.

I am going to love this new life, and move in day will not get here fast enough. Most of all, I can’t wait to fall into comfortable small talk with Lucy and enjoy endless coffee breaks with her in one of the three living rooms that this mini-mansion housed. When I’m around her, I am safe and happy. I’ve got this feeling we’re going to end up great friends. She spoke about Adam in just about every other sentence, which was just fine with me. Better she’s committed to someone because now I can focus on our friendship and on taking this new life to a wonderful place instead of obsessing about her pretty eyes, her white teeth, the earthy way she smells. I‘m feeling good about all of this.

Now, as I’m lying here in PJ and Rachel’s room writing this all out, I feel more stifled than ever, and more certain vacating their lives is the best decision.

If I wasn’t so thrilled, I’d be mad at myself for wasting so much time locked in their world.

One week to freedom.

I can’t wait to get this new life started.

XO

Chapter Four

LUCY

Life as a student carried perks. For instance, I now had instant ten percent off discounts at nearly every business located within a ten mile radius of campus, which included the hair salon and the café I patronized. I also loved the campus environment, the rush of energy around the main quad and the nervous jitters and newfound freedom of incoming freshmen. But most of all, I loved my flexible schedule. At what other job could’ve I rolled out of bed at eight o’clock in the morning and hung out watching the entire “Today Show” over multiple steaming cups of coffee? Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed my new life.

And it would only get better now that Hope was going to live with us.

You would’ve thought a celebrity was moving in the way I prepared for Hope’s arrival. For days leading up to move in day, I ignored the pile of coursework on my desk and ventured to places like Walmart, Bed Bath and Beyond, and Pier One Imports in search of the cutest and most chic décor. I combed the aisles of every department store within a ten mile radius, digging through hand towels, shower curtains, and accessories, loading countless carts with bags and bags of fun, colorful, Hope-style items.

I wanted her to step into her new room and love it.

When Adam and I moved in to ours a few years back, we couldn’t arrange the furniture for days because the walls needed repainting and the carpet needed replacing. We spent our first nights on an air mattress in the great room sandwiched between boxes and boxes of Ralph’s ex, each one labeled with a giant ‘FU.’

I wanted to run from the house and its darkness back then. It took a few months and a lot of love to tidy the place up and create a home out of it. I wanted that sense of home and hearth to swaddle Hope in a hold so comforting she’d never think to run the way I did.

I really hoped the gang liked her as much as I did. The last time we interviewed someone for the room, it didn’t go so well. Hana had suggested a graduate student from school. I had baked cookies for her arrival. Ralph even helped polish the living room furniture. Reina rearranged her work schedule and almost got fired as a result. We waited patiently for the arrival of our potential new roommate. And then, Hana walked through the front door solo, crying, telling us the girl never showed up at the college to meet her. Ralph, irked that he canceled a client for that meeting, steamed out, slamming the front door. I spent the next hour convincing Hana that shit happened.

Since then, I’ve met a few potentials that could’ve been suitable. But I never arranged the meeting, never brought up to them that I knew of a great room for rent. I didn’t want to stir that pot of conflict into my life. None of them seemed worthy to trust. My luck, we would’ve agreed to rent it to someone I met at book club or through a friend and they would’ve turned out to be a thief or messy or loud.

I trusted Hope was none of these things when I first told her about the room. I just couldn’t believe she actually called and took me up on the offer. I seriously wanted to set off through the house in a series of flips. Then entered the challenge to convince the others to consider her. No one warmed up easily to the idea of bonding with a new person. Everyone liked the status quo. We knew each other’s quirks, habits, likes, dislikes. We divided up chores and for the most part all worked together nicely on this. A new person meant new boundaries, new rules, new to-do lists, shifts in the way we hung out. It was a fact that adding another personality into the mix could spell disaster and change the entire dynamic. By suggesting Hope, I was opening up a potential rift in our comfort zone, the place we all called home. But, she was so worth the risk.

I honestly didn’t think she’d take me up on the offer. I had tossed it out to her as a flirt, as a mechanism to show her I liked her. So, when she called me and told me she wanted to come and check it out, I wasn’t prepared. I needed to gather consensus.

They drilled me of course, and I told them the truth. She was recently separated, worked hard, oh, and she might be a lesbian.

Ralph hesitated first asking if she’d left him for another girl. I told him she was not a cheat like his ex and that her husband kicked her out. Despite his rough exterior, Ralph did have a soft heart. He agreed to interview her, but told me if he found out she was a cheat like his ex, she’d be on the curb faster than she could blink. I jabbed his tummy playfully and told him to be nice to her when she arrived.

I knew they would adore Hope as much as I did.

And, did they ever.

When she left, Reina carried on about her sweet and playful aura and how she just knew they’d become cooking buddies. Hana thought she was kind and would be pleasant to have around. Ralph, despite the fact that he acted tough and challenged her with his questions about her lifestyle and interests, he couldn’t stop talking about how sexy she was and how he could totally shape her beautiful body into a fortress with free weights. And Adam, well he missed out and would have to wait until move in day to meet the girl who stole our hearts.

I busied myself with her arrival. I brought Hana along on some of my shopping adventures. On our way out of Walmart one day, she kept urging me to stop buying so much because she didn’t have any money to contribute.

“No worries,” I told her. “I just picked up a couple of extra things for the bathroom.”

“But, I already have plenty of towels and soap. I don’t mind sharing them with her.”

Hana’s bathroom epitomized non-descript. White towels hung from a steel bar, a white liner blended into the shower, and a plain, round bath mat covered the white tiled floor. Her only “decoration” was a plastic toothbrush holder, which was—you guessed it—white.

“Seriously.” I forced a serious tone. “No worries.”

And that quieted her.

When we arrived back home, she followed me into the shared bathroom. “I’ll start scrubbing the shower.”

I wanted this to be perfect. “No. I want to do this. Let me do this for you and Hope. Call it my thank you gift for being a great roommate and a welcome gift for her.”

She nodded, giggled like a nervous schoolgirl and wiggled off down the hall saying something about preparing for one of her elementary education classes.

I’d never been so thrilled to clean a toilet before. I scrubbed it until I could see my reflection. I plopped one of those little blue squares into the back of it and flushed. The bowl filled up with sparkly water.

Next, I moved onto the vanity sink. I disinfected it and scrubbed it until my elbow ached. Then, I polished it up with furniture polish, an old trick I learned from my childhood housekeeper.

I dressed the room up with hand-carved soaps, brightly-colored polka dotted hand towels and a matching shower curtain. Lastly, I plugged in a crimson air freshener that also doubled as a nightlight.

Next, I tackled what would become her bedroom. She loved green, and I knew this because she wore it often. I absolutely loved her in green because her eyes shimmered like emeralds. The curtains I had made several years ago would be perfect. Adam hated green, so I packaged these away and bought a blue valance for him instead.

I ripped the plastic wrap that suffocated them, and they flowed freely to the ground. Yards of green suede embossed with tiny yellow flowers danced across the light beige carpet. I hung them, securing the tiebacks at just the right height so the bottoms wouldn’t drag. I couldn’t believe my luck when I discovered a matching comforter lying all by itself on the Walmart shelf. I snagged it.

I misted some lavender around the bed, filled the oil rings on each of her bedside lamps with more flower essences, dressed up her drawers with scented liners and topped the room off with a gift-wrapped copy of The Secret Garden, my all-time favorite book.

I wanted Hope to step inside her new nest and fall in love.

HOPE

PJ and Rachel had plans to meet their parents in Inner Harbor the same morning I was set to move. They asked if I could delay by a day. I told them not to be silly and that I had a whole team of people from work helping me out.

I didn’t. But, I was a girl on a mission to be free, so, free I’d be. I did what any self-respecting single girl would do in my predicament. I drove to the local hardware store, dressed my face with the most helpless look possible, and scoped out honest, hardworking, dad-type men to commission. I interrupted a couple of middle-aged, silver-haired men discussing water hoses by the plumbing supplies. One carried a gut the size of an oversized watermelon, the other sprouted skinny arms and legs like a bamboo shoot. Not more than five minutes later, I sat perched in the backseat of their king cab pickup truck and issued directions to PJ’s.  Two hundred dollars to purchase two able-bodied men and their truck for an hour, as well as to avoid piling on any more weight to PJ and Rachel’s life, was priceless in my book.

They whistled songs and joked about a house they worked on the day before as they piled box after box of my belongings into the bed of their truck. They could’ve turned out to be mass murderers in the end, but at that point, I considered them my new chums.  They packed the truck up nice and secure, tightening rope around the boxes and knotting the ends like a couple of seasoned sailors.

Not bad. In less time than it would take to watch a sitcom, I removed all of my worldly possessions without messing with my two friends again. We traveled down the road singing a Kenny Chesney tune with the wind blowing through our hair, and the sun shining its happy rays down on us. Within fifteen minutes, we had arrived at the gate to my new community.

We needed to punch in the code to open the arm. My new friend waited for me to answer him when he asked for the code. I acted clueless and asked him to press the call button instead. Lucy’s cheerful voice rang through to us. “Hope? Is that you?”

I pushed forward through the two front bucket seats, leveraging on the bamboo’s shoulder. “Yes. Can you buzz us in?”

“Did you already lose the code, silly?”

“Yes,” I said, white lying, poised in street smarts.

She buzzed us and up flew the arm, welcoming me, and all of my life possessions.

When we arrived at the top of the circled driveway, my new roommates pounced out the front door eager to help. Lucy wore a pair of cargo shorts, a City Sports t-shirt and an Old Navy Baseball hat. The rest of them blurred by comparison.

I waved to them. The tall man, with eyes the color of olives, standing beside Lucy stepped forward and offered his hand. “I’m Adam. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come down and meet you the other day. I was deep into writing a scene and couldn’t break from it.” He shook my hand firmly.

“Yes.” I acknowledged this with a nod. “Lucy told me you write. I’m looking forward to reading some of your work.”

He shuffled his feet around a bit at this, and a smile beamed to life. “Absolutely.”

Adam was drop-dead gorgeous, a fact that sat like a rock in my stomach.

Ralph jumped on scene, swiping his hands together like he was ready to move a grand piano.  “We’re a little behind, so I’m going to get started.”

Hana waved at me and dashed off behind Ralph.

Reina sipped her coffee mug, seemingly content standing with us, taking in the dynamic. “Just ignore him. He gets all wound up if someone is one minute behind schedule.”

I was only five minutes late. “Yeah, I see.” I had already kicked up some dust and I hadn’t even moved in, yet.

The two men jumped into action. “We’ll give you a hand.”

We followed the two strangers.

Within ten minutes, all of my boxes lined the wall under my adorable boxed window frame. The sun poured in and lit my room ablaze, feeding it with life, energy, possibility.

My new roommates and my helpers stood by my side and we all looked around the place, nodding, sighing. The space looked completely different than I remembered it from a week before. Yes, the walls were still yellow, but the ironing board and baskets of orphaned clothes were gone, replaced by the beauty that blossomed in the room now. It smelled just like paradise, and resembled a five-star hotel room complete with pretty flowers and a collection of herbal teas. “The room is gorgeous.” I spun around to take it in and saw a present on my nightstand. Or maybe it was a décor prop? I pretended not to see it just in case. “You all went through so much trouble.”

“This was all Lucy,” Reina said, mug still cupped between her stubby, bejeweled fingers.

Lucy’s face flushed bright red. “It was nothing. I just fluffed things up a bit to make it less starchy and more homelike.”

Adam squeezed her in tight and said to me, “She must really like you because she actually hates cleaning and she spent the good part of the week in here scrubbing walls and vacuuming lint.”

“Oh, you know I’d do it for any of you.” Lucy broke free from Adam and walked out of the room, her face a few shades deeper than the first flush. “Enjoy settling in,” she called over her shoulder.

Adam quickly followed, his textured, blonde layers bouncing right along with his spirited vibe.

“Yeah, well,” Ralph said, hands gripping his hips. “I’ve got to run, too. I have a training session. We’ll get acquainted later on when we talk about how things work here.”

Reina pushed Ralph out of the room. “Oh shush up you big pain in the ass.” She looked back at me just as she shoved him through the door. “He’s just a big teddy bear. Don’t let him fool you.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” he yelled. “She’s the pain in the ass.”

At this, Hana bowed and excused herself but not without adding, “It’s true. She can be a pain, and he can be quite nice, actually.” Then, she disappeared.

I loved the banter already.

The two men and I stood alone in my new oasis. I handed them a wad of tens and twenties. “I really appreciate your help.”

“Not a problem,” the big man said. “Can we give you a lift back to the store to get your car?”

“That would be perfect,” I said, powered by the spirited freedom of self-reliance.

“Ready when you are, sweetheart,” the skinny bamboo man said.

I was ready, alright, armed with self-reliance and persistence, ready to wipe the slate clean and start fresh.

~

September 3

Dear Journal, pinch me.

The pretty gift was indeed a gift! From Lucy! The Secret Garden is one of my favorites, too. God, that girl is so sweet. I would love to… I’m not even going to write it. I’m not going there. Right here, right now, I am making myself a promise to not even think it.

Okay, so, anyway, this place is so freaking cool. I have not one, but three living rooms. And Ralph ended up with the grand piano in the divorce settlement. So, guess what I’m going to be playing around with every spare second I’m not cooking with Reina, planning lessons with Hana, or bonding over Scrabble with Lucy? Yup my fingers will be dancing along the ivories. Oh, and the basement bar! Wow, talk about the perfect spot for a party. Who doesn’t love a competitive game of ping pong, pinball, or pool? And the gym. I won’t have to renew my membership. Ralph’s got the gym fully stocked with kettle bells, yoga mats, free weights, elliptical machines, treadmills. That must’ve been one ugly divorce for him to end up with everything. His bedroom alone is the size of my— I mean Ryan’s— condo. He’s got a walk-in closet that could fit a tour bus and a bathroom, off his wing, that could house a small New York City apartment. Even my bedroom could fit a couple of compact cars in it.

I totally scored with this place. Not sure how that happened. I mean, something’s going to give, right? I can’t just screw over a perfectly good man and walk into something this lovely. This is all a tease set up to lure me into more tough choices, more heartbreak, more regret. I went on Ryan’s Facebook page and there’s this girl I don’t know who keeps going back and forth with him on posts about righteousness. Ugh, reading it stirred up all sorts of crappy emotions.

Okay, so, now that I got that out, I think I’ll go cook with Reina. She’s the only one who stuck around on this, my first night. Not exactly the picture-perfect celebration I envisioned. But, hey, a girl’s got to earn respect, right?

Until my next need to unload.

That night, under the golden glow of the retractable lighting and the gleam of copper pots hanging above our heads, Reina and I cooked up a feast. She spoke with a deep Indian accent and claimed the space, confident and strong like a head of household, ordering me to fetch this spoon and gather spice after spice.

“So, Lucy tells us she’s pretty sure you’re a lesbian,” she said.

I choked on a swig of water. Leaning into the counter, I balanced on its strength as a scene played out of Lucy warning the gang that I was a woman who preferred vaginas to penises. I nodded, and after taking in a deep breath, stood up tall to the label. “That’s right. I am.”

She chopped a carrot with great speed. “I asked about your deal. She said you broke it off with your husband. Ralph asked why. She told him because it didn’t work out. So, I asked her if you were gay. She can’t lie, so she said yes, I think so.”

“Wow,” I said. “That was a mouthful.”

“I say it like it is.” Even the air around her seemed to rise and fall to her moves.

“Straightforward. No guessing what’s really whipping up in your mind. I really like that.”

“Well…” She stopped chopping. “I like you.” She inhaled deeply and nodded. Then her eyes flew open wide. “Oh, I don’t mean like that. I mean I like that you like that I can be blunt.”

I shrugged, accepting her idea of a compliment.

”Do you have a girlfriend, yet?” she asked.

“No.” I skirted around the counter and handed her a second carrot.

“Do you have your eye on someone?”

“No. I’m just enjoying some freedom now.”

She looked up, arched her eye, then chopped the second carrot. “So, how do you meet other lesbians?”

I twisted my mouth, wishing I knew of a better way. “Friends, clubs, dating sites, I guess.”

“Sounds dreadful.” She scooped up the pile of carrots and placed them in the crock pot.

“I hope it’s not always going to be.” I reached for a chef’s knife from the magnetic strip along the wall. “Want me to chop some of those scallions?”

She slid a bunch to me. “So, how did he take it?”

“My husband?”

“Yeah, your husband. I mean that must’ve been some blow.”

I chopped the ends off the scallion bunch with one quick thud. “Yes. I’m sure it was.”

“How many years were you married?”

“A little less than three.”

“Wow, almost newlyweds still.”

“Are you always this bold?”

“Get used to it. It’s just who I am.” She tilted her head slightly, a sure sign she only dealt words that mattered.

“Good. Because I am just who I am, too.”

“That’s the spirit.” She wrinkled up her pudgy nose and chopped the knife into an empty part of the cutting board, like pronouncing victory over a war she didn’t have to fight.

I laughed at this. “In the spirit of keeping it real, I like you, too.” I doused her in an overly-inflated, poorly acted out flirty gaze. “But, not like that.”

She turned red. “Well, good. Glad we got that settled and out in the open.”

I continued slicing the scallion into small pieces. “So, how about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Hell no.” She drizzled a couple tablespoons of canola oil in the pot. “Hand me that spoon?” She craned her neck to the utensil cylinder.

I stopped slicing and plucked it up. I stirred the carrots for her. She supervised, motioned my hand to include the ones stuck to the side of the pot.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I hate dating. I hate the small talk. I hate the drama. I hate the sitting around waiting for a follow up call. I hate it all. I’d rather cook. At least I’m in control that way.”

I simply shrugged, wondering how many bad dates she must have gone on to taint her this way. “It can be stressful.”

“It won’t be stressful for you once you get out there” she said. “You’re pretty. But, you’re not the greatest cook, so you’re going to have to play that one up before getting serious with someone.”

I laughed. “I’m hoping the girl I end up with can cook like you. Otherwise, she could wind up very disappointed if she’s counting on me.”

She emptied a spoonful of ginger into the pot. “Want me to try and set you up on a date?”

“Hell no. I’d rather just leave it up to chance.”

“I know a lot of people who know a lot of people. I’m sure someone’s got to know a hot lesbian.” She doused the carrots in apple cider vinegar. “Give me a few days. I’ll hook you up with someone.”

Her confident smile hugged me and instantly connected us. I loved how I could talk freely about dating women. She accepted me, liberated this new me. “If she sucks, I’m not letting you off easy.”

She scoffed and whirled the carrots around like a mad scientist.

~

An hour after Reina and I ate and cleaned up the kitchen, I sat in one of my new living rooms and took it all in. Above the mantle sat a collage of the roommates; some with Lucy and Adam hugging, laughing, horse playing; some of the girls building a snowman; some of Ralph flexing; and one of all of them in a group pose, arms slung around one another like a big happy family.

On the adjacent wall, three large windows as tall as the twelve foot ceilings themselves stood prominent and open with not a trace of a window treatment to ward off potential creeps from snooping. I was sure Ralph would kick their asses. He was like the house guard dog, minus the tail.

A gigantic sixty-inch television hugged one entire corner of the room and was fully equipped with Xbox and Wii consoles and DVD collections of “LOST” and “Dr. Who.”

Cradling my side was an oversized pillow with an intricate beaded design. I ran my fingers over the squares and circles and noticed a tag with Lucy’s Design etched on it. Talented and beautiful.

I desperately wanted her to walk through the door at that moment. My first night and she was out. I craved to sit and chat in this golden room, wines in our hands, getting buzzed as we gossiped about work and learned about each other’s personal lives.

By ten o’clock, I decided to go to bed. And, it wasn’t soon after this that I heard the beep from the front door alarm and the two of them whisper as thy made their way past my room and into theirs.

LUCY

I was four weeks into my first semester as a Ph.D. student and TA and was starting to discover that newness wore off pretty quickly. My free time disappeared when the assignments piled up and the associate professor I assisted requested I step up and take on a lot more responsibility than I first imagined. He put me in charge of an entire freshman class every Monday morning. I was responsible for digesting his plan and teaching it to them; for reviewing, analyzing and grading all assignments, including ten page research documents; and reporting everything back to him. I hadn’t signed up for this kind of work. Then, I needed to study for the three graduate courses I was taking.

This left very little me-time, very little Adam-time, and even less time to get to know Hope the way I’d dreamed. She walked right into our lives with that confident stride of hers and commanded the room on every entrance. Reina adored her, and Reina never adores anyone. Every night seemed they were bonding over chopping blocks and chef knifes.

She irritated Ralph because he got it in his pea-sized brain that she must've cheated on her husband and left him just as his wife did him. So, he avoided her. When she stepped into the room, he always left abruptly. She challenged him with her equally strong ego and quick comebacks. He was no longer the alpha. Hope slid right into that role.

Hana followed her, obedient to her wishes, shy to her praise. Even Adam bantered with her about political and social issues. And whenever Hope would question Adam about his book project, he glowed. I think Adam had a crush on her, too. I think we all did, even Ralph. Everyone seemed to come alive in her presence. Our little garden grew brighter because Hope Steele fertilized our days with her charm, wit, and unwavering confidence.

Now that Hope lived with us, I worried about how I looked all the time. I couldn’t get away with lounging around the living without makeup anymore. I couldn’t wakeup and grab my first cup of coffee braless and in pajamas anymore. I wouldn’t dare leave my room in the morning without swishing a capful of mouthwash around in my mouth. I wanted her to see the very best of me always.

If I were gay, I’d probably be in love.

One night Adam broke from writing long enough to ask me, “So, she really left her husband because she’s gay?”

“I was just going on rumor, but Reina confirmed it.”

“Huh.” He pondered this for a moment, tapping his fingers on the desk. “She’d make an interesting character. Maybe I can mold her into a princess role in the next Zylon sequel.”

Adam’s brain worked in story mode all the time. He’d challenge a waiter just to see what he might do, and then he’d jot the scene down in his pocket notebook. He’d take me out to the mall often just to people-watch. We’d sit there for hours and watch person by person cross in front of us. He’d zone in on all types, from old to young. He’d point out the ones who tipped the point of edgy, mysterious, and I’d just think they looked like every other person. He could dig deeper than the surface and uncover traits of mediocrity, superfluity, confidence, arrogance just by the way they walked, talked, carried their shopping bags, pushed their children around in strollers. He should’ve been a brilliant writer with his focus and drive.

He loved any chance to people-watch and place himself in unusual settings.

Adam curled up out of his desk chair and sat beside me in bed. I was scanning a brochure of a 10K, thinking of how I could talk him into joining me and getting out of the rut of writing, of people-watching, of boredom.

He asked me, “Do you think she was gay all along or do you think that kind of thing just pops up when the right person struts into life?”

“I’m sure a person knows this sort of thing for a while.”

“Hmm.” He sank back against the pillow. “I’d love to get in her head and know for sure.”

“Always characterizing.”

He simply smiled at this.

I continued to read about the 10K. It looked like a blast. It looked like something fun we could do together that didn’t involve laptops and spiral notepads. A couple dressed in colorful running gear and sporting vibrant smiles and bibs across their tummies graced the centerfold. I handed the brochure to him. “Let’s do this together.”

He looked at it in a flash. “I’m not a runner.”

“Well, neither am I. But it looks like something we could do together. We could run every morning. We’d just get up half an hour earlier. Think of the characters we’d see,” I said desperate for a way we could connect outside a mall or a park bench.

“This doesn’t look like fun to me.”

“Oh come on.” I pointed to the happy smiles on the couple’s faces. “They look like they’re having fun.”

“Hon, you know I need every second in the morning to write. I can’t dedicate that kind of time to train for a 10K.”

“It’s research.”

He rolled over on his side and held my hand. “Perhaps, but it’ll take too much time to train for a day of research. Someday we’ll be able to do these things together. I promise.”

“Of course.” I patted our folded hands. Deflated and drained from yet another failed attempt to get him outside his writing box, I turned over. “I’m tired. Are you ready to shut off the lights?”

He reached up and flipped the switch. “Done.”

Such an efficient man. He could jot that into his biography one day if he ever got published.

The next morning I woke and decided I was running this 10K with or without him. I got dressed up, pulled my hair into a twist, slapped on a little mascara and lip gloss and ventured to the kitchen to load up on some coffee. Hope was fixing herself a cup of coffee. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. Even without a trace of makeup her skin glowed.

“Hey, you,” she said. “What do you have there?” She fixed on the brochure in my hands.

“Oh this?” I tossed it on the counter, flippant to its grueling challenge. “It’s a brochure about a 10K I’m considering running in a couple of months.”

Her lips curled up around the edge of her mug. She picked up the brochure and scanned it. “I should do this, too. It’d give me a goal to work towards.”

I moved in closer. “We could do it together.”

“I’d need to train,” she said.

My eyes traveled down her fitted tee, past her erect nipples, stopping momentarily at her flat tummy and back up to meet her curious eyes. “Yeah, me, too. I haven’t run since high school.”

She straddled the stool in one bold move. “What made you sign up for it, then?”

“I thought it’d be a nice way for Adam and me to spend some time together. But, he can’t.”

She questioned me with a tilt of her head.

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s just the whole timing issue. He’s got his eye on a goal to complete his novel soon.”

She squinted, probing me for more.

“He’s the most determined man I know.”

“That’s quite an admirable trait,” she said, sipping again.

“Sure is.” She didn’t know Adam’s writing obsession. “I really want Adam to focus on finishing up his novel, and this would just get in the way. It’s not worth stressing him out and derailing his writing mojo. It was just a flimsy thought when I saw the brochure. I don’t mind training without him, really.”

She slinked off the stool and stood closer to me, staring at the brochure. “This does look like fun.”

“A blast, really.” I wanted her to invite herself to train with me.

“We should do this.” She smacked the counter with it.

Every cell in my body sang out in joy. “We really should. I was going to start training this morning.”

She scanned my skirt, my bare legs and chuckled. “Really?”

I flushed. “Well, in a little while.”

“We could start with a light jog and see if this is worth pursuing.”

“Let’s do it,” I said.

“Meet you down here in ten minutes?” she asked.

“Five.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Alright. Five, then.”

I flew up the stairs as if I’d just grown wings.

~

Adam had completed his first novel a year ago and sent it out to a dozen agents and every science fiction publisher in the country, and he received enough rejection letters to cover one of the walls in our bedroom.  He actually taped them all to the wall one night and cried. So sad.

One time, a publisher asked him to forward the entire manuscript. You would’ve thought they offered him a hundred thousand dollar advance and a movie deal. He prepped this manuscript for days, formatting, reformatting, printing, reprinting, until finally he cradled the package in his hand, kissed it for good luck, and handed it over to a bewildered postman.

I would’ve bottled up this adorable side of Adam if possible. Energy flowed from his fingers and his toes and we all caught it and swirled with him.

Then, the three weeks that followed tortured him. He paced. He called several times each afternoon asking Ralph if the mailman had delivered yet. He sat up in bed most of those nights rambling on about how great life was going to be once his baby was published and sitting on store shelves across America. He dreamed up his publicity tours, book signings, and the movie opening.

His big dream crashed hard when the rejection letter arrived. He opened the letter and read the one paragraph form letter thanking him for sharing his manuscript, but regretfully it didn’t meet their publishing needs.

He spent the next week curled up in a ball in bed, refusing to write, to work, to even shower.

I tried everything to cast away the murk that enshrouded him. I baked cookies, I rented the entire first season of “Star Trek,” detailed his car, bought a new lamp for his desk, and none of these things brought Adam back to life.

When I couldn’t stand the foul mood another second, I decided to step up my game and knock this bad mood out of our lives with a good old fashioned lie. Call me extreme, but a girl’s got to do, what a girl’s got to do. With as much pride as I could humanly stand, I flew open the door, raced to his side, and dirtied up any possibility of future claim that I, Lucy Hastings, was an honest-to -goodness girl. I turned him on his back, stared straight into his hazel eyes, and told him my coworker read the manuscript and devoured it in one night, leaving no word unread. I finished his rebirth to reality by telling him she begged me to tell him he must, no matter what, continue writing and pursuing his dream because to not would be the ultimate slap in the science fiction genre’s face.

He gobbled this up, sight unseen, claim untested. Nothing could’ve swiped that smile off his face, not even another rejection letter. A fan was born, and that made all the difference.

He perked up, showered, and began pounding his keyboard again. My Adam was back. Weathered, but all the more advanced than his prior unknown self.

Now, his second book, The Zylon Temple Part II was almost complete. Soon, he’d be begging me to read it. I had to say, that being the girlfriend of a not-so-interesting writer required a delicate balance of love, respect, and a whole bunch of white lies.

I didn’t want to be that unsupportive girlfriend who killed her boyfriend’s dreams with her unusually brash inner thoughts. So, I guarded those thoughts with the bravado of a warrior princess. I was sure if he wrote something interesting, I’d love his writing. I just hated science fiction so much. I’d rather endure a monotone speech on the process of dissecting a cell than have to read about aliens from other alternative universes ransacking planet Earth. Ugh.

I’d tried to pick up that first manuscript and read it to the last page, but I just couldn’t. It sucked. I couldn’t stand the violence, the eternal worlds, the strange getups of the characters, the ridiculously flawed plot where one community existed in the synapses of brains in an alien species. Give me a break! Why couldn’t he just write something mainstream, normal, pertinent to real life? I had to lie and tell him I loved his story and I couldn’t wait to read more. I hated lying. It went against every moral code. But so did hurting him. I’d rather suffer the scorn of my inner rants than cause him harm.

I loved to read. I read love stories, contemporary fiction, compelling biographies, and lots of self-help and each time, he’d eye me, then he’d eye the book, and then he’d comment on how much more interested I seemed to be in those than in his. How was I supposed to respond other than with another lie? So, I told him he needed to keep writing so I had more to read. So, he did.

And the cycle had continued to haunt me, and I just knew one of these days it’d bite me in the butt and I’d be stuck reading a four hundred page novel about starships and aliens with cone heads.

Unfortunately, the cycle was about to get even more brazen.

I had just arrived home from my Monday night teaching, and Adam greeted me with a smirk and a skip in his stride.

“I just bought our ticket to freedom today,” he said, removing my laptop case from my shoulders and dropping it to the ground, setting me free to sweep him into a congratulatory hug.

“Oh,” I stretched my smile real wide, bracing for the unknown.

“I’m estimating that in about six months, I’ll be able to quit the engineering firm and write full-time.”

“Okay,” I said, provoking him to continue.

“Book one of The Zylon Temple is now up for sale online!” He lit up like a Christmas tree, bright, alive, hopeful.

“What? Seriously?!”

He picked me up and swung me around. “I already sold two copies this afternoon.”

“How? When? Who is publishing you?”

He stopped spinning me. “I did. I took control. I’m self-published through Sloot. I uploaded my manuscript, paid a small fee, designed a book cover with their templates, and voila! I’m published.”

“That’s it. Just like that?”

“Yeah, imagine? It was that easy. The number one online bookseller is selling my book. I am a novelist. I am a real novelist now.”

I cheered him on, hugging him, squeezing him, leading him to the couch in case he passed out from pure adrenaline.

He talked up our future life of him writing novel after novel in our log cabin on the top of a mountain somewhere in North Carolina. He named our future dogs, King and Twain, and even selected which holidays we’d venture back to Maryland and celebrate with family.  I encouraged him to get excited, live in the moment, revel in the success that he deserved so badly. And, the whole time he dribbled on about this crazy, ideal life, I battled with the question of why anyone would’ve already raced to purchase copies of his poorly plotted book. He must’ve written one hell of a masterpiece for the jacket copy. I prayed the reviewers would be kind because I couldn’t imagine the crash and burn of this ultimate high.

Chapter Five

HOPE

When I wasn’t trying my hand at the piano or wading by the kitchen to get some face time with Lucy, I was busy stalking PJ’s, Rachel’s and Ryan’s Facebook profiles. They bantered and commented on each other’s postings. This angered me, yet, why shouldn’t they comment? They did before I shacked up with Nadeen and Isabella.

At least three times a week, PJ would ‘poke’ me or send me a ‘big hugs’ followed by a series of Xs and Os. She wanted to include me, but her random prodding just widened the rift. I hated pity, especially when I didn’t deserve it. Then, she began tossing comments to me like “Haven’t heard from you in a while. What’s the matter, new friends holding you hostage now?”

I just needed time and space away from them. I needed to live this new life and regain my edge. I couldn’t do this in the shadow of my old life where the three of them still hung out and continued to build memories.

Yet, I stalked. This stalking just magnified this ugly picture I had drafted of myself, and rendered it impossible to feel good about any progress in my life. Just last week, I had won the marketing award for best advertisement and I hid the certificate under a pile of reports because when I looked at it I imagined Ryan sneering at it.

Running helped lighten the pressure in my head and tune me back into real life and all that really mattered in the world, like oxygen, greenery, Lucy.

She had talked me into this 10K race three weeks ago, and now we were up to running for eight minutes straight without a walk break.

Lucy was more of a dancing queen than a runner. She pranced, rather than opened her stride.  I loved sneaking peeks of her hair flowing in the wind and her face reddening to the tone of ripened cherries. I craved to see beads of sweat roll down the nape of her neck. She talked on and on about the weather, about the new elaborate housing development rising across the street, about the rise of tomato prices.

The air around her flowed more freely and always filled me with a sense of giddy joy.

We ran. We walked. She talked. I listened. She summoned intelligent thoughts. I fought naughty ones. For reprieve, I talked about her and Adam. When she spoke of him she raised her voice up in sing-song fashion, which steered me back to our run, our walk, our platonic friendship status.

Running cleared out the clutter in my brain.  In just a few short weeks of running, not only had I become more fit, but I’d realized something pretty important—I could get by in life without the help of PJ constantly by my side. This proved major growth and highlighted an area in my life where I might actually seize back some control. I had always relied too heavily on PJ for direction, advice, support. She deserved a break from this pressure, and I needed a break from issuing it.

With the wind in my hair, the vibrant fall leaves blanketing my view, and a growing friendship with Lucy, I learned to stymie the look of disgust on Ryan’s face more each day. I only winced a few times a day now instead of a few dozen.

I could once again taste the spicy side of life, thanks to my solo bold move out of a life in which I no longer belonged.  I no longer tumbled down in a hapless ball, but gained some footing.

I loved my roommates. Well, the verdict was still out on Ralph, of course, but the rest of them were starting to really seal into my life.  Reina was working hard trying to find my new love. Hana surprised me with plenty of tidbits about my new roommates, like how Ralph was afraid of the dark and slept with his overhead light blaring all night long, and how Adam meditated in a headstand for fifteen minutes prior to any writing session.

As the weeks passed, I adjusted and started to sniff out my place among them all. As far as I could tell, everyone liked me except for Ralph. He never stuck around when I entered the room. He’d stop talking and exit, nodding down at me, inspecting my hair, my clothes, ensuring I followed house rules of no shoes. He walked like a marine, upright, proud, authoritative, and sure-footed, just like my brother. His serious gaze destroyed the honor, stone cold and intimidating. He was no cute teddy bear. He was a ferocious grizzly bear who would bite me in a flash if provoked.

I avoided him; he avoided me; until finally, one day, I flew straight into him on my way into the kitchen. He caught me in his burly arms. Talk about an awkward moment.  His eyes softened for the briefest moment when I lost my balance, and then hardened up to cast-iron again when I regained my footing. One thing about me – I was a scrapper. I couldn’t ignore his hatred of me for a moment longer. “Do you have a problem with me?”

He caught my question with care. His mouth hung open. His stiff arms dropped to his side. My question poked at his rigid bubble, toying, taunting, pricking him with great unease. Then, finally, “I’m not sure about you yet.”

“I don’t bite.”

“I don’t trust people easily.”

“I’m a good person.”

He stopped our volley and stared at me, scrutinizing, probably combing through my mind, uncovering all my ugly secrets one by one, tossing them aside, digging for more, tossing useless scraps of me to the side to find the real meat, the real proof, the real me exposed.

“I’m not thrilled to have to live with a stranger.”

“Well, I appreciate that you’re giving me a chance.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” He looked down on me and walked away.

Two nights later, he knocked on my door. “Come on downstairs. My kids are here and we’re all getting ready to eat spaghetti and meatballs.”

“I love spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Get it while it’s hot.” He walked away, but not without offering me a warm smile. His grizzly bear exterior vanished and in its place I caught a glimpse of the teddy bear.

After dinner, we all sat in the living room and played charades. Adam sat next to Lucy, holding her hand. Reina sat perched on the arm of the couch chomping on caramel popcorn. Hana’s hands flew up in front of her face every time she laughed. Ralph lunged in front of us like a wild monkey, grunting, squatting, tickling his armpits. His daughter, Jasmine, an eleven-year-old girl with strawberry hair, giggled nonstop, yelling out, “You’re an Orangutan!”

“You’re not supposed to answer,” her brother, Johnny, said to her. “He’s on your team.” Johnny, eight, going on fifty, reminded us a dozen times that we needed to follow the rules or else this game would not be fair.

Ralph softened with each passing minute. By the time we played out the last card, he reached over and whispered to me, “Sorry I’ve been such a butthead to you this whole time.”

The night flowed like bubbly champagne until Lucy received a text. She sighed and shook her head.

“Everything alright?” Reina asked her.

“It’s my niece.” She handed the phone to Adam. “Another text telling me how much she hates school. Now someone’s telling her she wants to beat her up because she’s a dummy.”

“You should tell her parents,” Ralph said. “There’s not a lot you can do from an hour away. The girl’s always crying out to you. She needs her parents to pay attention for once.”

“She’s just having a hard time adjusting to her new school.” Lucy folded her knees under her. “No need to drag her parents through the rigors of regular teen stuff.”

“You’re just avoiding a blowout, Lucy,” he said, then walked off to the kitchen with his empty water bottle. “Not everyone gets to live in a no-conflict zone.”

Lucy pulled in her lips tight and fixated far across the room at a lonely plant hanging from a macramé cord from the ceiling.  Adam sat up taller and yelled back at him. “Stay out of this, Ralph.” His words stretched out a warning, as though he’d jumped to Lucy’s defense more than a handful of times.

Lucy scooted up now, too, a stress line creased across her forehead. “Let’s not talk about this now. I’ll deal with it later.”

“Adam to the rescue as usual,” Ralph called out.

“Screw you.” Adam rose to his feet, fists clenched.

Lucy jumped up to meet him. “Come on, hon. It’s not worth it.” She covered Adam’s clenched fist with her gentle hand.

The moment stretched way past normal. Jasmine and Johnny stood, their faces frozen in panic, swooping their gaze from their dad to Adam. Jasmine cradled her brother to her side. I stood up with a fiery need to take control and ease the tension. “Who’s up for brownies?” I asked them.

Johnny broke out into a smile first. He practically mowed me down on route to the kitchen.

Adam surrendered his plight. “Brownies it is.”

Lucy mouthed a thank you to me as she followed me into the kitchen where we set out to erase the muck with some gooey chocolate and delighted spirits. Ralph even reached up for the brownie mix and dug out the mixing bowl.

One big happy family surviving a trivial quarrel.

~

I never shied away from controversy. In fact, some might’ve said I thrived on it. On our run the next morning, I asked Lucy, “What was that all about last night?”

“That was Ralph being a jerk, and if his kids weren’t there, I might’ve let Adam punch him.”

I stopped short, mid stride. “Wow. Where was this fighter last night?”

“He’s not worth it. He has no idea what he’s talking about.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him to mind his own business?”

“Then the rest of the night would’ve turned into a blood bath with me defending my sister who didn’t deserve defending to a man who would argue with a nun if she went against his grain. There’s no point.”

“I would’ve let him have it.”

“I’m just not like that.”

“A man like Ralph needs to be put in his place otherwise he’ll walk all over you.”

“No one walks over me,” she said, snapping like a cute Yorkie.

“I didn’t mean—”

“—I’m going to run faster today. I just need to open my stride.” Then, she sped ahead leaving me in her dust. I trailed behind for fifteen minutes, huffing and coughing until finally I collapsed into a walk. She just continued prancing down the street until she blurred into the trees.

Later that afternoon, I was making tea and trying to decide how to approach her. She snuck into the kitchen, apology written all over her pretty face. “I overreacted today. I’m sorry.”

I stirred honey into my peppermint tea. “And, I was out of line.”

She drifted to my side, her head bowed, eyes fixated on my tea. She smelled like spring rain, clean and fresh. “I ran the entire three miles back to the house.”

I stopped stirring, looked up and met her swollen eyes. Not wanting to expose anything further, I shifted mine away. “I almost passed out about mile one.”

She laughed and perked back to life. “Can we just forget about this morning and start fresh?”

I sipped my peppermint tea. Cool and breezy it dissolved the aftertaste of a day’s worth of worry. “Gladly.”

She warmed, and her golden smile lit up the room again. “I was thinking,” she said, feathering her finger against the granite counter, “of a way that I could paint a brighter picture of myself than the silly one you must have of me sprinting like a crazy woman down the road. If you’re up to it.”

I eased my teacup down, focused on her pink glossed lips and the words that would soon flow. “I’m listening.”

“Follow me.”

I followed her into the great room, captured by her swift appeal.

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the couch.

I sat on command.

She smirked. “Now wait here.”

I sat suspended in her breezy wake, thumping my fingers against the couch’s arm, pondering all sorts of fantasies about a life where she could return with wine, romantic music, and an appetite for long, sultry kisses. Unrealistic, yes, but the product of a girl with unrealized desires, free to explore, but still hiding behind the mask of safety and the shackles of hardened guilt.

She returned with a pedicure bath of soapy bubbles and a tote overflowing with creams. “You just sit back and relax.”

“A pedicure?”

She scanned my naked toenails. “You’re in serious need of color. Are you really going to argue this fact with me?”

“Do with me what you see fit.” I lounged back against the couch, enjoying the sight of her organizing her file, her brush, her creams and thanking God that I had shaved my legs that morning.

Within minutes, I sat back like a wet noodle, relaxed in a glorious state of mind as she awakened a new set of senses in me, the kind that curled my toes and tickled my core. I soaked and then giggled under ticklish filing and brushing. Then, she rubbed exfoliating cream over my calf, massaging it into a frothy batter. Deeper and deeper her touch penetrated, soothing my tired legs and capsizing me into a sea of perpetual euphoria.

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the sofa. “You’ve got way too many talents. World class trainer, commander of college classrooms, and now this.”

She sprinkled handfuls of water onto my leg and began washing away the salt crystals. Splash. Trickle. Caress. Her warm hands brushed against my bare leg. I sank into disillusioned bliss, stymied only by the security gate of Adam in the bedroom upstairs.

She swirled her fingers in the bath. “You think I missed my real calling?”

“Absolutely. You’ve got me so relaxed right now you might just have to scoop me up and carry me up the stairs.”

“I’m surprised that I’ve still got the touch. I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Adam doesn’t beg for one every night?”

“Adam can’t stand to have me give him a pedicure.”

I flicked open my eyes. “Adam’s a fool, then.”

Her lips curled up into a spirited smile. She cradled my calf in her hands and massaged it deeper, working me like clay. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s just being a guy who wants to protect his masculinity, or if he truly doesn’t like the feeling of my hands on his feet.”

“Well, I can’t imagine that second one.”

She shrugged, continued to swaddle my calf in her hands with a breezier touch now. “You’d be surprised.”

I waited for more. When her pause lasted beyond comfortable, I probed. “Are you guys having problems?”

She cupped her hands in the footbath and poured more water down my legs. Dribble. Trickle. “No.” She rolled out the word as if searching for answers under it.

The evil side of me awoke.  I wanted them to be having issues. “That’s not very convincing.”

She stopped massaging and looked up at the ceiling fan as if pondering the great questions in life like why are we here, are there other life forms out there? Then, she circled back to me, surveying me. Her eyes sparkled under the cast of natural light from the skylight. “Did you ever feel lonely when you were married to Ryan?”

The padlock of my boarded up heart clicked open in one fell swoop. “I think he was the lonely one in our relationship.” Taking full advantage of the open air that flowed between us now, I opened up to a truth that even surprised me a little. “I was the one who left him.”

She nodded, slid her hands down my calf for one last swipe.

“Are you lonely?” I asked.

“Maybe a little.” She reached for a towel and handed it to me. “It’s just because we’re both so busy pursuing our dreams.”

She stood up, sighed as if this had just dawned on her, and walked away leaving me alone to herd the many scattered questions that I wanted to ask her; questions that I didn’t have the right to be asking; questions better left unasked by someone like me, someone who within five seconds could’ve flat out unlearned the hard lessons she’d spent the better part of the past month learning.

Much better Lucy scooped up her vulnerability and walked away from me. At the end of the day, I was still just a horny girl who could’ve easily ignored all boundaries and stolen as much euphoria the world was willing to offer me.

LUCY

For the entire night following my unplanned apology up Hope’s calves, a steady flow of flutters took up flight. These flutters swam inside every cell, every nook and cranny of my being, places where only metabolic activity had ever taken place. Now, instead of focusing on regrowth, nourishment and basic survival, my body had converted to a playground, a Ferris wheel, a roller coaster that spiraled flip after flip out of control.

I reclined in bed that night and replayed the pedicure. Her smooth, silky skin, the musk and vanilla bean scent, the curtains dancing a tango with the cool breeze blowing in the window, the way Hope’s eyes grew wide when I massaged her.

This needed to go on the record as being the sexiest hour of my entire life.

~

I craved to be with Hope every chance available.  As the days passed since her pedicure, I started neglecting my lesson plans and my studying for longer runs, for laughs over coffee, for time away from Adam and his dimly lit desk and sci-fi gibberish.

She teased me. I fantasized about sitting close to her, our legs brushing, our hands flirting. When I escaped into these fantasies, my breaths quickened on the suspense of what her lips would taste like on mine. She lured me from the other side of the road, a road that called out with her flickering promise of bigger and better. I couldn’t seem to focus in on anything more than running across the road and diving into the mystery of what could be.

That weekend, Adam had promised me that we’d go to see the movie “Contagion” with Matt Damon, and when he told me he really needed more time on his climactic scene, I actually didn’t care. I didn’t want to go anymore. I wanted to be home. I told him, “No problem. Maybe I’ll see what Hope’s up to.”

He looked up from his laptop with an amused arch to his eye, “You sure have been spending a lot of time with her.”

“We get along well. We enjoy a lot of the same things.”

“So, I’ve noticed.” A playful smile rested on his puppy dog face. “Sure I don’t have anything to worry about there?”

“What?” I tossed a pillow at him. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Relax. I was just joking.” Caution rested on his freshly shaven face.

“Well, don’t. We’re just friends.”

He tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned back in his chair, studying me. “You’re acting awfully defensive.”

I laughed this off the way I laughed everything off with a flick of my hair, and a rolling of my eyes. My mind drifted away momentarily confused, vulnerable and with a strange new goal to defend my straightness. Imagine the upset if Adam could read my mind? The possibility teased me like the thrill of a tightrope where one side enticed me with its orgasmic rush and soulful beat, the other fired up all sorts of flickering flames that threatened to burn me alive and destroy reality as I knew it.

Adam’s eyes burned a hole through me as I neared our bedroom door. I stopped short of passing through it. I had to be so careful. Adam was an expert at reading people, of being able to accurately peg their true essences. He leaned backwards still, raking me over with a new twist to his mouth, a perplexed arch to his eye. “I think I should go to the movies with you.”

An innuendo, palpable and dangerous, sat between us like a brick wall. “Excellent.”

 “Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be downstairs.”

“Five.”

He sat up. “Alright then.”

Ten minutes later, we vacated the house and all its newfangled allusions, and turned back into Lucy and Adam, two silly people who sang too loudly and five keys out of reach.

The vibe between me and Hope must’ve been apparent. I needed to be more careful, appear less giddy, stop flushing whenever she smiled. I didn't want Adam analyzing any more into it. I needed to guard from this point forward. Next time I saw her, I’d test my strength and build my walls appropriately. I’d engineer one of the finest fortresses, complete with bullet-proof windows and steel supports that not even a Tsunami could breach.

That very night, just minutes after Adam retired to a headstand before taking up refuge at his desk, I strolled into the basement rec room to pick up my book that I’d left on the treadmill. Hope was stretching her legs on a mat, mimicking a yoga instructor on the television. Her hands grabbed her ankles, the same ankles that my hands had caressed a few weeks back, the same ankles attached to the same legs I fantasized about night after night since.

I flushed like an idiot. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She remained stretched, head down, forehead resting on her knee. “I just started. You’re welcome to join me.”

I piled up a few rows of imaginary bricks to my ill-conceived fortress, which proved to shield nothing more than my toes. In a flash, warm flutters wet me. I mounted the tightrope through no choice of my own. I just landed on it, a victim to Hope’s sexy, magnetic powers. I couldn’t help myself. I steered to the space on the mat reserved for me and within a moment, plopped down beside her. Those initial protective bricks tumbled around our stretched bodies, useless in this new frequency where I, Lucy Hastings, was attracted to a lesbian.

We stretched, posed, moaned, groaned and mostly giggled our way through the hour long session.

I confessed, “I planned to study this past hour. Some great student I’ve turned out to be. Next thing you know, I’ll be forced to trading in my TA position to serve up fries and Cokes with hamburger meals.”

“At least you have a goal.  I need one of those. I can’t hang out down here practicing yoga every day.”

“Oh come on,” I punched her arm, playfully. “You know, yoga is one of those fitness niches that’s only getting bigger and more profitable as time goes on.”

She reached out with a question on her lips, eyes pointed down in contemplation, a dove like soft touch whispering its way down her cheek. Her fingers stopped just short of her jaw, twisted under each other and served as a rest for her light-hearted wisdom. “Maybe I’ve overlooked something pretty obvious here.”

“Maybe so,” I teased.

Releasing her hand from the pressure of the fate of her lifetime, Hope fell back against the floor, spread out like a snow angel and laughed like a five-year-old high on sugar, seeming to want nothing more from me than to continue in our giggle fest over her lack of focus.

Chapter Six

HOPE

Lucy passed by my bedroom the morning after we practiced yoga together. I sat propped up on my bed, writing in my journal, sipping some green tea and nibbling on Melba toast crackers with hummus. She doubled back and poked her head in my doorway.

“Are you as sore I am?”

“It hurts to climb the stairs. Just a fair warning before you venture down them.”

“You can always jump into our Jacuzzi tub this morning,” she said. “Adam already left for an early morning site check meeting at the new UMBC fine arts building. I’m heading out to get some research done at the library in a little bit.”

“I may do that.”

“I’ve got lavender bubble bath under the sink if you like.” She leaned against the door frame, one hip forward, chest perked. “I’m about to make some pancakes before I go. Interested?”

“You bet.” I jumped out of the bed.

“Sore, huh?” She winked and led the way.

~

Two mornings later, while the rest of the gang had already up and vacated, I practiced a little of the piano. Halfway through “This Land is Your Land,” Ralph walked past me and laughed. “Stick to marketing.”

I stuck out my tongue at him and continued bumbling over the notes. Soon after, I met him in the kitchen. His mini blender whirred with his typical soy milk, yogurt, banana and wheat grass concoction. He blended that thing until the mini blender practically smoked. He gulped down the green drink in one long swallow, grunting the whole time.

“Why bother?” I asked him.

“This drink has every amino acid necessary for healthy cell production. What’s a little dirt taste?”

“That a way to sell it to me.” I moved in around him to fill up on coffee instead.

“Do you realize how important wheat grass is? Man this stuff detoxifies the liver, the blood, the intestinal tract. It basically neutralizes toxins.” He vibrated to life, reaching for a fresh glass and scooping green powder into it. “You’ve got to try it.”

Ralph operated best when talking anything fitness or nutrition. Talk to him about anything else and he glazed over.

“Well, that’s a little better. Keep going.”

He measured a cup of milk and poured it in. “The enzymes and amino acids in here are going to protect your body from carcinogens and free radicals, and not that you have to worry, but if you ever find yourself feeling a little pudgy, this stimulates the metabolism.” He fastened the screw top on the glass, flipped it upside down and fastened it into the blender. The blender whined real loud, filling the kitchen with the unmistakable burning scent of an overworked, cheap mini-blender.

“Do your clients drink this crap?”

“I wish. People whine all the time ‘Why can’t I lose weight? Why am I so fat? Why am I always so sleepy?’ And I tell them it’s because you’re not willing to put down the cigarette and the alcohol and the sugar. They just don’t listen. So, I take their money and watch them grow fatter and listen to them whine like children.”

 He unfastened the top and handed me the green drink.

“Well, there’s obviously a disconnect if you can’t get them to listen to you. Maybe you intimidate them. Or maybe they don’t like you.”

He smirked and forced the glass up to my mouth before I could disagree. “Drink.”

I sipped it. It tasted like a summer garden. I tilted my head back and swigged the entire glass down. The aftertaste lingered, planting a blend of dirt and fresh cut grass on my taste buds.  Ralph waited, eyes cranked open, hands pressed firmly against the granite, arms bulging from the pressure.

“You’re going to expect me to drink this every day now?”

“We could go halves on it.” He said, insinuating I had crossed some honorable rite of passage that few were privy to stand before.

“I guess it’s better for me than a donut.”

He scoffed and backed away. “You’re just like the rest of them.”

“And, you’re nuts.” I punched his arm. “And you’re also really cut. How many hours do you spend in the gym carving this arm?”

“Apparently still not enough.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re the only girl who has noticed.”

“Out with it.” I fed him the rope to our first real conversation. “There’s obviously more in there.”

He paused, reflected up to the ceiling and back at me. “My ex wanted more muscle, apparently.” His eyes filled with pain, hurt, and years of churning grief. “She left me for a man with twice the muscle mass and half the brain. I trusted that woman, and she shit all over me. She didn’t have the common decency to break it off with me. Instead she slept with us both until I caught her in a lie and did some investigating. She screwed him in our bed with our kids in the house. The kids thought he was a television repairman that whole time.”

I breathed in the raw grit that he spewed out to me. It stirred inside, scraping against my throat and finally settling into my lungs like soot. I thought of Ryan and how he must talk of me to others. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

“Did you leave your husband because of another girl?”

Tears cut through, stinging my eyes like an erosive chemical.

He brushed the air. “You don’t have to answer.”

“I’m not a bad person.” I still didn’t believe myself.

He considered my words, nodding, thumping his knuckles against the counter. “You’re not. I know that now. The circumstances are totally different.”

“Totally,” I said, stamping my seal on this defense with force.

He relaxed his pose, even smiled. “So that means you didn’t cheat on him?”

Afraid to get burned again in the firestorm of judgment, I lied. “I wouldn’t do that.”

He sighed, tapped his knuckles good and hard again. “I just assumed you cheated on him. I’m sorry I was such an ass all this time.”

I shrugged off his apology like he really owed me one, like a nice girl shaking the whole misunderstanding off. “Forget about it. It’s no big deal.”

“So, how come you’re not out there having some fun?”

“I’m not ready,” I said, satisfied this answer would cement my good girl posture into place without a further question. I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t start a relationship and feel justified. Not just yet.

“I hear you. There’s a lot of garbage out there.”

“Yes.” And just for shits and giggles, I added, “Not everyone can be as lucky as Adam and Lucy and strike that gold.”

“Oh, no. You’ve got that all wrong.”

Of course I did. “How so?”

“Adam is too preoccupied. Lucy is bored. In fact, I’d be careful around her. You don’t see it, but I do. I think she’s got a crush on you.”

“Pfff.” I whisked this observation away with a flick, even though it sent a surge of electricity through my veins. “Please. All she does is talk about Adam this and Adam that.” I wanted to hear more.

“Adam’s not her type.”

“Nonsense. They’re cute together.”

“They’re like an old married couple. When was the last time you saw them flirt or give each other a nice pat on the butt?”

“They’re just conservative.”

“Conservative my ass. Lucy puts out this aura of being the good girl, but I see her checking you out when you’re not looking.”

“Bullshit.” My face flushed. “You do not.”

“I do, indeed.” His eyes sparkled. “You like that bit of information, don’t you?”

“Of course not.” I punched his arm again. “Stop talking like that. The last thing Lucy needs is for this silliness to get back to Adam.”

“Fair enough.” He stole the glass from my hand and turned his back on me to wash it.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I kind of liked the green drink. Count me in.”

He nodded and scrubbed my glass. I took this as my cue to leave while amicability was high.

~

The day rose to a sunny, brilliant one. Could I thank Ralph’s magic drink or his joking actions towards me? Things were falling into place for me.  I spent the good part of my Saturday morning rearranging my room, placing books on shelves, repotting a plant and hanging it from my boxed window, and I spruced up my closet by organizing the hangers to all face inward.

Around eleven, I ventured out to the grocery store and filled my cart with all sorts of healthy food—granola, yogurt, string cheese, apples, grapes, a carton of eggs, and some almonds. I pushed my cart down the cereal aisle, scanning each box carefully, confused to what all the unpronounceable words meant, when I recognized a friend of Rachel’s pushing her cart in my direction.

She pretended not to notice me. She pushed right on past me fixated on jars of olives as though they were reverent, all-powerful and worthy of her praise.  Now, I could’ve watched her pass me by, avoiding her just as well with my trek through cereal land, but I hated that she craned her neck to avoid me. “Jacky?” I said.

Jacky turned to me, and with perfect balance, as if she performed this surprise act all the time, beamed. “Hope! Wow, I didn’t recognize you without PJ and Rachel. How funny!”

“Yes,” I said, raising my voice to match her shrill, “Hysterical.”

“Have you seen the girls lately?”

“From time to time,” I lied.

“Isn’t it something how they’re going to be parents next month?” She raked her hand through her wild and wavy hair. “Those two have incredible luck. Stacy and I waited on a list for five years before we got a call.”

I gripped my cart. “Yeah, it sure is something.”

“Well, listen it’s been great seeing you. I’ve got to get going. I’ve got to pick up Michael from his friend’s house.”

“Sure, yeah.”

She scooted on down the aisle with her head raised high, shouldering all sorts of information that I had cut myself off from receiving.

I left my cart sitting in the cereal aisle and somehow walked to my car without getting run over. Back in my car, I sat, hands gripping the steering wheel, engine idling, envy and hurt pricking at me. I caved and called PJ.

She picked up on the third ring.  I said, “I just ran into Jacky.”

“Jacky? Oh.” She rolled out this letter like it was the red carpet to her new life. “She told you?”

“Can I at least hear it from you now?”

We sat silent for a moment, then, she said, “She only knows because she was here when we got the call from the birth mother.”

“A birth mother called you?”

“Yes. She answered our ad.”

“You placed an ad?”

 “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“We didn’t want to tell anyone yet just in case things fell through.”

I fell from best friend to anyone status. “Okay, well, congratulations.” The weight of my head crushed my shoulders, bore down on my chest. She let go of me in a snap. How good of friends were we? Didn’t I at least get a longer, more drawn out reach?

“Thanks. We’re excited as you can imagine.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“We should catch up soon, so I can fill you in on everything,” she said. “Maybe grab some dinner. Are you free anytime this week? We could go to get some burgers at Mama’s Grill. Like old times.”

“This week is kind of busy for me.”

“Hope.”

I braced for some awkward questioning. “Yeah?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you while I have you on the phone.”

I steadied for the punch. “Okay. Spill.”

“Ryan came over for dinner last week.” Then, she said with a touch of pity, “I’m sorry. He just sort of invited himself over.”

I toiled with comebacks that would satisfy me long after the call ended, like ‘I see your conversation all over Facebook, so I’m no fool,’ but I voiced none of them. I wouldn’t chastise her with my jealousy. Instead, I told her it didn’t matter and that I needed to go.

I ended the call on the higher plane.

LUCY

One week following my yoga session with Hope, everything changed.

I stood in the kitchen prepping for the day when Hana asked me, “Is this yours?” She lifted up a wallet from the edge of the counter. I recognized it instantly.

“It’s Hope’s. Ralph rushed her out of here this morning to go with him to that Health Expo downtown.”

 I swept up a pile of crumbs and dumped them into the trash.

Hana placed Hope’s wallet back down and shrugged. “I’m glad they’re getting along now.” She circled backwards into the hall and trekked down to her room.

On my way out of the kitchen, I picked up her wallet and brought it up to her room. When I opened her door, a cool breeze blew across me. The curtains danced with the crisp fall wind. Her bed remained tousled from the night. Her pajama bottoms, thin cotton with dainty flowers, lied in a soft mound on the floor near her running sneakers.  The Secret Garden perched on her bedside table, a bookmark dangled from its midway point.

I placed her wallet on her bureau and noticed a pretty sapphire watch on top of a velvet-covered spiral notebook.  I loved sapphires. It was my birthstone. The watch glistened just like her. I couldn’t resist. I picked it up to get a closer look, and when I did, her notebook fell. It landed belly up, exposing its contents. Don’t ask me how this happened, but my eye latched right onto my name. There it was, LUCY, spelled out amongst a sea of other blurred words.

My curiosity got the best of me, admittedly. I scooped that spiral mass of paper up so fast, my heart almost leapt out of my chest. There in my hands were Hope’s inner thoughts. My holding it so close to my curious eyes was wrong on so many levels. But, I just had to know what she wrote about me.  So, I set about on my journey into temptation and read the passage it had fatefully opened to on its own.

October 15

Dear Journal, why does this have to be so wrong?

Lucy’s adorable. She’s got the cutest wiggle when she walks around this place. She made me pancakes this morning, and I’m sure I’m just imagining all of this, but I swear one resembled the shape of a heart. I’m not saying I think she set out to bake me a heart pancake. Just that maybe there’s something to this whole theory on the law of attraction. Maybe she unknowingly created it because she’s secretly just as attracted to me as I am to her. That would be a terrible thing, the two of us attracted to each other. I will not go down that road. In fact, I really should just stop writing right now and not let her enter my mind.

But, it’s so hard. I love being around her.  The air around her just seems fresh and lively, like it’s smiling. Yeah, I’ve got to stop obsessing about this. I can’t have the object of my affection be some straight girl who’s hooked up with a great guy. Adam is so sweet. I overheard him counseling Hana the other day on ways she could get her students to listen to her more. Hana turned from depressed to empowered in a matter of minutes. Who wouldn’t adore such a guy?

Okay, I’m rambling. I need to get ready for bed. But first I need some tea. God, I hope I run into Lucy in the kitchen. WTF is wrong with me?!

My hands trembled so hard, I almost dropped the notebook again. I closed it, placed it back where I think it belonged, and placed the sapphire watch back without even studying it.

Where to place her wallet? I couldn’t very well place it next to her journal. She might freak out and think the unthinkable—that I actually snooped in it.

I tossed it on her bed and whisked out of the room, fueled by an enormous amount of adrenaline.

~

I was mush for the rest of the afternoon after reading Hope’s journal. I opened the fridge to get a snack and my belly tickled. I showered and my body arched under the stream, wishing it was Hope’s tongue instead of water. Then, I did something I’d never done before. I rode on the stationary bike in the basement gym daydreaming about her, about touching her skin, about kissing her lips, kissing her neck, and traveling down further to the soft curve of her breast. Before I knew it, I was panting and grinding against the bike seat, climbing to that place of ecstasy, of unbridled passion, imaging my mouth around her nipples, and then I came like I’d never come before.

All day, my body trembled and swam in a sea of longing and desire for her.

~

Later that night, I tried to study, but couldn’t focus. So, I drew a bath. Hope kept slipping into my mind. I kept burying her in the bubbles. I settled on thoughts of school, and on how far I’d come in such a short time. This got me focused on my sister, my nemesis really, and how she was my motivator in disguise. My success one day would be all her doing. I still didn’t understand why one-upping her covered me in a sticky layer of guilt, especially since she enjoyed toiling in my affairs so much.

Julie and I really had only one important conversation back when I was an undeclared major in college, and it opened my eyes. Adam and I had visited her and her family for one hell of a weekend in Virginia. Most visits, she badgered me with brag after brag about how great a life she lived. Typically, I could ignore most of the dribble by stocking up on much wine. That particular weekend, she decided it best if we drank soda and lemonade because she was training for a marathon and didn’t need the extra calories lying around the house. Well, one dry talk led to another and before long I had told her I had finally enrolled in public speaking as my undergraduate major. Well, she choked on her lemonade. I further explained that I wanted to become a trainer one day and I thought mastering the art of speaking in front of a group of people would be a great start. She suggested that I should think about becoming an accountant or something behind the scenes instead.

Of course, I, being the passive aggressive soul I am, graduated with a 4.0 in public speaking a couple of years later.  I couldn’t stop there. I loved the jealous twitch this caused her.  So, I launched my career as a trainer to learn the ins and outs of commanding an audience, not stopping until I coveted prime roles.

I could tell my success drove her nuts.

When I suffered my first layoff, she dove into a protector role telling me everything would be alright and that maybe I should go back to school to be that accountant. “It’s stable and less stressful.” And, then, when I suffered my second layoff, she offered me her cold shoulder.

When I told her I was applying to graduate school, I thought her fake eyelashes were going to fall right off her eyes. I expected naysaying, but received a couple of well-executed shrugs instead. These shrugs fueled me, and kept me going through the application process, through the interviewing, through the restless nights wondering if they would accept me into the program and then accept me as a teacher’s assistant. When I finally got word of my achievement, even though the timing sucked because I finally found a training job I loved, I bragged to my sister about it. She brushed it off like I told her I got a job at the convenience store working third shift.

Since I started in the graduate program, she hasn’t flicked one comment on it my way.  I hated that I still felt guilty that I was moving forward and she stopped moving a whole college education ago.

~

After my bath, I tossed in a load of laundry and then ventured to the family room off the far end of the house.  I read and reread passages describing the current state of affairs in today’s corporate environment. Usually this kind of stuff would’ve excited me.  I would’ve been highlighting the heck out of the paragraphs and scribbling all sorts of interesting notes to refer back to on my tenth revisit through the material. But, I was very distracted.

Reina, Hana, and Hope were cooking raviolis, laughing and carrying on about how Ralph dragged Hope to every single booth that offered free samples. “I’ve got a suitcase filled with energy bars and water bottles.”

They laughed and laughed while I sat by myself trying my hardest to enjoy my studies as much as listening to Hope’s pretty chuckles.

Really, I wanted to drink wine with Hope and giggle until the sun rose.

I sat alone in a family room longing to be part of the fun a few yards away in a kitchen that smelled like Little Italy, trying to charge ahead, trying my hardest to absorb why corporate America will never be the same in terms of team building in a global economy. If it killed me, I would get through the reading and I would stand in front of that class in a few days armed with a brilliant lecture to teach college students that all of this really did matter.

At one point, Reina laughed so hard, I couldn’t stand not being involved another second.  I tossed my books aside and joined them in a journey through raviolis and red wine. The whole time, Hope and I played eye tag with each other and my body twitched on an off like an overexcited circuit breaker.

Much later, once the raviolis were eaten, the wine drank, and the flirts put to rest, I went upstairs and watched two episodes of “Dr. Who.” Then, Adam strolled in from a tough day at work.

He kissed me, then walked over to his desk and told me he had some ideas he needed to get down on screen before they left his brain.

If ever a time existed that Adam needed to be present with me, it was that night. “Just sit with me for a few minutes.” I curled up, seducing him with my catlike pose, desperate to connect with him to make sure I was still Lucy Hastings, the sweet girl who was not as naughty as she suspected.

He swayed back in the chair and exhaled, looking past me at the alarm clock on my dresser. “I can’t believe how late it is.” He massaged his forehead, doubling over in his chair. “The crane at the site stopped working. What a nightmare.”

I patted the bed. “Come here and tell me all about it.”

He met my eye. “It was a headache, but it gave me a great story idea. Just give me a half hour to get this down.” He turned back to his desk and fired up his laptop. His shoulders tensed, his hand raked through his messy hair while he waited for his laptop to come alive.

I faced this the way I always did. I rolled over and let him write.

Then, I streamed through visions of Hope wearing her tight running shirt, nipples poking through, my fingers circling them. One thought led to another and before long I curled up in a wet mess for the second time that day, bucking silently under the covers with a boyfriend not more than fifteen feet away completely clueless, involved in his own fantasy world of aliens and planet wars, and no doubt cranes flying through the night sky plucking up unsuspecting human beings along the way.

~

I woke up early the next morning to finish folding the clothes I’d left in the dryer.  I stood at the folding table in the laundry room, unmade, dressed in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, knowing Hope wouldn’t be up for at least another hour. I ascertained that my fantasies about her the entire day before were normal given the circumstances.

I folded Adam’s shirts and thought hard about what a great guy he was. He focused and tackled things. He was just a guy who was really passionate and understood the importance of doing and not just talking about doing. I admired this. Who was I to stand in the way? His actions were not personal. If I were in his shoes, I’d expect the same common courtesy and space to get this book off the ground.

I planned to wake him up that morning wearing nothing more than the pair of red undies I was holding up between my fingers.  I stretched them between my two fingers and admired the beauty of the lace and the sexy string that fastened the front to the back. I bought them at one of those “naughty girl” parties. I wore them under my dress pants from time to time just to feel sexy, alive, like a woman in control. To the students, I was Miss Conservative in black, tailored pants and a button down shirt. To myself, I was an empowered girl with secret red hot undies. This shameless act boasted my confidence. A trick I learned back in the days of debate when men in stuffy suits doled out tough questions that would make most students want to crawl under the podium.

Just as I was holding them up, inspecting them like a rare jewel, Hope barged into the room, wearing her running tights and a pink tank top that revealed her perky breasts.

The two of us stared at my red undies as if they were going to explode.

“I was up early and heard you down here,” she said, in a voice not more than a whisper. “I just wanted to see if you were interested in running today?” Her face flushed a light shade of pink.

I stuffed the undies under one of Adam’s dress shirts. “Yeah, hmmm,” I tossed the basket on my hip. “Half an hour?”

“Sure,” she said, the natural tone returning to her face. She dropped her eyes to my basket, to the red blur under the white dress shirt and smiled. “They’re adorable.”

I don’t think my heart beat that fast even after running five miles uphill.

Chapter Seven

Later that day, after I returned home from taking one hell of an exam, I did something totally out of character, completely dishonorable, absolutely terrible.

I snuck into Hope’s room and did the unthinkable.

Carried by sheer obsession, I drifted right to her dresser. Her journal was no longer there. A decent person would’ve turned on her heel and marched right out of that room thanking God for the gift of intervention. Not me. I hunted for it. I opened her dresser drawers and poked around nighties, undies, bras, socks, until finally I uncovered it from under a pair of running shorts.

I stood staring at it for quite some time, being that no one was due home for hours. I could run around the big, empty house naked if I so desired. I choose instead to sit down with her journal on her unmade bed.

I examined its velvet scuffmarks, its white pages bumped up by a paperclip that I imagined bookmarked her latest entry. I pressed her inner secrets to my chest and argued with myself, debating the obvious with some logic and refuting this with selfish philosophies grounded in dangerous obsession, piqued interest. This debate raged on for a good ten minutes. I sank into the comfort of her musk, surrounded by her sheets, and in this time crafted a deal. I could read that most current entry if, and only if, I agreed not to read any others that she wrote before it. This somehow resonated as justifiable in my euphoric brain.

Disoriented and drunk on temptation, I capsized.

“God forgive me,” I said out loud before I opened to the paperclip, to that exact spot of that morning’s entry.

October 23

Dear Journal,

I love red undies.

I just know I will have only one thing on my mind all day long today while I’m keeping company with my promotional campaigns and invoices – Lucy prancing around in those little red undies, her hair bouncing around her shoulders along for the joy ride.

Damn, I’ll never be able to walk past a Victoria’s Secret store EVER again without thinking of her now. I wonder how many pairs of those lacy racy undies she owns. Adam is so lucky, and I hope he knows it. Damn, what I would give to watch her prance around my bedroom geared up looking all hot in a pair.

She may be straight on the outside, but if my gut is right, which it always is, I’d guess that she is slightly curious.

It’s thoughts like this that get me into trouble, though.

Fantasies. Harmful? Not harmful? I’m still not sure. Regardless, I can’t give them up. She’s just too irresistible.

I’d love to see her with highlights in her hair. Hmmm.

Yeah… This isn’t good.

I’m hoping I can report back at the end of the day that I’ve got my senses back under control because right now, I’m slush.

I’m off to think about a certain beauty in red lace.

Until tomorrow… or whenever my next emotional download takes place.

Hope

I lowered the cover to its rightful spot, covering the private pages of Hope’s most inner secrets.

A girl had two choices to make after learning someone’s secret. She could absorb it, let it marinate for a bit, then dig a hole and bury it or she could poke at it, see how it stirred under her touch, fill it with her breath, manipulate it with her love.

What choice did I have seeing I had stolen this secret?

~

Half an hour later, I stared at a sea of dye in the hair aisle at Rite Aid. The beautiful women gracing the boxes promised shimmery results full of rich, depth-defying hair. I picked up a box of strawberry blonde. The woman with hair only a few shades lighter than my mousy brown, smiled back at me.

I’d bet my life, Hope would love this color.

I carried my box to the register line, excited to experiment.  I tossed in a package of breath mints, too.

When it was my turn to cash out, the clerk, a middle-aged woman with caramel colored waves and red-painted finger nails, examined my hair color box. “Careful with these boxed colors, hon. My daughter’s a hairdresser and she says she gets people running into her shop all the time with fried, brassy hair because of them.”

I suddenly felt foolish. “It’s not for me.” I shot my eyes down to my wallet, praying she’d just get on with her end of the job and leave her judgments out of the exchange.

By the time I got back home, the fog cleared out of my brain. Hope would totally know I snooped if I suddenly surprised her with blonde streaks. See, this was what addiction did to a person. It turned her all loopy and dumb.

I tossed the box in the trash.

HOPE

I would always remember when I first fell in love with Lucy Hastings. It was the same day I found her in the laundry room holding up her red undies. She had asked me to join her for a workout in the basement that night.

I met her in the rec room where she had already started in on a Zumba DVD. The rest of the gang, her boyfriend, included, were tucked away oblivious to the tantric beat, the swaying hips, the shaking going on in that basement.

She had dimmed the lights to soft amber. She was shaking a set of Zumba barbells, mamboing in front of the television like a dancer straight out of a Broadway musical. Her timing was impeccable, her rhythm flawless, her sexual energy magnetic.

When she spotted me, she didn’t squander her sensual flow or blush a dozen shades of red, but rather, she bathed me a confident, sweet smile, inviting me to join in to her musical liberation.

Swept up in everything beautiful and affirming, I danced my way over to her.

I shimmied beside her, hypnotized by her tantalizing moves, her gyrating hips, her soft flowing hair, her flushed cheeks, her happy heart. She transported me to the hot islands of the Caribbean and the exotic beaches of South America, displaying a new side, a sensual side that vibrated the air around her with a wildly infectious, unbridled enthusiasm. We danced, we giggled, we shared seductive moves, and at the end of the routine, we collapsed breathless on the mat, her shimmering body within inches of mine.

We didn’t stop there. Because she looked over at me, her lips glistening, and said, “Let’s have a drink.”

We rose to our feet, ventured to the other side of the basement and she poured us a tall beer on tap and a shot of Sambuca.

Holding up her shot glass, she said, “Here’s to more Zumba.” We clanked shot glasses and shot the Sambuca back. Sweet and sugary as licorice, it warmed me instantly and drove away the nagging irks of reason, of reticence.

“Where’s Adam?”

She chugged her beer. “Out with his work friends. He people-watches for character ideas.” She chugged some more, then plowed through the cabinet and dug out a bag of pretzels. She crunched down on a few before saying, “He’s very diligent about his writing career.”

“Of course.” I dug in to the bag myself, and she did, too. Our hands brushed as our fingers grabbed the pretzels. A sizzle shot through me.

Her eyes flickered.  Then she poured us another shot. I didn’t argue. I shot it back just as quickly as I did the first one, warmed to its flavor, to its buzz, to the way it erased everything but the moment.

“You’re a really good dancer,” I said.

“We can keep going if you want.” Her eyes teased, her lips pouted ever so slightly, her right hip arched forward serving as a perfect support for her hand.

I sipped more beer, enticed by her invite. My logic evaporating by the second, replaced by the sudden need to hold her, caress her, kiss her. “I’m not arguing.”

She reached for the Sambuca again and before I could blink we chased down our third shot with the rest of our beer. Then, she reached for my hand and led me back to our mat. My hand puttied in hers, while the rest of me trembled to a vibe all its own.

Instead of the DVD, she headed straight for the Latin music channel and began swaying her lovely hips again, taunting me with her prowess. I moved to her beat, melted to the sight of her wrapped up in her own musical world. Eyes lowered, hands grazing her hips, she blended into the song like it was composed for her moves.

Completely swept into her space, I circled around her and traced her bumps, her grinds, her whirring. She sealed the gap, taking my hands and pressing them on her hips. We rocked in sync, her body pressed against mine, her hair blanketing my face in everything sultry. I breathed in her delicate scent, and she softened in my arms, flexible to my lead, responsive to my beat, comfortable in my arms.

She tipped back and settled on me for a flash, seducing me, tempting me, urging me to pull her even closer. My heart rushed along with the urgency of the Salsa beat, sealing my breaths, and holding me captive to everything Lucy.

And then, as we circled, the needle of righteousness scratched across our music and stopped us cold, mid grind. Standing at the bottom of the steps was Hana. She caught us. She caught us dancing like two women free to be dancing as one.

“Oh gosh,” she said.

Lucy pounced away from me.

Instantly my head cleared, drained of the Sambuca’s numbing spell.

Hana covered her mouth with her hands as usual, her eyes wide like silver dollars. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I wanted to yell at her and tell her to wipe the stupid expression off her face and grow up to the fact that there’s a whole world out there that she should be enjoying instead of viewing it through her scrawny hands.

Lucy ran over to her. “We were just dancing. Hope was showing me how to dance the Salsa.”

“It’s okay.” She nodded her head up and down like a bobble head. “You don’t have to explain. You were dancing. I just saw you dancing.”

“Want to try?” Lucy spoke like she was talking to a child instead of a grown woman.

Hana shook her head violently. “No, I don’t dance.” She pulled her bottom lip in tight closing in on herself, closing up the shutters to life. She stood at the foot of our sensual boudoir and robbed us of pleasure, stunk up the room with her boring, virginal shit. I wanted her to disappear.

“You should have a drink with us. Do you want a drink?” Lucy’s words slurred slightly.

“No,” she rushed her hands up to her face again.

She annoyed the crap out of me. “Did you need something down here?”

“I was looking for Lucy.” Her face stretched, her eyes bounced around me as if afraid to land.  She turned back to Lucy, “Your car is blocking mine and I need to leave really early in the morning. I didn’t want to disturb you that early.”

“I’ll go out and move it now.” Lucy harped on this excuse to flee like someone offered her the one and only flight off an air-born diseased island. She turned back to me. “Let’s take tomorrow off from running.”

“Sure, no problem.”

The two of them shot up the stairs, and I walked back to the bar and poured myself another shot.

~

After I went for my own morning run I arrived in the kitchen, and Lucy was cooking a couple of eggs at the stove. She looked down at them, then looked up at me, then looked back at the eggs. When she made another round and looked back up at me I started to speak, but she interrupted me with a flag of the spatula and forged on first. “How about some eggs?”

“That’d be great.” I eased onto the stool.

She scooped up the eggs with one coordinated twist of the spatula, lifted a plate from the drying rack, and plopped them onto it. “Here you go.” She slid the plate in front of me with a smile that mirrored the sunny-side-up eggs.

She doused the skillet with more spray oil and cracked open a couple more eggs.  “How was your run?”

“Tough,” I said mid chew. Then, taking the opportunity to slide into nonchalant conversation about the night before, “I should’ve chugged some water before heading out. I was a bit dehydrated to say the least.”

“Oh, yes, I bet. I always feel dehydrated first thing in the morning, too.” She poked her egg yolk with the tip of the spatula. “It’s a beautiful morning out there, isn’t it?” She said this like a diner cook, poking and prodding the eggs while carrying on filler dialogue with a customer.

“Sure is. You missed a good one.”

She flicked her eggs onto a plate, dug out a fork from the drawer and then, “Would you mind cleaning up for me?”

“Of course not.”

“Good, I’m in a rush. I’m going to eat these on the run.” She rushed out of the kitchen. “Have a great day.”

She pounced away from me so I had to yell back, “You, too.”

A few minutes later, after I swallowed the last bite of eggs, Adam walked into the kitchen, his hair in its usual fun flips, his button-down shirt tucked haphazardly into his khakis as if he dressed in the dark. “Hey,” he nodded to me on his way to the coffee pot.

“Hey,” I nodded back.

He poured coffee into a travel mug, then he kicked his head back and clicked his tongue. “Damn it. I forgot to ask Lucy to drop off my shirts.” He dashed around the counter. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go and wake her up.”

“She already left.”

His mouth flew open to speak, but he seemed to trip over his thoughts. “Huh. That’s right. See, that’s how much my brain isn’t working this morning.” His eyebrows furrowed.

I chuckled along with him for a few seconds to aid him with transitioning back into nonchalant Adam.

“Eh, the drycleaners is on my way anyway.” He poured some creamer into his coffee. His face softened back to cool and collected. “I have to say, I really hate going to work.”

“Is it really that bad?” I asked, rhetorically, still caught up on how he didn’t know that Lucy had already gotten up, showered and gone off to campus.

He stirred sugar into the coffee and looked up at me with strained eyes the color of olives. “I’ll be sitting in back to back meetings all day with a bunch of super-hyped engineers talking about loads and capacities and shit like that.”

“Sounds better than what I’ll be doing. I’ve got a stack of analysis reports to deal with and not to mention meetings with a bunch of knuckleheads who talk in acronyms.” I climbed off the stool and headed to the sink with my plate. “So, I hear you.”

“It’s such a rat race. I can’t wait until I’m out of it.”

“When you’ve got an escape plan, fill me in.” I doused my plate in suds and scrubbed it clean. “How’s your next book coming along, anyway?”

He rolled his eyes and sighed like a man carrying the burden of ten kids and a pregnant wife. “I hit a snag and it’s frustrating me. I just wish I could quit my job and focus solely on writing. It’d quicken the process and get me and Lucy on the road to freedom a lot sooner. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to get out of this situation in five years.”

“So where’s this road to freedom headed?”

“Somewhere far removed from here, that’s for sure. This chaos is crushing my creativity. I picture a small house on top of a mountain maybe somewhere in the Carolinas.”

Lucy would fizzle up and die in such an environment. “Huh, I didn’t picture Lucy to be the reclusive type.” I imagined her balled up on a couch, hugging her knees to her lonely heart, crying, aching from no contact other than the small dribbles Adam might offer her in between scenes.

He looped his strap over his shoulder and with a broad smile said, “It’s our dream.”

This guy might’ve been adorable, but he was so idealistic and clueless. I just shrugged.

“Once sales pick up, it’ll happen. I’m hoping soon. I have my first one for sale on Sloot. I’ve already got ten sales this month.”

“Ten. Wow.” I tried my best to sound impressed.

“It’s a start. I’m optimistic.”

I really hoped his writing sucked for Lucy’s sake. “I still want to check it out.”

The boyish grin returned. “That’d be awesome.” He stood for a moment tapping his finger to his shoulder strap as if waiting on words to arrive. “Remind me to get you a copy.” Then he walked away just as his girlfriend did, with a pounce and a yell back over his shoulder to have a great day.

~

That day at work, I received an email from Reina with a link to a dating site. “I’m still working on getting you a hot date, but until then, check this out.”

I clicked and entered a site where women with gleaming smiles encouraged me to click on their profiles and learn how they might turn my world upside down. Candidate after candidate droned on about how they enjoyed romantic walks on the beach, long afternoon naps, and sushi on the waterfront. Not one of them mentioned how much they enjoyed training for a 10K, breaking out into yoga poses or swaying her hips in unison with another to a sexy Salsa beat.

I clicked off that site and decided to punish myself further by stalking Ryan’s Facebook again to see if he left any more posts about righteousness or if he and his new best friends were planning a vacation together. What I read affected me far worse.

Apparently, Ryan opened his own photography studio? Ryan Albert Studios already had four hundred fans? He already rolled out two weddings and the Heritage Festival? How did all of this happen already? And why was PJ commenting on his album of dog portraits, telling him how happy she was for him and that he better gear up his camera for the baby’s arrival?

This set me off.

The rest of the day sucked. My boss threw data entry project on top of data entry project at me and expected me to finish it all by four o’clock that afternoon. Monica, the loud-mouthed bitch in the cube next to me slurped her yogurt extra loudly, then turned to a bag of extra crispy potato chips to ease her tension from her crazy workload. On top of that when I got home at seven o’clock that night after getting stuck in a five mile backup and having to pee like no one’s business, I walked in on Lucy curled up on Adam’s lap doting on him with a deep, longing kiss. Hana appeared in the living room doorway at the same time and of course she pecked away like an annoying finch, scrambling to get away. Did the girl not have any social life outside these grand walls? Sweet only got a person so far. After too long, that sweet innocence was bound to aggravate the shit out of someone.

I cleared my throat and Lucy finally came up for air and offered me pity in the way of her crooked smile. “Hey you,” she said, her hand still cradling the back of Adam’s giraffe neck. He looked stoned with his eyes half shut and bloodshot.

I stood there with no right to be jealous. “Sorry.” I raised up my hand and then scooted by them. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

Not even a polite ‘Oh don’t worry about anything. You’re not interrupting.’ Nope, Just a long silent span of time as I thumped my shoeless feet across the floor. I climbed the steps with gusto, beating the rotten day out of me. And, when I finally got to my room, I slammed the door and felt great about that.

Just about the time I tied the string to my sweatpants and knotted my hair in a ponytail, someone knocked on my door. “Can I come in?” Lucy called out to me.

I didn’t want to see her at that moment. “I’m really tired. Do you mind if we just catch up tomorrow on our run?”

“Are you okay?”

I just wanted to be left alone.

“Hope? Please open the door.”

I resigned and opened it. “Come in.” I flagged her in.

She ran her finger down my cheek. “You look really stressed.”

I leaned into her touch. “It’s just been one of those days. One thing after the other just pissed me off and,” I shook my head, and her finger fell. “I just want to go to sleep and wake up and forget the whole thing.”

Her eyes penetrated me. “I’m a good listener.” She swooped in and cradled my arm.

I melted into her caress. “It’s just work crap. Annoying Betty was at it again today with her snacking. Bill expected twenty hours of work to be crammed into five hours. You know the deal there. Just…” I blew out some air, “just a crazy day.”

I honed in on the work problems instead of shedding light on how terrible I felt about my crappy life, and on the jealous rage brewing in me after seeing her loving up to Adam. All of it just reminded me how pathetic I was to even think of her in any other capacity than Adam’s girlfriend. What did I expect? To gut my husband, walk away, steal someone away from another great guy, fall in love with her and live happily ever after? Grit doesn’t just wash away in one rainstorm. It took years of torrential storms pelting the layers over and over again before it would disappear far enough away from the spot where all hell originally broke loose. By the time that happened, Ryan would be a grandfather, toting a head full of gray hair and digging into his retirement funds.

“Want to go run now?” Lucy asked.

Her hand still embraced my arm, and I couldn’t breathe when she pulled me in to her space, even if it was just an inch or two. “It’s really dark out there.”

“So, we’ll wear reflective vests. I’ve got a couple.”

And just like always, I couldn’t resist. The grit temporarily relinquished its coating on the ground under my feet. “That might be just what I need.”

Two miles into our run Lucy filled me in on something that made me kind of happy. She said Adam was feeling sorry for himself when she got home from class, and had gotten drunk. He was upstairs at his laptop crying, carrying on about how his dream wasn’t coming true the way he planned. He had sold only ten copies of his book that month. “He cried like someone died, like someone told him he had a month left to live. It was terrible. I brought him downstairs and got him some water to sober a little. He just blabbered on about how he needs to sell a thousand books a month to make enough to live our dream. Sometimes he just drives me crazy with all this book writing nonsense.”

“He looked pretty banged up.”

She glanced at me, keeping her pace still. “Can I tell you a secret?”

My blood pressure spiked at the mention. “Of course.”

“I sank when you caught me kissing him.”

I stopped, no longer able to draw a clear breath. “Why?”

She offered me a coy smile, and then turned serious. “I feel crowded by his pointless dreams. Like, I’ll never be able to move forward because he’ll never be satisfied. Even if he sold one thousand books, he’ll say he needs two thousand. I don’t know what to do for him. So, I kissed him to shut him up.”

“Seemed to work.”

“For now.”

We stood in the shadows of the streetlight, the perfect romantic backdrop. She worried about her boyfriend, and I wondered what she’d do if I just pulled her into my arms and started making out with her right then and there.

“It is really dark out here,” she said, peeking up above our heads at the Orion belt.

I moved in closer this time, mesmerized by how her hair still shone even in the dark. “It sure is.”

She looked away from the starry sky and into my eyes. “We should probably head back and make sure Adam’s okay.”

“Do you always do that?”

“Do what?” she asked.

“Put yourself aside for him?”

She snapped out of her dreamy state and stood taller. A thousand arguments spilled across her face, her mouth opened, her eyes flashed, her body tensed with the weight of bottled up frustrations.

 “Say what’s on your mind,” I pleaded with her.

She trembled, now hugging her chest, cautioning me not to push her.

“Yell at me. Do something. Don’t just stand there and take shit from me if you don’t want to.”

Big tears rolled down her cheeks. “Why don’t you just mind your own business,” she said so low I hardly heard her.

I watched her shaking, bellowing air in and out. I pulled her in for a hug, wanting to be the savior for once instead of the bad one. “Didn’t that feel good?”

She sniffled. She murmured into my shoulder. Then, she backed up and met my gaze. “I don’t do this. This whole confrontational thing. It always makes me feel uncomfortable and ungrateful.” She tilted her head back, caught sight of the stars again, then landed back on me. This time the sparkle returned to her eyes and a small smile lifted her cheeks just so. “But with you it feels kind of refreshing. It feels real.”

I exhaled. “That’s how it should feel.”

She leaned on her side, relaxed. “I could learn a lot from you.”

I put an arm around her shoulder and led us back towards the house. “Yeah, I’m probably not the best role model in the world. But, I can take a blow every now and then to help out a friend.”

She leaned her head into my shoulder and allowed me to comfort her. “Well, I appreciate it, my friend.”

Our friendship label served to free us to enjoy the comfort of being so close. We walked the rest of the way, her allowing my arm to cradle her shoulder, lost in our own thoughts. I’d never been so profoundly comfortable with silence before.

LUCY

My sister, Julie, stood in front of me with her Coach bag dangling from her forearm wearing a pretty Ann Taylor dress. Her freshly highlighted hair bounced off her shoulders, keeping equal pace with her heiress vibe. “Andrew is getting another promotion. Can you believe that?”

I continued gathering my keys, my wallet, grinding my teeth, dreading the next two hours of hell that sprawled like a battleground of landmines in front of me. “Great for him.” I walked past her and her Estee Lauder perfume. “I’ll be just a second. I need to use the bathroom.”

“Is Ralph home? I need to pick his brain about kettle bell.”

“He’s in the basement working out.” I scurried into the bathroom and closed the door, nesting in five minutes of safety until I had to face her again.

I sat on the edge of the sink and fiddled with a reply text to my niece who had asked me if she could come up for the weekend and hang with me. I asked her what she did about the bully at school. She said nothing. I asked her to elaborate. She said I haven’t been back. I saw this and immediately headed to my sister. I marched towards the basement where I could hear her flirting with Ralph. She was swinging a kettle bell between her skirted legs.

“Oh hey,” she said rising up, her texturized layers following in perfect order. “I might have to steal this guy from you all.”

Ralph rolled his eyes at me. “It’s a basic move, Julie. Just search for it on Youtube.” He walked away and back up the stairs.

Julie placed the kettle bell at her feet. “That Ralph is such a flirt.” She pranced up the stairs after him.

I picked up the kettle bell and put it back where it belonged before one of us broke our necks over it.

I’d deal with her later when she wasn’t tramping over Ralph.

Later, as the two of us posed in front of a photographer for a birthday gift to our mother, I thought about how to bring up this issue with my niece without stirring up a firestorm. The photographer was changing lenses when I finally said, “How’s Angie?”

She rolled her eyes.  “She’s a typical teenager, that’s how she is. She doesn’t listen, doesn’t talk, doesn’t eat half her meals.”

“Why don’t you let her come up for a weekend? I can talk with her. See what’s going on.”

She laughed, bucked her head back like I told her I wanted to be a rocket scientist now. “She’s so different. She’s way past pleasing with a milkshake and coloring.”

“I know that. She talks to me.”

She flicked her pale eyes. “Don’t let her fool you. She tells you what she thinks you want to hear. That’s how teens are.”

“She told me she hasn’t been to school in a while.”

Her face whitened. Her jaw clenched. Her hands tightened into fists. And then she masked this by sprouting her usual wry smile. “She’s playing you.” Her cheeks stretched out way beyond normal as if plastered and molded specifically for these moments when the rest of her was backpedaling to gain balance.

I wanted to bark back at her and tell her I knew more about her daughter than she did. I wanted to ask her if she knew that her ex-friend Jessica tripped her last month in front of a whole gang of other students. I wanted to ask her if she knew how much not taking piano lessons bothered her. I wanted to ask her if she knew that she had already sketched out the yin yang tattoo she would get the day she turned eighteen. I wondered if she even knew that she wanted to be a vet someday and has wanted that ever since she helped save a dog crossing a busy intersection.

“So, she is still going to school?”

“Of course she’s going to school,” she said. “What kind of mother do you think I am?”

She winked at the photographer who was now pointing his finger up for our cue. Her smile pained me more than it probably pained her to keep it propped on her face like a wall hanging. I felt sorry for her.

“Okay ladies. I’m going to ask you to scoot a little closer.” He tilted my head closer to hers and then recommended she soften her smile a little. He clicked shot after shot of us as if determined to get one where we looked happy to be sisters. After about ten minutes of this, he gave up and told us he’d call when the proofs were ready to be viewed.

Chapter Eight

HOPE

I drifted into the next few days torn between gratitude and dejection. On one hand, Lucy treated me like any good friend would treat another. She showered me with respectful smiles and nods and the occasional playful tap to the arm when I said something silly. Then, there was the issue with that solid line, black as a moonless night and thick as the Great Wall of China, which separated us and reminded me that I had no rights to her in any other form than friendship.

Ryan would’ve loathed me even more had he been the one to catch me and Lucy enjoying our provocative dance. Wherever I focused, be it an ad layout, a water bottle, a tree, I kept seeing his lip curl up in disgust, his eyes gloss over in hatred for me. Well, he’d be happy to know that the balance in the universe did restore itself and I was getting exactly as I deserved, a no-access pass to love.

~

In the days that followed my friendly night run with Lucy, I dodged a call from PJ inviting me to dinner with her and Rachel. I listened to Reina drone on about how her family kept telling her she should continue onto medical school instead of settling on chef assistant at La Madame French Café and Bakery. Hana drove me freaking nuts with her flitting eyes bouncing on everything but me whenever we’d pass by each other. I wanted to scream, ‘It was just a dance!’ Ralph whined about all his pathetic clients who never listened to his advice. Adam, oh Adam, he rubbed me the wrong way with his constant need to make it known that he was a writer. He bragged about his sales, yet I knew the truth about his concerns.

Then, Lucy herself.

Oh Lucy. For three nights in a row, I fantasized about her. And on our freezing cold runs the mornings after, when she acted as though I was just another friend tacked onto the most recent span of her life, I pretended like I didn’t notice the alluring swing of her hips, the soft curve inward of her waist, the tease of her long hair flirting with her sculpted back.

On the third morning, the sun peeked out above the trees and the branches glistened from the morning dew. The mid-November temperature had climbed to forty-five degrees. We were approaching a small park in the center of our gated community. She veered off to a bench overlooking a small fountain where geese were enjoying a morning swim.  “Let’s sit and enjoy this for a few minutes,” she said.

We sat on the damp bench a mere half a foot from one another. The air smelled like a garden fresh cucumber. An old man stood across the pond and tossed bread at the geese. They quacked and flapped their wings, overjoyed by this simple, yet profound, gesture.

“My sister came to visit the other day,” Lucy said. “She’s something else. Each time she makes an appearance, I get a little queasier. She’s got this habit of digging at me. It’s like she has to prove to me that she’s better.” Lucy squinted.  “You know?”

“Your sister sounds like a pain in the ass.”

Lucy chuckled. “I love how you’re so bold.”

“What did she do this time?”

“My niece is so lost right now, and my sister refuses to acknowledge it’s more than teenaged angst.”

“Why do you think she’s so lost?”

“Julie fails to highlight her good points. Instead she focuses on all her negatives.”

“What are some of her good points?”

“I’ve never seen a person calm a crazy dog before like Angie. My mother’s neighbor has this insane dog that barks at the wind when it blows too hard. She drives everyone crazy and scares the shit out of my mother. Well, Angie went out to throw away some garbage and next thing you know, she’s on the other side of the fence, playing fetch with this dog. This happens with all dogs. They submit to her. My sister refuses to nurture this. Instead she throws her into ballet classes.”

The old man across the pond stooped down and tried to hand feed a couple of geese to no avail. He rose and waved at us. I waved back, and asked Lucy, “Why do you think your sister ignores this side of her?”

“She’s probably got some hidden fear of dogs. Dogs can sense auras.”

“Fear is so useless.” I plucked up a stone from the ground and skimmed it across the pond. It bucked several times before disappearing into the algae.

“I wish I was bolder like you so I could go up to her and speak my mind.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Of course, then I wouldn’t be able to sleep for weeks because I’d feel bad.”

“You’re so afraid to tell people how it is. Sometimes people need that, even if it hurts.” I skimmed another rock to near perfection.

“So starting a war is okay, you’re saying?”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying at all. There’s an art behind confronting conflict. If you spin it in just the right way, you’ll gain the upper hand and still allow the other person to walk away with her pride in place.”

She stared at me like I just rattled off a physics formula too intense and long to fit on a double blackboard. “I don’t want to gain an upper hand on her. I’d just like to be level.”

This was what I loved about Lucy; this need to bring out the best in people rather than the worst. “Sometimes the only way she’ll see the light is if you throw her off balance by an inch or two.”

“How?” she asked.

I faced her. “Start with knowing what your goal is. So, in this case, you want your niece to indulge in what she loves, but for that to happen her mother needs to cooperate. So, your goal is to get your sister to view you as an ally and not a threat so she’ll really listen to what you have to say.”

“She’s never viewed me as an ally. She really doesn’t like me.”

“Why? Did you set her hair on fire when you were kids?”

“I told on her and she’s never forgiven me for that.”

Lucy was so sweet and innocent I wanted to squeeze her. Instead, I reached for her hand and caressed it. “So, you’re a tattle tale?”

“Yup,” she said.  “When we were kids, my mom adored Julie and all her talents. She played the flute better than I did. She sang prettier than I did. Her hair didn’t knot up like mine did. She baked better than I did. She flattered my mom better than I did. I stood in her shadow and never measured up. Julie could do no wrong in my mother’s eyes.”

“But she did,” she continued. “She stole coins from my mom’s jar. She snuck in and sprayed herself with my mom’s expensive perfume before school. She broke my mom’s favorite glass elephant. She skipped school and would hang out in our attic and smoke weed. And she would blame me for all of this, and my mom would believe her. I didn’t bother to defend myself, because Julie always threatened that the day I did that would be the day she’d do something really bad and blame me.

Then one day, I wised up. I started filming her screwing up with things that I was constantly being blamed for like the smoking in the attic and eating all the snacks in our cupboards. Then, after Julie accidentally busted one of my mother’s prized vases and blamed me again, I brought out the proof and finally showed my mother how my sister had been dumping on me for her mistakes all along. It was the first and only time I’ve ever stood up to my sister. The tables turned pretty abruptly. To this day, my mother can’t trust her own daughter. And Julie’s never forgiven me, although she pretends to be above it all I think to show she’s in total control. And, I suppose I’ve never forgiven myself for taking all of my mother’s love.”

 I sank back, blanketed my forehead with my hands. “Wow. That explains a lot.”

“My sister needs attention more than I ever will. I took that away from her.”

I reached out and traced her cheek with the back of my hand. “Saving face isn’t always the solution.”

“It’s what I do.” She cupped her hand over mine and together we comforted her cheek.

“You’re too sweet.” My eyes drifted down to her pink moist lips. She licked them, pulling her bottom one in and biting it slightly. I twitched a little on that.

“Are we still talking about conflict here?” she asked.

I stole away from her lips and landed back on her sparkling eyes. In my peripheral view, I saw the old guy still wading by the pond’s edge feeding those darn geese like he was their caretaker for crying out loud. “We don’t have to talk about anything.”

“What’s it like?” she said, pulling me back to her, hooking her eyes onto mine.

“What?” The air circled around us like a whirlpool, pulling me in to its teasing vortex. My self-control slipped along with everything real, everything physical, everything that wasn’t soft and creamy and shimmering.

“What’s it feel like to kiss a girl?”

Forgetting all time and place, forgoing words to describe what could only be understood through experience, I did what I had ached to do since I stole glances at her in her cubicle back when we had first met. I closed my eyes, and slowly, gently, moved my face towards hers, stopping within a millimeter of her lips. Our breaths mingled. And that’s when I did it. I landed on her lips. I kissed her, softly, lingeringly, lovingly. Delicate passes, breathing in her warmth, her spirit, sharing this slice of time as of it was ours to share.

She pulled away first and moistened her lips again, this time with more gusto, a more defined goal to never forget the taste. “Kissing Adam will never be the same again.”

I kissed her soft, shimmering lips again, swept up in a current too strong to ignore. “Then don’t.”

She kissed me back, with more intensity, more passion. She showered me with another sultry sweep of her lips against mine. Then, “I don’t do this. I’m not a cheater.”

I wanted her to cheat.

I wanted her to tell me right then and there that she’d break up with Adam and change her life completely for me. That I’d no longer have to face the unknown alone, fantasizing in my bedroom late into the night about what she’d feel like in my arms. That I’d never have to deal with dating strangers I didn’t care to get to know. I just wanted her.

I pulled back and recognized the confusion stained across her eyes like a bruise. I ached knowing I put it there. “You’re not cheating. It was just a kiss.”

“Yes,” she reasoned. “Just a lovely kiss.” She stood, and stretched like we’d just had a long conversation about work and school and everything normal. “And, I thank you, my friend, for doing that for me.”

Rising up to the platonic challenge, I honed in on the ordinary, on the man across the pond still bent down hand feeding the geese and the dirt crunching beneath my sneakers. “Anytime, my friend.”

We gazed ahead and broke back into a light jog.

In the days that followed, she talked endlessly about her teaching kinks and about how much better things were getting between Adam and her ever since our chat about conflict and saving face.

She never once mentioned our kiss.

~

After our kiss, Lucy turned ultra-friendly and buddy-like with me. She talked about Adam constantly; about how he had been paying more attention to her because she started to pay more attention to him. She talked about this new chemistry as if it was something new to the dynamic of human relationships.  She obviously overstepped a boundary of hers by kissing me. And, I definitely didn’t want to go there and be that girl who got in the way. God knew I had enough karma mishap for one lifetime. So, I carried on about my days and nights as if we were just roommates who liked to run together. We chatted about innocuous subjects like how the ice would soon be forming and how Thanksgiving was just a few weeks away and how funny it was that they moved the daylight savings time back to November now.

I was stuck in the muck and in dire need of a lifesaver.

I arrived home from work one night and Lucy, Adam, and Reina were hanging out on the couch watching “Law and Order.” Lucy’s leg was draped on top of Adam and he didn’t seem to notice. He was wrapped up in reading his manuscript, his face contorted into a serious frown.

Reina popped up and, as customary whenever she wasn’t wearing two or three layers, propped a pillow on her belly. “I’ve got some good news.”

“You made lentils?” I shook my jacket off and hung it on the edge of the recliner. I plopped down, exhausted from the commute and the jerk who cursed at me because I accidentally swerved in his lane to avoid a plank of wood in the middle of mine.

“You keep trying to get those lentils on Wednesdays,” she said in her Indian accent. “But, no matter how many times you try, it’s never going to happen. Lentils are a weekend treat. Tonight’s BLTs.”

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t help my eyes from grazing over Lucy’s draped leg. Her skin shimmered, her calves toned to perfection. She watched me. I could feel her eyes on me. I pulsed to life.

“Do you want to know the good news or not?” Reina’s voice rose and fell in sing-song fashion.

“Sure.” I grazed Lucy’s curves, then looked to Adam who was reading his draft, red pen in hand, papers crinkling under the weight of his heavy fingers. He acknowledged me with a curt nod and a half smile.

Reina cleared her throat as if she was about to announce news that would save the world from ecological demise. “I’ve got you a date.” She folded her hands on her lap and stared at me with the adoring pride of a mother viewing her daughter on prom night.

My face burned, scalded in curiosity and fear of the unknown beast that might appear at my doorstep. “No,” I groaned. “I don’t know.”

“You can’t do that,” Reina said. “That’s not allowed. You already told me that if I found you a date, you’d go.”

“That was two months ago.”

“Even more reason you can’t back out of this. I had to pull many strings.”

I wasn’t ready to get out there and date real women with real potential to be my real girlfriend. I wasn’t interested in anyone else. “What if doesn’t work? Then, it’ll be awkward for you.”

“Oh come on.” She danced when she talked, swinging her arms wildly around the pillow on her lap. “She’s really cute, and she’s a med student. She’s been out for years and broke it off with a long-time girlfriend several months ago when she embarrassed her at a charity event by getting too drunk and making a fool of herself on the dance floor. She’s normal. Not some flake.”

I locked eyes with Lucy, searching for her pulse on this. “What do you think?”

She swallowed and sparred her fingers together in a mad match, tapping, flicking, circling them in a frenzy. “What do I think?”

“Why is this even a question?” Reina jumped to her feet. “Look at you. You’re a lonely fresh out of the closet lesbian who spends all of her time running or working. These are your best years right now. What are you waiting for? Until your hair turns gray and your skin starts to sag? The opportunity is right in front of you. Why the heck would you waste it? Not everyone gets your looks, your outgoing personality, your aura. You’re just going to waste it on us, here?”

I felt every struggle, stressor, and doubt she undoubtedly spent years burying. This poor girl needed a date herself. Not me. “What about you?” I asked. “The same is true for you.”

“I already told you that I don’t date. One day, my family will want the pleasure of finding me my husband when they start their talks in India. They’re just busy with their business right now to make the trip. But, when they do, I won’t rob them of that dream. But you, you don’t live by my customs. You need to get out there and find this person yourself by saying yes when I find you someone who is not only smoking hot, but really smart.” Reina’s temples pulsed and her skin broke out into a checkered rash along her hairline and her arms.

Lucy jumped in to protect her. “Hope, you should go.”

“Yes,” Reina said. “You really need to. I went out on a limb to set this up.”

You should go, she said. The matter-of-fact tone, the relaxed face, the intense grip on Adam’s free arm, all blocked off my access, warning me I’d better get a life of my own or else suffer inconsequential moments of supreme loneliness that she’d no longer be able to solve for me.

I darted my eyes back and forth from Reina to Lucy to Adam feeling rather foolish for making such a big deal out of a stupid date. “Fine, set the freaking thing up.”

Lucy fidgeted and stole her hand back. “You’ll probably have a great time. Maybe she’ll even be the one. And if not, maybe you’ll meet a new friend.”

I felt clobbered like she wanted me to find someone fast so I wouldn’t be tempted to hurdle myself over the great thick border that separated us ever again. “Maybe that’s exactly what I need.” I felt angry, bitter.

She exhaled, struggling. “Yes, I couldn’t agree more.”

What the fuck was happening here? The pleasant comfort we’d sewn up over the past two months unraveled in a matter of seconds. Her unleashing me into the wild like this told me one thing. I needed to get past these ridiculous feelings towards her and start focusing on a life I was free to live. “Fine,” I said to Reina. “Set it up as soon as you can.”

Adam sat back with a grin on his face analyzing us, probably conjuring up material for his next scene.

LUCY

The days leading up to Hope’s blind date killed me. She acted all excited whenever she talked about it. She was taking her date to an Indian restaurant. They would eat, then go for a walk on the Lake in Columbia. A band would be playing on the waterfront and she planned to bring some wine for later. This date was just what she needed. Yup, that’s what she told me when she walked down the stairs looking like she had just stepped off the set of a Hollywood blockbuster movie.

So, to save my face a little, I bragged about how Adam was going to take me out that night for sushi and how he might even take me dancing after that. Of course none of this was true, but I couldn’t stand to hear her carry on about her fun night ahead, rubbing it in like salt crystals to an open wound, mocking me for being forced into agreeing that this was exactly what she needed.

I was a jealous fool and had a really bad feeling about the whole thing.

When she walked out the door, I immediately went up to our room and begged Adam to take me out for sushi.

“I’m not in the mood to deal with the crowds on a Friday night, hon. Ralph said he got enough takeout for us if we wanted. Let’s just eat that.”

I stormed out of our room. Two minutes later, I propped on the stool in front of the breakfast bar and ate cold fried rice straight from the carton.  I stabbed the rice and shoveled it in my mouth, angry at the world for turning me into a silent dud.

The day I came home from kissing Hope, I vowed to myself that I’d confront him the next time he pissed me off. Yeah, that went well. Right away, he had asked me to have lunch with his mother the following weekend and I told him I didn’t feel like it without him being there. He insisted. Instead of fighting him on the issue, I caved and agreed.

I hated fighting even about something as trivial as dining with his mother. I bet Hope would stand an inch from his face and not back down from her wants.

Whenever I’d tried to argue a point, my mouth just sort of clammed shut and my brain forgot how to reason and form solid irrefutable facts. And without a viable argument, I backed down. It was just easier for me to give in and move forward than get stuck fighting about something as stupid as lunch. There were worse things people had to deal with on this planet than eating crab cakes with their future mother in laws.

I started to resent Adam because I couldn’t stand up for myself to him. I was jealous of Hope and her freedom. She could do whatever the heck she wanted and didn’t have to answer to a soul. She worried only about herself, and when she didn’t agree with something, she said so. I admired that. I admired everything about her. And, deep down, I feared someone would latch onto that really quickly and steal her away from me and this house and leave me alone with Adam and his balled up drafts of stories that no one read.

~

Three hours into Hope’s blind date, with a boyfriend who was a floor above me, I paced the floor with no right to wear that carpet thin with my worry. But, I did anyway. Back and forth I walked wondering, was she having fun? Were they laughing? Was the girl flipping her hair around, making Hope dizzy with lust? Was Hope kissing her with the same intensity she did me? Would I ever get to kiss her again?

When I saw her headlights four hours and seventeen minutes after she first left for the date, I wanted to run out the front door and end this stress. Instead, I chose to be cool, calm, and collected and retreated to my bathroom upstairs, so I wouldn’t appear as desperate as I felt. I passed Adam at his desk, pounding his fingers away as if the words would dismiss him if he didn’t. I closed myself in and sat still against the counter, waiting for the right moment to nonchalantly walk out, down the hall, and down the stairs as if I hadn’t noticed she arrived home.

Not more than thirty seconds later, I did just that. I even stuck my ear buds in for effect. I bounced my way down the stairs to the Beastie Boys. I caught the edge of Hope’s silhouette in the kitchen. She was downing some water. Her black hair hung loose at her shoulders. I walked into the kitchen and acted surprised to see her home so soon. “Hey, so how did the mystery date go?”

She downed more water, and eyed me as she swallowed her last gulp. Her eyes were still smoky, sultry. She smelled like vanilla musk. She wore a low cut sweater that showed off her cleavage and her toned waist. She sighed. “It was actually better than I thought.”

“Oh, really?” I withered.

She opened the dishwasher, placed her glass in it. “She was actually decent and witty.”

I pictured a beautiful girl made up to perfection with a body that rivaled the models in Vogue. “Are you going to get to see her again?”

“I don’t know.” Hope shook her head as she stretched her eyes the full length of my body. “Maybe, maybe not.”

I hung onto maybe not like it was a rescue board and I was the drowning victim. “What was wrong with her?”

“Not a damned thing.” She picked up her wallet for the counter and headed out of the kitchen. “Sweet dreams.”

“You, too,” I called out after her.

“Oh, they always are.” Her voice bounced off the empty foyer and landed like a thud at my feet.

~

So, I thought I had this whole sneaky business with reading Hope’s journal behind me. Well, surprise, surprise. I didn’t.

I couldn’t sleep a wink. I tossed around beside Adam like a flea, pinging this way and that, unsettled in this new territory of kissing girls and wondering what this ‘said girl’ was thinking and doing every second of the day.

This was so wrong, verging on the level of white collar crime wrong, but I just couldn’t help myself, again. Who was this decent and witty girl, and why was Hope being so aloof about her?

I needed to know.  So, what did I do once everyone left the house for the day? I entered her room, tiptoed to her undies drawer and pulled it out from under a pair of lacy blues. Then, like a sneaky coward, I ran to the hall bathroom and locked the door, just in case someone decided to spring home unannounced. I opened to her paperclip, and my heart tumbled like a loose coin in a dryer.

November 7

Dear Journal, I refuse to ever settle again.

I hate dating. I hate everything about it. Contrary to what I thought, dating women isn’t any easier than dating men. At least blind dating, that is. It’s probably even more nerve-wracking because I really wanted her to like me. I wanted to connect with her. I really wanted the night to be about flirting, and kissing, and dancing with a gorgeous and witty girl so I could finally get some decent sleep and get my mind off of Lucy.

I wish I was more like the chick tonight, the type of girl who seemed to go through this whole lesbian world like a cowgirl, saddled up tight, along for the thrill of the ride, and the thrill only. No regrets, no rules, no disrespect. Like Isabella. Like Nadeen. Like I was when I fucked them.

I’m not that superfluous since meeting Lucy. I need to connect.

I felt like I was on a television show tonight, and I was the subject being studied of how not to be a single lesbian looking for love. I pictured people behind the scenes commenting on my ill attempts at small talk, and at my inability to let loose and embrace the company of a beautiful woman. I asked her what she did for a living like I was conducting a damn job interview. WTF? The girl stopped all flirts, shifted in her chair, straightened her skirt, sat up tall like she was being interrogated. I couldn’t get the wrinkles out of this night after that no matter how many times I smiled or arched my back, or lowered my voice to something I thought she might’ve found sexy.

What a disaster.

My God, this whole process just makes me nauseous.

I am so pissed that I sucked. I needed it to be a good one. I needed to walk away from that date mushy and pathetic, wishing for roses the next day and a perfectly timed email follow-up. It was nice of her to treat to dinner, but leaving me before I got out of the bathroom with nothing more than a thank you note scribbled on the back of the paid receipt made me feel like a freaking escort, not a date.

This is karma biting me in the ass.

Karma is around every corner mocking me, taunting me, blocking me from all those things I deserved before I cheated and tore a hole in my future. Like love. Like Lucy. How else can I explain how she walked away from that kiss as a friend? When her lips brushed against mine, there was an intensity that extended far beyond just curious. She kissed me with a hunger just as deep as mine.

Wouldn’t it be a grand life if we could all just let loose in this world and do whatever the hell we wanted? Karma would have no place. Screw relationships and deservedness. In this world a person could just claim what she wants, enjoy it in the moment, and release the experience back into the world.

If Adam wasn’t in the picture, I wonder how karma would block us? She and Adam absolutely don’t belong together. I think she’s just with him because she’s afraid not to be. She caters to his rules, dreams, and ideals and ignores her own. Actually, sometimes I think she doesn’t know what her own rules, dreams, and ideals are because she would rather die than ask someone to forgo his dreams for hers.

Who’s the one living under a rock now, though? Here I am balled up in my bed like a thirteen-year old writing feverishly to you, a piece of paper.

Off to dream…

Hope

I sat on her vanity and battled both flattery and anger. It mixed into a gooey paste of sweet and sour. One moment I imagined my arms and legs tangled around her in a bed of satin and lace, the other I pictured whacking her comments about my being too afraid clear across town.

I hated that she was absolutely spot on.

And I hated even more that I couldn’t run to her later and defend myself, even if I was guilty as charged.

Chapter Nine

HOPE

I sat at the piano one night after work with the Ravens game playing on the television behind me and tapped out “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

I was supposed to be cooking that night’s dinner—chicken stir-fry with bean sprouts—but the shiny, black theatrical lure of its grand body called out to me instead.

Lucy marched into the room with a sweet smile on her face. “Want me to show you how it’s really done?”

“You play the piano?”

A playful tease crept onto her face. She was the kitty and I was her ball of yarn. She stretched her eyes down to my lips, perched them there for a few seconds and unleashed her own twinkle before walking over, grabbing my shoulders and sliding me over. “There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.”

She commanded the room, the bench, my full attention, like she had something to prove. She morphed into a confident, sexy powerhouse. She sat tall, flung her hair backwards, releasing an intoxicating mist of herbal delicacies, and took over my clumsy debacle over the keys. She closed her eyes, cocked her head slightly, and released her spirit onto those keys like she had something to prove. She played “Für Elise” by Beethoven. My mouth hung open wide, mesmerized by her agility and raw emotion as her fingers knew exactly where to land and at what force. She completely put me to shame. Her concerto stretched the entire length of the piano and at times she reached in front of me and her arm brushed along my chest. I didn’t budge because I found this seemingly harmless move bold for her and I liked it. She took charge of that piano, an inner strength protruding from her calm spirit like the goddess on the helm of a ship; strong, courageous, and undeniably in control.

I surmised I’d be spending the next several days trying to get over her again.

Her fingers glided gracefully. The song rang out like a bell around us, chiming high and settling low, dancing right and then back to left, swinging and looping in graceful sweeps. The Ravens game blurred behind us.

At one point, the song built up and goose bumps popped up on my arms. She poured energy into it as if she were a magician with a wand ordering it to grow larger and fill the room with its strength. A mysterious and invisible force swirled around like smoke, filling my lungs, my heart, my entire being, filling me with an energy, a life, a song I’d yet to experience right down to my toes.

When she finished, she was panting. Her body trembled next to mine. Her skin glowed. Her eyes filled wide with wonder. Her chest rose up and down in rapid succession. She clung to the piano bench, tilted her head back so her hair flowed halfway down her arch and exhaled a long sigh. “Wow that felt incredible.”

I felt like I needed a cigarette after that.

She rose from the bench. Pointed her eyes down upon me in a lazy, aroused manner and said, “Did you enjoy that?”

I reached out for her hand, cradled it in mine. “Why am I just now hearing you play?”

She sighed. “I never play it because Adam…,” she eyed the ceiling which was also their floor, and giggled. “…well, let’s just say he absolutely despises loud sounds when he’s writing.”

“I thought he was writing now?”

She paused a moment, tilted her head up slightly and said, “He is.” She nodded to that point, turned, and pranced across that wooden floor like she was every bit the diva.

~

Later that night, Ryan called me.

When I first saw his number, my heart sped up. I imagined it engorged, pulsing, on the brink of overload. I answered on an exhale. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said back in a pleasant, friendly tone like he’d just called to see how my day was going.

“So,” my voice shook a bit. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

“Things have been good. How about with you?”

“Great.” I said this with conviction, then recanted with, “I guess.”

“Listen, I was cleaning out the attic space and I found a box of your stuff. Looks like some wolf figurines, an old jewelry box, a diary, and what looks to be a picture of you as a baby. Do you want me to drop it off at your place?”

“No,” I said, not wanting him to see the affluent façade I somehow managed to land in.

“I don’t think you’d want to throw this stuff out.”

“No, don’t throw it out. Do you want to just give it to Rachel and I can grab it from her?”

His breath echoed louder. “I think I’d like to see you if that’s all right?”

“Sure.” I lightened up. “I can come to your place on my way home from work one day.”

“Uh, I don’t know if that…,” he paused. “Hey, I have a better idea. Let’s meet up at Java Hut for a cup of coffee and one of those cinnamon twists. What do you say? For old time’s sake?”

“I’m free tomorrow after work.”

“Five still?”

“Yup.”

“Hope?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice to hear your voice again.”

I smiled the first genuine smile I had in months, feeling free and like I could sail off the edge of a cliff and glide down to green pastures. “Same here.”

A few minutes later, I strolled into the kitchen feeling sunnier. Ralph and Reina were arguing about the long-term effects of wheat grass. Reina reminded him that anything messing with the natural system of digestion was a drug and, even though it had great benefits, could alter the body over time to where it was dependent and couldn’t function as nature intended until a withdrawal period was survived.

“Bullshit. Look at me,” he pulled up his shirt, exposing his tight abs. “Do I look like I suffer for anything?”

I had to step in. “You suffer from narcissism, Mr. Muscleman.”

“If you worked as hard as I did, you’d deserve to be stuck on yourself, too. It’s just one of the many fringe benefits.”

Reina circled her finger in front of her temple and walked away from him. “He’s nuts. His muscles are so big that they’re overtaking his brain now. He won’t listen until one day the world runs out of wheat grass and he isn’t able to poo on his own. Even under such dire circumstances, he’ll still deny he had it wrong and some pudgy Indian girl was right.”

Ralph plucked an apple up out of the fruit bowl and chomped into it eating half of it on first bite. “You’re the one who’s nuts.”

I floated past him to get a tea cup.

“What’s got you all happy and smiley?” He eyed me.

“Why does there have to be a reason?”

“Well, when a barking dog stops barking at the mailman wouldn’t you wonder why?”

I breathed in the scent of chamomile, then dunked the teabag into the empty cup. “You and your analogies.”

“Am I wrong?”

“I suppose I am feeling a little breezy. I have my ex to thank for that. He invited me for coffee tomorrow night.”

“Hmmm,” he considered this with a stretched nod. “And so extends the olive branch.” He chomped the second half of his apple, then tossed the core in the trash. “Keep up your guard.”

“Ryan isn’t like that.”

“Sure he isn’t.”

“Now, why do you have to do that? Huh? Put these bad thoughts in my head right before I head to bed? I need a good night’s sleep for once.”

He patted my head. “Just trying to keep it real for you. I’ve been through the friendly coffees and fake banter, too. He’ll try to charm you and make you feel like you can be best friends after he wrecked your life. Just keep up the wall. It’s your only defense against recoiling back to that initial sock in the tummy you received.”

“The wall is up. It ain’t coming down that easily. I’m no fool.” I acted as though Ryan belonged in prison.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your relaxed vibe. Try to get a good night’s sleep.”

And, I did. I slept through the entire night as if transported to a new place with fluffy clouds and fresh air. Amazing. When I woke, I did so with renewed energy, the kind that lifted me up high where the sky is a deeper blue and the air less dense. I felt free; the kind of free a woman felt when she took off her bra at the end of the day.

Promptly at five o’clock the next day, I walked into the Java Hut and faced a happy Ryan. He hugged me, kissed my cheek, and so erased all the shame I’d been lugging around since the day he kicked me out.

We sat and he slid my box of childhood memories in front of me. I picked up the diary, a worn pink and gray hardcover with a broken lock. “You didn’t read it, did you?” I teased.

He chuckled and a fresh shade of pink blanketed his innocent face. “I think I know all of your secrets now.” He arched his eyebrow and smiled. “Don’t I?”

I sat back against the seat. “I’m afraid so. Unless you really wanted to hear about the first time I stole a lip gloss from the drugstore back when I was eleven.  I think there’s a whole chapter entry on that one.”

“I’m sure you’ve got lots of stuff in there about all those talent shows you organized. PJ still laughs about how you ordered everyone around like a madwoman.”

I giggled at the memory. “PJ and I could never stop laughing long enough to deliver our talent effectively. We’d pretend someone died just to keep a straight face. Pretty lame, right?”

“Yeah,” he laughed.

We stopped talking on that one and just smiled at each other suddenly running out of memories and secrets. The waitress came over to break our run in with the silence.

“What’ll it be?” Her wrinkles folded around years of misery.

“I’ll take a black coffee,” Ryan said.

“Black? Really?” I asked. “This coming from the man who used to pour a couple of drops of coffee into his milk?”

 He acknowledged his new self with a shrug.

“And for you?” the waitress asked, tapping her order pad with the tip of her pen.

“I’ll take a cup of tea.”

She stopped tapping. “No food?”

We both shook our heads, then busied ourselves with watching her walk away.

Ryan fiddled with his napkin, adjusting it on his lap.

“So how are you?” I asked. “Really.”

“I’m doing really well.” He nodded, affirming his answer. “Really, really well.”

I leaned in. “I’m happy to hear that, you have no idea. I have to confess. I went on your Facebook page. I wanted to see how you were getting along. I noticed your photography fan page.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty incredible.”

“So, you did it. You started it.”

He beamed. “My only regret is I didn’t start it sooner. I thought it would be difficult, you know. But, it wasn’t at all. As soon as I signed the LLC paperwork, I got to talking about it and before long the phone started ringing.”

I reached out and squeezed his hands. “I’m really happy for you. You deserve that and so much more.”

He pulled his hands away and folded them in his lap. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

More awkward silence filled the hollow space hovering across the table. “So,” I said grasping at straws now. “How about the Ravens, huh? Did you see that game the other night?”

“I was at it, actually.”

“Oh,” I said. “You must have gotten soaked. It was horrible outside.”

“No, actually.” He scratched at his neck, which suddenly sprouted a series of red blotches. “I was watching it from a suite at the stadium.”

“Wow. Some big client schmoozing you already?”

“My girlfriend’s family purchases the suite each season.” He gulped, scratched again.

“You have a girlfriend?” I smiled through the jealous pang.

“Yeah, and her dad’s a big Raven’s fan.”

“Wow, those seats must have cost a pretty penny?”

“He’s the chief cardiologist at St. Agnes Hospital.”

His destiny caught up to him and I sat back against the booth feeling no bigger than an electron in the universe.  “Are you guys serious?”

He cradled me in sincerity, poised to comfort me. “Yeah, we’re getting more serious. She’s actually living with me now.”

I tensed. My stomach ached like I’d just been clobbered with a medicine ball. “Wow. That was quick, huh?”

“I met her about two months ago. Just after… well, you know.”

“Yeah,” I said, searching the restaurant for our waitress who I desperately wanted to return with our coffee and tea. I didn’t want to hear anymore.

“She’s special. I think you’d really like her.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I would.” I wanted to throw up.

“What about you?” He urged me to talk now.

I didn’t want to be the loser without love giving up on our marriage for nothing. “Yes,” I said, tossing the white lie out on the table like a stick of dynamite.  “She’s very special, too.”

He leaned in this time with no trace of bitterness or sarcasm. “Tell me about her.”

“Well, she’s pretty. And, she’s funny.” I was on a roll. “Oh, and she plays the piano like Beethoven. And, she likes to run, so she’s whipping my butt into shape. We’re actually running a 10K at the beginning of the year.”

Ryan’s smile faded. He slinked back slightly. “Wow.” His jaw twitched the way it always did when he was upset. “I wasn’t expecting that to hurt still.”

“I’m sorry, did that—”

“—Where did you meet her?” He asked, his fingers now trembling.

“Just out.”

“Where like at a bar? Or work or something like that?” He turned white and the shine in his eyes paled to a foggy wash.

“My roommate set us up.” I should’ve just shut up.

His chin quivered. “Are you in love with her?” He couldn’t even look me in the eye.

I pulled back on the lie. “No. She’s just someone to date.”

He scanned the table, pulling his lips in tight, then pointed his angry eyes at me. “Does she know what you did to me?” His voice traveled across the restaurant.

Our waitress popped her head up from behind the waitress station. “Well, does she? I mean, how do you go about that kind of conversation? Do you confess to her, or do you lie about it and blame me as the asshole who cheated on you?”

“I thought we were moving on here, past all of this.”

Hurt propped up on his face all over again. I had opened up wounds that if I had just kept my mouth shut, could’ve healed without a scar.

“I thought so, too. I thought I had forgiven you. But, I can’t.” He scoffed and stood up. “You don’t deserve to be happy. You threw away your chance at happiness.” He tossed a twenty down on the table. “I really hope for this girl’s sake that you’ve grown up. Otherwise, God help her.”

I sat frozen with no comeback. Not until he passed through the door and disappeared down the street was I able to blink.

~

Not even an hour after Ryan left me like a piece of garbage in the booth at Java Hut, PJ texted me. “Are you okay?”

I tossed my cell on my bed and rolled over to a fresh batch of tears.

My cell buzzed a second time. “Can we chat? Please?”

Fuck my life and everything it had become. I called her. “Hey,” was all I could manage to say.

“Hey,” her voice rolled out gentle like a wave lapping up against shore. “Ryan called Rachel after he left the Java Hut. How are you?”

I covered my cell with the blanket and sniffed. Then, “Before you start in on me asking me all sorts of questions about my mysterious girlfriend, don’t bother. I made her up.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m deranged. What can I say? He was carrying on about his new girl and I just thought he’d feel better knowing I was living out my gay life. Let’s not talk about it. It was stupid.”

“Seriously, sweetie, everything okay on your end?”

“It was awkward. But I dealt with it best I could.”

“He found your box the first day he went back home, but he couldn’t call you then. So, he waited. He felt ready. So, he asked for our advice. He wasn’t sure how much to tell you about her. I advised him to tell you everything because I thought maybe you’d feel better knowing he was getting by all right. I guess you weren’t ready to hear he’d moved on any more than he was, huh?”

“It shouldn’t upset me.” I went over to my dresser and pulled out my journal. “But it did.”

“Do you wish you never opened Pandora’s box?”

She always had to make a bigger deal out of everything than it was. She overanalyzed my life to the point I couldn’t stand to think about it after a while. I didn’t realize how much I hated this about her until that very moment. “At times.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Here it came, the parade of pointed questions set up to dig deep and expose the roots, the rocks, the crevices. “Shoot.”

“Do you think you made a mistake about being gay?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that? Of course I’m gay.” I ran a hand through my hair, giving it a good tug to release some of the pressure in my head.

“It’s normal for a girl to be attracted to another girl. That doesn’t make her gay. I just want you to know that whether you end up with a guy or a girl doesn’t matter to me. What matters is you’re happy.”

My mind clouded. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Was the world tilted? Was it right side up? Was I wrong side down? “Of course I’m gay.”

“Again, I’m not judging. I just wanted to pose the question and make sure you’re on the right track.”

Ms. Fucking Lesbian of the Year analyzing me like she had any right. “Trust me. I’m on the right track.”

“Okay, that’s great. Listen, what do you say we lighten up the conversation and talk about something else? So where are you going to eat for Thanksgiving?”

“I’m going to eat with Ralph and his kids.” This was a total lie. I’d probably eat a turkey sandwich from the deli alone in my room. Maybe I’d get wild and open some cranberry sauce, too.

“Well, in case that falls through, you can come eat with us. Just call me if so?”

“Will do.”

I hung up and flung my phone on the bed.

Not gay. God, she was so annoying. Just because I hadn’t hooked up with someone since Isabella didn’t automatically cut me off from the lesbian world. She could be so ridiculous.

So what if I had no desire to be with anyone, yet. Well, anyone available, that was. Maybe I fawned over Lucy because she wasn’t available. It was safe that way. I didn’t have to fully commit. I could admire from afar, from a distance that couldn’t burn me.

I stewed over this for an hour or so. I hated that PJ could set off doubts in me. I mean, even if I wanted to, where would I go to hook up with someone? It’s not like I had a stream of lesbian friends to call up and invite out for girls’ night. I could go back to Club X solo, but then I’d be a creep. Who goes clubbing on her own? Look what happened last time I did that.

I had no desire to hook up with just anyone. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted to snuggle and sip lattes with someone. Hold her hand. Walk in a park and kiss her longingly under a tree as we picnicked under the wide undercarriage of an old maple. I wanted to run my fingers through her soft hair and enjoy the growth of a smile blossom on her face and the look of love spread from her to me. I wanted to make love to a woman, not fuck her. Did this make me not gay; the fact that I didn’t long to suck on random nipples and get off on just any vagina?

I pulled out my laptop and just for the sheer curiosity of it all, I ventured onto a few sites that promised the perfect match. I landed on one and created a profile with a fake name, Jolie. Then, I opened up a photo of me standing in front of the Washington Monument. I edited it in Photoshop, adding an artistic brush filter to it to blur the real me, but still kept it interesting. I plopped that in as my photo. Next, I pumped up my profile with concoctions of me being a ghost writer and owning a row home in Federal Hill. I also embellished that I played classical piano. As long as I was just screwing around, why be boring?

I felt like I was building an online pizza order. I’d like long hair, wavy, extra thick eyelashes that curled and opened her eyes wide, make her eyes blue, please. Oh and hold the smokers and druggies.

Long streams of women appeared looking more like toothpaste models than real women. I wondered what was wrong with them that these beautiful hotties couldn’t find a date just walking down the street flaunting their goods. This made me realize that I was flawed, too. I’d be the last person I’d want to fall in love with—a girl with secrets about her cheating past who was now desperate to prove her gayness by tramping herself online like a hooker.

I didn’t deserve great love. I deserved a fuck.

I combed through endless possibilities and noticed an option to play games. Well, I thought this was cool. So, I entered an online waiting room as Jolie, and then someone named Sara invited me to play Scrabble.

Turned out Sara was hyper about Scrabble. I couldn’t think fast enough. She grew annoyed when I’d take more than five minutes to create a big payout word. So, she left me in the middle of a game, left me brooding alone in the corner of a virtual hall like a loser at a middle school dance. I ventured back into the waiting room and decided to pluck someone up myself. She was quick to relay that she sucked, but needed to improve her vocabulary. So, I offered her to lay down the first word. Before long, she was racking up ten letter words like she was queen of the English language, ruler of the online world.

We started our fifth game, and then, that’s when the game of Scrabble changed forever.

She had laid down a word and I laid another one down right away, exposing her letter S. I opted to build a word from two letters up. This proved to be a monumental shift because, with clean access to her letter S, she spelled “samesexfun.”

I don’t know what happened, but all of a sudden, our online Scrabble board exploded into an orgy of one risqué word after the other. By the time we ran out of letters, I was flushed and wet. So, yes, the very gay me took it to a new level when prompted, one I was certain PJ had never experienced in all of her gay days.  She asked if I had a webcam. I reached out and touched the danger zone telling her yes. She asked me if I wanted to see her. I responded with a smile. For those brief seconds before she flashed on screen, I swam in a dark sea of swirling currents that pulled me every which way, tugging at inner pockets I’d never known to exist. Intrigued, and free to explore, I braced for all possibility. And, then, she appeared straddling a weight bench, fingering herself, offering me a seductive teasing stare. I sat on my soft down comforter and sizzled under her hot spell, panting, melting off whatever dignity remained.

I watched her get off on herself. My heart raced. My blood pumped. I twitched and bucked. I orgasmed. And when the girl was done, she told me she’d be right back there the next night if I wanted to indulge in another game of Scrabble.

Perhaps this was my fate, to live a virtual life filled with horny women hiding from their real selves just like me.

Ryan would certainly agree, for sure.

Chapter Ten

LUCY

I started to resent Adam more. Of course, reading Hope’s take on how I catered to his ideals and dreams opened my eyes. I mean, I knew this was true on some level, but the fact that she observed it, too, exploited it into something tangible and disconcerting.

He dreamt of isolating us from the world, I dreamt of digging deeper into society and shaping students into outstanding team members who would one day go out into the real world and make something of themselves and make the world a better place. I couldn’t do this from a log cabin surrounded by wild foxes and pine trees.

When Adam first started talking crazy about moving to the mountains and living our days alone sequestered from the chaos of suburbia, I romanticized along with him for the sake of bringing us closer with a goal we could both wrap our minds around. I imagined creating a beautiful safe haven with country curtains and knotty pine walls and a forest of trees and winding, rocky paths leading to our very own river acres away. We talked about waking up at our leisure, walking the Saint Bernard puppies we would acquire, then coming back and cooking healthy breakfasts. Then he would breakout a couple of scenes while I recorded a podcast or a webinar or whatever the online venue would be for me to teach college kids from a distance.

This all sounded great in theory; until I met Hope.

Now, I craved to be around her instead of him. With her, I could talk about how the color of the living room made me feel cozy, how peppermint tea sprung me to life, how I loathed everything that had to do with reality television and she got me, even if she didn’t agree. Every time. She didn’t nod, and fail to look up at me. Not once. She never ignored me or pushed me aside and told me later when more important things like writing a chapter were complete. No. Hope understood the magic of living in the here and now. She never failed to catch my eye and dig into the moment with me, even if it opened up some doors she didn’t want opened. For example, a few nights after I played piano for her, I knocked on her bedroom door. She made me wait a few too many seconds before she allowed me to enter. She sat on her bed with her closed laptop on her side, face flushed, eyes glossed over, hands trembling.

“What are you up to?” I asked her.

She couldn’t look at me. She stammered, lost for words. “You don’t want to know.”

“Of course I do.” I sat down beside her.

“I was just searching online for ideas on dating.” She planted her eyes on her closed laptop. “One minute I’m fine with being single. The next I freak out about it.”

I twisted my mouth, not sure what to offer. “Just enjoy the freedom while you have it.”

“Sometimes freedom is overwhelming.”

Afraid to ask, I did anyway. “Who is this girl giving you a problem? Is it the one from the blind date?” I wanted her to fess up that the girl was a bust so we could talk openly about it.

“It’s not her. It’s actually no one. I’m just in a funk.”

I scooted my legs up closer to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“I’m an open book. Ask away.”

I smiled at the irony. “Did you always know you were gay?”

She folded her legs under. “I’ve never been sexually attracted to a man. Not even my ex.”

I wanted to know her better without having to snoop. “Why did you marry him, then?”

“Because I loved him. I loved everything he stood for. Everything he did. I loved the way he treated people. The way he would open his heart to anyone who needed it. He’s just a really great guy who got the short end of the deal when he unknowingly married a closeted lesbian.”

I wanted to know what revved her heart, what turned her on, what kind of girl excited her. “How did you finally know that it wasn’t just a curiosity thing?”

“My crushes were always on girls.” She readjusted her legs so one now crossed the other. Her dangling foot bounced up and down in a speedy beat. “I never once fantasized about a guy.”

I loved the way her jaw clenched when she ruffled. I loved even more that I could ruffle her. “But, do you think that could be just because it was a taboo? Maybe the fact that Ryan didn’t know fueled the fire more so?” I needed to understand if what I was feeling was just a taboo thing.

“Not a chance.” Her voice flattened.

“So did you ever have sex with a woman, I mean, even though you were married?”

“Yes.” She snapped away chopping off further access to this moment. “I don’t really feel like talking about Ryan right now, though. What I need to do is find me some more dates. Want to help?”

“We can go back to searching online.”

Hope cracked up at this. “I don’t think so.”

“My cousin met her husband online.”

She smirked. “There’s got to be a better way. A rulebook would help. How to Attract the Girl of your Dreams in Ten Easy Steps.”

“That sounds like a great blog title,” I said, hinging on her recovery from my provoking questions.

“Maybe I should start a blog. I could certainly learn a thing or two.”

“Oh, I like that idea.” I jumped to life, imagining the opportunity to read her words without snooping. I’d encourage her to dig deep, to be forthright, to commentate on all aspects of her inner secrets. “You really should!”

Her eyes sparkled. “I was joking.”

“I wasn’t. I’ll be your number one reader.”

“But, you’re not my target.” She mocked me with a quick tilt to her head. “Or am I speaking out of line?”

I nudged her. “Silly, girl.” I giggled like a schoolgirl with a crush. “I really think this is a good idea.”

She still didn’t release me from her teasing look. “Maybe I should.”

“Yes, you should,” I reiterated.

She rose, shiny and glittery like a pretty present. “I just might do that.”

~

The next day started out magically with a healthy romp through the streets with my soon-to-be favorite blogger by my side. Hope talked about all sorts of ideas like interviewing lesbians, listing favorite eateries, posting entries about dating dos and don’ts, verbal and nonverbal cues that showed interest. I was in love with this brilliant idea, and Hope seemed to be just as enamored with it.

She even arrived at a name for it: L-Dating.

~

I felt invincible that morning. I sang in the shower, curled my hair, even wore blush and a pair of heels. I also wore my red fitted sweater in place of my typical conservative black or gray button downs. Oh, and I most definitely wore my red undies.

On my way out the front door, I ran into Hope as she bounced down the staircase high on her new idea. She hugged me and thanked me for being so excited about her project. I melted into her light vanilla musk body scent, electrified by her vibrant spirit.

When I drove away, I swore that nothing would’ve been able to ruin this good mood. For thirty minutes, I basked in the afterglow of my budding friendship with Hope. Cars cut me off and I ignored the usual urge to chuck them the bird, albeit from under my dashboard, but still. Red lights didn’t annoy me. The school bus that cut in front of me on Charles and Grant Street didn’t cause an uprising. Nope. I was feeling mighty free from the daily grind residuals.

Of course, a few hours later, as I stared out at a sea of empty seats that wouldn’t be filled until at least ten minutes after the lecture was to start, distaste landed on my tongue. These students carried zero respect for me and my time. That’s probably why the professor didn’t mind handing the baton over to me every Tuesday morning lately.

I definitely wouldn’t be making a living as a professor. No way. Corporate America appealed to me more and more with each lazy student I laid my eyes on.

I stood at the podium and played with my fingers, filing the nails against each other, waiting for time to move along so I could get this over with and get back to my good mood.

Most of the students I came across this first semester were clueless, wasting their days stuck to the cellphones, playing games like Angry Birds and Words with Friends. They failed to find beauty in the world around them. They escaped through small screens and instantaneous technology.

Was it so bad that I wanted students to veer towards me when I started my presentation? I wanted to astonish them with my well-researched, provocative thoughts on current affairs in American business. I wanted them scratching their heads, searching for understanding in the words I spoke.

I wanted to make a difference with what I was doing in the here and now, not three years in the future.

Nothing. Most of these freshmen sat, eyes glazed in a haze of murky, technologically driven chaos, wondering who retweeted one of their jokes, who mentioned them in a shout out, who liked their fan pages. They didn’t care that I just uncovered the key to a successful e-learning environment. They didn’t care that I just simplified their lives by extracting everything it took me hours to learn. They didn’t appreciate that I stayed up all night long devouring long texts on the Internet to find answers that would help them succeed as pioneers in their fields.

At one point, I asked a question and no one answered. So, I called on this lazy guy wearing a hood and playing with his cellphone. When he didn’t look up after the second attempt, I felt the eyes of all students on me, waiting to see how I would embarrass him. A girl with curly hair and thick glasses tapped him and he finally looked up at me, dumbfounded, red-faced.

“See me after class, please,” I said, rising back to grace and showing my class that picking on someone, regardless of age and stature, just wasn’t right. I could impact him much more after class by respecting his right to privacy and the freedom to argue his reasons for being a lazy son-of-a-bitch without a hundred set of eyes detailing his every excuse. Well, after class, he didn’t care to practice this and just hung his head low waiting for me to rag on him like he’d probably been ragged on his whole life. I chose the higher road and asked him to kindly look up at me every once in a while in class. He nodded without looking up and left when I excused him.

How would these students rise above in the real world? This question plagued me after every lecture.

After class, I went to the campus café and surfed the Internet for blogs that incorporated dating themes. I bookmarked a ton of them and emailed them to Hope.

My mood brightened instantly.

~

Later that night, while Adam and I sat on a bench at the Columbia Mall people-watching, I presented my joy to him about how excited I was that Hope decided to take my advice and start her blog. He completely ignored me when a group of teens walked by sporting pink, spiked hairdos and black boots up to their knees. “I wonder if they’d wear that crap if their parents didn’t fight them on it. I’m sure their parents fight them on it, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, sure.” I just went back to sipping my caramel latte. I sat with my lips contorted tight, holding back a spray of tears. For years, all I did was lavish him in praise for the words he wrote. I semi read his passages, regardless of how trite and frivolous, and I ogled over him until his handsome face could light up no further. My accolades tickled him down to his toes, and yet, he couldn’t seem to find the words to express any feeling on my fun news.

He’d stop and talk at length with Ralph on how to get more clients, Hana on how to improve her teaching techniques, and Reina on how to advance in the culinary world and not disappoint her parents, yet he couldn’t dole out two words for me lately.

I didn’t know how to connect to him. So, I did what I always did and shut up. I brooded for a few minutes, dabbling in wiping the cream from the lid of my latte while he continued to laugh at funny styles and comment on gaits and vocal varieties.

I argued in silence, bickering internally over how I could best tell him how he was hurting us, without hurting him in the process. I had nothing.

So, I decided to just neglect him that night. I rose and left him alone on the bench telling him I wanted to go shop at Ann Taylor.

An hour later, we arrived home hungry. Adam retreated up to the bedroom and I went to the kitchen.  I removed only two slices of wheat bread from the freezer and toasted only them, leaving the rest of the loaf to suffer the possibility of freezer burn if he chose not to eat them with me. The only way that would not happen was if he physically removed himself from his laptop and placed his own wheat bread in the toaster. I was making my own dinner for myself. If he couldn’t give me the time of day when I needed it most from him, then, screw him.

I’d wait for Hope to get home from her workout with Ralph and talk more about the fun of it all with her instead.

~

When Hope returned home with Ralph, they raided the kitchen for protein. They whipped up green smoothies and offered one to me. I declined and swallowed another mouthful of sangria. Hana soon joined in citing she was just checking in to see what all the commotion was about. She was wearing a paisley pajama set and her hair looked stringier than ever.  She caught me staring at the mix-matched layers. She told me she just had it cut by a different woman who didn’t understand what cropped layers meant. She shrugged and said goodnight to us. Just as Ralph was carrying on about his ex holding back the kids from him on Thanksgiving dinner, Reina appeared.

Hope asked her to step up her matchmaking game. Reina scoffed and said she was on it already and didn’t need to be told by anyone how to conduct what she set out to do. She scolded the three of us as if we were all guilty of accusing her of wrong doing, ranting about how she doesn’t need to be told twice to get something done. You ask her to complete a task, it would be done when the universe said it should be done.

She pointed to Ralph’s green drink and told him he was a fool and that he should fast for ten days instead of messing with Mother Nature with expensive, silly powders that claimed outrageous benefits if ingested in quantities large enough for an entire village to consume. She was still rattling off health claims as she passed through the archway into the foyer and back up the stairs.

Ralph gulped the last of his green drink and left the two of us huddling around the counter.

“You want to finish that and move onto something a bit tastier?” I asked her. “We could go hang out on the deck for a bit. It’s a beautiful night.”

“It’s frosty outside.” Hope closed her lips around the glass, peeking up at me from above the rim. “I’ll need a taller glass than this one to keep me warm.”

 I sauntered over to the cabinet and retrieved two tall glasses.

A few minutes later, two tall sangrias in hand, Hope and I ventured out to the deck. We sat on the swing chair. Our arms touched. So, I drank with my left hand, not wanting to separate from her. We sipped our Sangria under a sky brimming with bright stars, and a few shooting ones. The moon hung three quarters full and looked just like a photograph. I breathed in the fresh, cool November air and reasoned that I deserved to get drunk with a pretty girl whom I found incredibly attractive while Adam continued to type frantically in our room. I sipped and pondered the electrical pulses passing from her arm to mine.

“You are so pensive tonight,” Hope said, moving slightly so now our arms disconnected. “Anything you want to talk about?”

The sip of sangria tasted sweeter, smoother than the one previous to it.  I loved how she got me without having to even murmur a single word. No poking. No prodding. No pleading for attention. “I had a rough day teaching.” I sipped again, reflecting on her peripheral beauty – her gentle sloping nose, angled jawline, long eyelashes that curled up around her big green eyes.

She sat up taller and her arm touched mine again. “What happened?”

“No one paid any attention to my lesson. Not even the geek in the front. He was too busy like the rest of them checking his emails.”

“Maybe they were bored?”

I pulled my arm away this time. “I spent a lot of time preparing it.”

A tease rested on her lips. “It’s nice to see you get feisty.”

I punched her arm. “Drink your sangria and stop making fun of me.”

She swigged some back, and then with a serious tone said, “I’d be happy to listen to it and see if I can critique it if you want?”

I swung our chair, pushing it with my feet. “I’m not sure.”

“Everyone needs critiquing,” she said. “I know I don’t know anything about organizational development, but wouldn’t that make me a great reviewer? Maybe the lesson’s too advanced.”

I chugged a bitter mouthful and some dribbled down the side of my mouth and landed in my lap. “Shit.” I jumped up.

Hope thought this was the funniest thing in the world until I snapped and started to cry.

She remained seated, hands covering her mouth, in obvious torment as she stymied the laughter midrise. “I’m sorry,” she managed to blurt out as she stared at my drenched crotch.

I looked down and a bull’s eye of sangria splattered my inner thighs. “I look like I’ve been shot.”

She convulsed in a fit of laughter again.

She couldn’t stop. Every time she opened her mouth, the laughter roared that much louder until finally I couldn’t stand to be the onlooker to the hysterics another second. I landed on a heap by her side in equally synced hysterics, too. We giggled and clung to each other, tugging at each other’s shirts, swinging our heads back, bringing them in close, until finally we rolled gently to a stop, breathless.

Then with the silence broken by our panting, suddenly our playful mood morphed into a moment of longing. Our eyes locked, and she looked so deeply into mine that I felt her penetrating into me. And then, it happened again. She placed her fingers on my cheek, and pulled me in closer, and her lips landed on mine. We were one, breathing like an entity unto itself. She breathed into me. I breathed into her. Her sweet breath washed over me, intoxicated me, bathed me in warmth, comfort. I curled up into her arms and ran my fingers through her thick hair, pulling her in closer, wanting every morsel she was willing to give me. She caressed my neck, my arm. Her leg crossed over mine. We sat entwined under the beauty of the night, wrapped up in each other’s breaths, souls.

“So,” she whispered into my mouth. “Is this you trying to give me material for my blog?”

I giggled into her mouth and she responded with more sultry, earnest sweeps of her tongue.

A few moments later, the kitchen light flickered and we both shot up in the air and landed feet from each other. Ralph stuck his head against the glass and waved. He opened the slider, “What are you girls doing out here? It’s kind of chilly, isn’t it?”

Hope was first to pounce towards the door. “Yeah, it sure is.”

I followed behind, catching my balance with legs still too numb to maneuver properly. I headed straight for the sink and poured the rest of my sangria down the drain.

Ralph handed me a bowl with cereal crumbs. “Do you mind washing this?’

“Not at all,” I said, placing it in the sink.

“Thanks and good night girls.”

“Night,” Hope called after him. She rolled up beside me. “I’m so sorry. I know that was a close call, and I shouldn’t have.”

I grabbed her hand with my soapy one. “Don’t apologize.”

She stared into my eyes, blinked heavily and kissed my cheek. With her breath hot against my skin, she said, “Alright. Goodnight, then.”

I couldn’t feel my toes or take a deep breath until I crawled into bed half an hour later.

~

In the days that followed, Hope and I met platonically every night folding up desires and packaging them aside as we discussed ways to generate blog ideas. She didn’t mention our kiss, and neither did I.

Her most brilliant idea was to create a Twitter account and simply ask willing volunteers to subject themselves to an interview about their dating, sex, and love lives.

So, she got to work following a bunch of people she thought were in her target, everyone who liked Logo to Ellen to NOH8. Within a week, her follower list grew from a few to several hundred. She started tweeting articles about recipes and inspiring messages and funny videos, and then I suggested she toss in a few interactive tweets asking followers to fill in the blank. What resulted was a host of interested people mentioning the heck out of her on Twitter. She ended up becoming listed by forty people within two weeks, and a few of her tweets even made the favorite queue.

With each new success, her eyes grew brighter, her spirit expanded and I could think of nothing more than wrapping my arms back around her and kissing her.

When we worked, we did so in the open expanse of the main living room where everyone could spy on us. So, we didn’t kiss. Didn’t sit too close. Didn’t mention a word about the magic we produced that night on the deck. It was our secret, and I for one kept it very sacred in my memory.

We busied ourselves with informal meetings and before long, I had helped her design a beautiful blog. Now, all she needed was some entries and she could tweet the heck out of it.

I left her one night to get dinner with Adam. He invited Hana and Reina. They both declined. Then, he asked Hope if she cared to join us. I hinted it would be a nice idea. She declined and told Adam she was writing her first blog. He chuckled and wished her luck, and offered to be her first blog follower, citing he knew how lonely it felt to have zero followers. I chimed in and offered to follow too, and followed this off with a wink and a teasing smile.

We left Hope alone in the living room to ramble on about the trials and tribulations of being a single lesbian. When we returned two hours later, she had written ten entries. “I’m on a roll. The words are just pouring out of me. I feel inclined to just keep writing.” She beamed.

Adam snuck a look over her shoulders. “Nice design. Catchy title, too.”

“This was all Lucy’s idea.”

Adam shot me a look. “L-Dating was your idea?”

“The blog, honey. The blog itself was my idea.” I tried to tell him all of this, but he was too wrapped up in people-watching.

He stole my hand and led us towards the foyer. “Well, good luck with it.”

He whisked us up the steps and when we got to our bedroom he broke out into a fit of hysterics. “Man, everyone thinks they can write.”

“Well, maybe she can.”

“Maybe so,” he said, caressing my hair and staring longingly into my eyes.

I tucked away, citing I needed to use the bathroom. By the time I got out, he was fast asleep.

~

All of us gathered around the living room to eat popcorn and catch up on life.

At one point Adam turned to Hope and asked how the blog was coming along.

Hope said as if talking about the banality of frost on car windows, “I’ve got three hundred and five followers as of this morning.”

Adam’s eyes blinked several times. “Wow, after just a week?”

“Yeah I picked up most of them from Twitter. They all want to be involved. I’ve got a dozen or so emails with really funny stories about first dates, and bad dates, and weird dates. People are sending me some good stuff.”

“How did you get them to react?”

“I just asked them.”

He clicked his tongue and I could tell his mind went into overdrive, speeding away from the scene like a bank robber anxious to get to a quiet place and count every penny.

Then, Hope did the unthinkable. She asked him, “How is yours?”

“Fine,” he said and fidgeted.

“It’s an excellent way to get more readers,” Hope said.

“Absolutely.”

And this was his queue to vacate and get writing.

Two weeks later, Hope’s blog roll climbed to four hundred fifty. Each blog entry, hysterical and based on reader contributions, landed twenty or more comments.

“This is so much fun,” she said one night. She propped up on the couch with her laptop clear across her legs. I sat beside her and looked at her most recent entry – The Power of the Flirt. “This reader sent me her take on how to flirt, and then ended with asking me out on a date.” She shook her head. “Too funny. Good stuff.”

“Did you say yes?”

“She lives in Takoma.”

“Hmm, too bad.”

“Too bad?” Hope asked, pointing her eyes down to my lips.

We encroached on that awkward moment we had both wanted to avoid since our kiss on the deck. “Hope...” I stared at her.

“I know. I get it.” She scooted a bit away.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t… I want to…”

“I get it,” she said again, staring off now to the fireplace. “What was that all about for us that night?”

I couldn’t go down this road, realistically. My life was set and simple. I’d resisted drugs and cigarettes all my life, I could certainly resist Hope Steele. “It was just a friendly kiss.”

She pulled in her lower lip. “If that’s what you think, Lucy.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.  “But I’m glad we’re finally talking about it, anyway. I’ve felt really awkward dancing around it.”

“Me, too.”

She looked back at me. “I’ve got to get myself out there.”

“When you’re ready. Take your time.” Take a very long time just in case, I wanted to say.

“Well, there is this girl who lives in D.C. who hinted about getting together.” She waited for me to say something.

“Is that what you really want to do?”

She flung her hands up. “I don’t know. Why not, right? It’s not like I have any options here.” Her voice rose to a frustrated plane.

“Yeah, totally. Why not? Isn’t that the whole point to starting this blog in the first place? To meet hot chicks?” I wanted her to say no, I really just want you.

 “True. Who knows? Maybe she’ll end up being really cool.”

 This answer angered me. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” I asked this like I was the most confident girl in the world, like her kisses didn’t mean a fucking thing to me.

We stared at her salmon checkered screen and watched another follower appear.

Seemed everyone naturally gravitated towards Hope.

~

Once again, I couldn’t help myself. I needed to get into her head.

I opened up her journal and read.

November 22

Dear Journal, it’s Hope and I am a whore.

I pulled away stung by her interpretation of our kiss. A whore. Lovely. I was making her feel like a whore.

Now I understand what love is. I thought I loved Ryan. But now I know I never did. Ryan never took my breath away, never smelled like a garden oasis, never softened in my arms, never made me feel like I could take up flight and dare the impossible. I always wanted to be alone when I was with him. I wanted to escape him and his manly ways. I crave nothing of the same with her. I find myself unable to function without her. I hate when she goes to work, I hate when she goes to bed. I hate when she takes a morning off from running. I hate that I can’t just stop her mid stride and kiss her. What I wouldn’t give to make love to that girl and show her how awesome we could be.

I absolutely adore the way she steps up to protector role. At first, I thought she was just afraid to face reality and conflict, but now I see that she just loves to protect everyone before herself. I certainly don’t want to be the one that fucks this up for her by turning her into someone like me who will never forgive herself for overstepping boundaries and hurting those she loves by giving in to her own selfish antics.

Ironic how I end up falling in love with the one girl who will forever keep me shackled to my label of cheater. This is why I am doomed to a life in front of my webcam with a sleazy whore from Nebraska fucking herself. This is why I have to lie and make up girls who want to date me from D.C. I have unraveled into a life where I play silly, stupid games now.

I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. Being a whore isn’t fun. I just want to be in love. It hurts that she’s not free to love me back, and it hurts even more so that for her to love me back would mean she has to turn into someone like me, a cheater. She’d never leave Adam. She could never hurt him that way. What a freaking dichotomy, huh?

Fuck my life.

Hope

I would never be a cheater, and I never wanted Hope or anyone else to ever see me that way. I could never be happy living my life with such a mark over my head. I could never do that to Adam. So, what was I doing, kissing her and fondling all these naughty thoughts of her?

No more. Next time I saw her I would act like a friend acts. Friends don’t go around kissing and provocatively dancing with each other. They ran, they talked, they cooked, they talked about their lovers. Never did they talk about each other as lovers.

How could I have been so selfish giving her signals that trapped her to infidelity? Hope was not mine to toy with.

Chapter Eleven

I was in the middle of dressing up for school when my sister called me.

“Do you think Ralph can teach Angelina a few self-defense moves?”

I pushed my left arm through the sweater sleeve. “He’s kind of a busy guy. And, I know he charges about a hundred bucks an hour. You might just want to go to the Y and take some classes.”

“You know money isn’t an issue.”

“I can ask him.” I pulled my head through the neck of my sweater and my hair blew up in a charge of static. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Your darling niece got beat up yesterday and now she refuses to go to school this morning. I’ve tried everything, bribing her with new makeup and a new jacket, and she just rolled over and buried herself under her blankets. She needs to get her butt off to school and learn. And, if that means kicking someone’s ass, then so be it.”

“She could be expelled.”

“Well, then, at least she’d have an admirable reason to be home.”

I climbed into my pants, holding the phone with my shoulder. “I can check with him.”

“You know she’s flunking out of every class?”

“It sounds like she needs some serious tutoring before worrying about teaching her how to beat someone up.”

“She needs some confidence. Can you just ask Ralph? See if he can help us out? Fast.”

“Only if you let me tutor her, too.”

“Fine, whatever, tutor her. She won’t listen. She’s ridiculously closed up right now. These bullies are going to kill me if she can’t pull it together and defend herself.”

Always about Julie. “Just bring her by Saturday. Let her stay the weekend. I’ll make sure Ralph gets in a lesson between Saturday and Sunday.”

“She’ll never want to stay the whole weekend with you.”

It would probably kill my sister if she did want to. “Just try.”

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll bring her by around nine.”

HOPE

I needed some fun topics for my blog. That European vacation I dreamed about for so many years would be perfect for this type of research. I could travel the cafes and museums digging up all sorts of great prompts. Until then, I had to pluck ideas from magazine sidebars. Like my latest idea of posing a question about how to go about deciding if a woman was worthy of a second date. One of my blog followers responded. She punctuated her list with must-haves: must be taller than five-feet, five-inches; must be fit; must not smoke or do drugs, occasional drink is ok; must be able to carry on a conversation about current affairs, and this does not include current prime time television comedies or dramas; must be educated and in an upward climb to her career; must be a go getter; must believe in God; and absolutely must be a dog lover. If she strayed too far from any of these, the second date would never be an option.

I wanted to tell her she’d have better luck pre-ordering a custom-built house from a catalog than finding someone to match her standards. Instead, I thanked her and told her she had some great ideals.

Seemed she took this to mean that I might actually be someone who read The New York Times and stayed up to speed on the current state of affairs and that I earned an advanced degree from a prestigious university that would allow for such upward mobility in my career. She sent me an email and asked me to meet up this one weekend when she would be traveling through Maryland to get to New York for a Katie Herzig concert.

I peeked at her profile image. She was cute with highlighted shoulder-length hair that flipped and was parted slightly off center. Why not? I asked her what date she was coming. I’d show up and disappoint her with my five-foot, four-inch frame and my love for cats over dogs. I couldn’t do any worse than I was doing at the moment, unless of course she turned out to be a serial stalker, at which point, I’d just kick her ass. If that didn’t work, I’d bring Ralph along with me and the two of us would kick her ass.

Either way, I really needed to date. Lucy made that point clear the other night.

Within two minutes, this chick sent me the date, and I accepted her invite. We decided to meet in Annapolis for a seafood feast at Buddy’s Crab House for an early dinner. My stomach already started to roll in angst. I really didn’t want to date. I hated the process. I just wanted to fall in love naturally and not have to deal with the nervous jitters and the whole putting-on-a-good-first-impression bullshit.

A few minutes later, just as I signed my latest blog entry about the art of conversation during a dinner date, Adam walked in the front door, flung his shoes off, and zoomed by me on route to the kitchen. “Hey,” he said, stopping to toss his laptop on the couch. “I’m starved.”

I continued publishing my blog and when I previewed it, the font got all screwed up like usual. User-friendly program my ass. Every time I saved the freaking blog, the font changed to a different color, different size, random bold and italics, and the images got all distorted.  “Adam, do you know anything about formatting a blog?”

He shoved a handful of nuts in his mouth and walked towards me. “Is it screwing with you?”

“Yes.” I tapped the page up key, impatient it wasn’t scrolling up to the top fast enough. “Why does it keep making my fonts gigantic like this?” I pointed to the first two sentences which were triple the size of the rest of the sentences.

“Scoot over,” he said, sitting down and taking my laptop. “This happens to me, too. I learned a trick.” He scanned my blog. “Four hundred eighty-five followers?”

“I think it’s just the subject matter.”

“I have ten followers and two of them are me and Lucy.”

I hammered in a mental note to follow this poor man’s blog. “Show me your trick,” I said, refocusing him back to something he could control.

He clicked on the HTML code option and showed me how to manipulate the font type and size, paragraph breaks, colors, and image properties. And when he clicked back on preview, everything fell right in balance. “Wow, that’s amazing. Thank you.”

“It was an easy fix. Now you know.” He smiled and I saw his straight white teeth for the first time.

I felt sorry for him. He wanted this writing career so badly he forced everything he had into it, including Lucy. “You know,” I said, raising my voice to a more cheerful level. “I never did get a copy of your book. I’m going to download it tonight.”

He brightened again just like he did the other times I mentioned his books. “That’d be great. It would mean a lot to me. You know, no one else who knows me, besides Lucy of course, has read my stuff. It kind of sucks, you know, living with people and them seeing the hard work and intensity, the sacrifices I make to create these books and they don’t ever offer to even sample it.”

“It could be that they’re afraid to hurt your feelings if they don’t like it.”

“I’ve grown thick skin over the years,” he said. He pinched his forearm. “Pinch me, right here,” he urged. “Go ahead, feel how thick it is.”

I did as he asked. I pinched his skin so hard I brought tears to his dewy eyes. He didn’t flinch though. He took it like a tough guy.

“See, thick skin. So, if you hate it, it’s okay.”

This guy needed a fan. “I promise, I will read it and I will be honest with you.”

“Can I be honest with you?” He paused as if waiting for me to grant him permission.

Did he know I kissed his girlfriend not once, but twice? I wasn’t prepped for this attack. He would be well within his rights. I sat feeling very much like the cheating whore I was and faced him head on. “Go ahead. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I read your blog.”

My face heated up like someone stoked a bonfire under my chin. “You did?” I braced for my first solid critique.

“I can see why like they like you so much. You’re witty and unpredictable.” He handed my laptop back to me and then picked up his from the couch. “I’m just glad you’re not a sci-fi writer.” He winked and walked out of the room leaving me with an entirely new cool perspective of him and a major appreciation that I hadn’t been caught with my lips where they had no business being.

~

Later that night, I downloaded his book and committed to reading the first five chapters regardless of how terrible they might’ve been. Two hours later, I woke up and attempted to reread chapter one again. Perhaps I was just tired when reading it the first time through. Maybe I’d get it now that I had a few hours of sleep.

~

Julie arrived with Angie at nine on Saturday morning. Julie wore a black leather jacket with fur wrapped around her neck. Her lips were painted bright crimson and her hair was tucked back into a lose knot at her nape. Angie wore an Old Navy hooded sweatshirt and jeans that dragged on the floor. Her bangs hung down to her cheeks, covering her left eye.

Lucy was whipping up some pancakes and I was making a third pot of coffee when Adam chauffeured them into the kitchen. Lucy immediately walked over and hugged Angie. Her sister shifted her Coach bag to the next shoulder and fidgeted with her keys.

“Hi Julie,” I said to her, rising to shake her hand. “I’m Hope. The newest roommate.”

She scanned my bright orange running shirt and traced down to my striped socks before accepting my shake. She clung to her Coach bag like I’d steal it if she placed it down on the counter. “Lucy mentioned something about a new roommate.”

Lucy ventured back over to the stove. “I’m making blueberry pancakes, Angie. Want some?”

“Sure.” She shrugged and plopped down on a stool, tossing her weary face into her hands.

“Okay, well, you two have fun. I’m off and running,” Julie said. “Bye, sweetheart.” She leaned down to kiss her daughter’s head, but Angie backed away. So, she settled on patting her back instead. “I’ll be back for you tomorrow.”

Angie swung her back to her mother and asked Lucy, “Can you make me some strawberry pancakes?”

Instead of answering immediately, she turned to Julie. “See you tomorrow, sis.” Then, she turned to Angie. “Strawberry pancakes coming up.”

Julie waved and followed Adam back out to the foyer.

With her mother gone less than ten seconds, Angie perked up and turned into a happy-go-lucky teenager. She jumped off the stool and stole the spoon from Lucy’s hand and began mixing the fresh batter. Before long, they were giggling while mashing strawberries.

“Do we have bananas?” I asked.

“Nope. Adam ate the last one.”

“Well, one of these days, I will make you my world famous banana pancakes.”

“I love bananas, so I’m going to hold you to it.”

Adam came back into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, offering me my third cup. I welcomed it. “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?” he asked me in a whisper. “Waltzing in here with her fancy clothes acting like she’s doing Lucy a favor instead of the other way around.”

“Seems to be a lot of hidden resentment there.” I poured some creamer into my coffee.

“You have no idea.” He sipped. “She hates me, I think.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“She’s so damned jealous of Lucy, and she sees that we’re happy, so this annoys her.”

I wondered how much she’d hate me.

We moved to the breakfast bar and sat beside the baker girls.

I stole a blueberry pancake and plopped it on a plate for Adam and another one for me.

“So,” Adam asked. “Did you read my book at all?”

“Uh, yes. I did.” I smeared some butter on my pancake, trying to issue a delicate opinion. “It was different. I’m not a big science fiction fan, so I’m not sure I’m the right target for this type of book. I like your characters so far.”

Lucy stopped giggling and mashing strawberries.

He chomped on a mouthful of pancake. “Okay, that’s good. I’ll take that,” he said.

“You wrote a book?” Angie asked him.

“Well, yeah,” he looked up at Lucy with a question resting on his face. “Of course, I did. Your aunt never told you that?”

“Of course I did.” Lucy nudged her niece’s arm. “Silly.”

Angie just shrugged. “Okay, whatever.”

I shifted back to perplexed Adam feeling kind of bad that I couldn’t gush. I wanted to offer something to build him back up. “You know what I think you should do?”

“Hmm?” Adam asked.

Just because I didn’t like science fiction, didn’t mean others wouldn’t. “You should blog a few sample scenes from it to get readers hooked. It’d be a great way to get feedback, too. I’d be happy to post a link to it on my blog.”

He squinted, taking in my advice. “That’s nice of you. You’d really do that?”

“Why not? I think it’s got potential.” I wanted Lucy to see I was making a concerted effort to embrace her boyfriend, and therefore her as my friend.

Lucy changed the subject at this point to talk about how Ralph was going to teach Angie how to defend herself against potential criminals on campus. She thought it would be great fun for Angie to be her fighting partner. Angie jumped to the challenge. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to fight for real. Do you think he can teach me, too?”

“I’m pretty sure if I ask him nicely, he’d be willing.” Lucy spooned batter into the skillet and it sizzled.

Adam scarfed down his pancakes in about four bites, and then pushed back off the counter. “I’m going to go take your advice right now.”

“Leave your dish,” I told him. “I’ll wash it. Just upload your samples to your blog and once ready, I’ll post a link to them today.”

I’d never heard a grown man squeal until then.

Once he left, Lucy said to me. “I’ve been thinking about your blog. You should write a book based on it.”

“I’ve thought about it.” I had actually already written the first scene. I wanted to wait and see where I took it first, though, before embarrassing myself and confessing this to anyone.

Then she asked me, “Do you think offering to post samples was a good idea?”

“Why not?”

“What if someone tells him the truth? It could crush him.”

“Maybe that’s what he needs.”

“That sounds kind of cruel.” She twisted another helping of batter into the skillet.

“Honesty is a good thing, especially when it comes from someone outside who is unbiased.”

“His writing is awful, Hope.”

This made me happy in a weird kind of way.

“He must be sad,” Angie said. “I would be sad if you didn’t like a book I wrote.” She poked the browning pancake with a spatula.

Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but closed it just as fast. She shrugged. “I suppose I should give him more of a shot, shouldn’t I?”

“I guess,” Angie said. “So, when is Ralph teaching us to fight?”

“After we stuff our faces.” Lucy tickled her and Angie leapt up with a hoot.

I ate another two pancakes enjoying the sight of Lucy transforming this little girl from misery to absolute hysterics using nothing more than her doting love. Before they headed to the basement, Angie said back to me, “Don’t forget about the banana pancakes.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

~

The day Lucy’s niece left, I decided to go to IKEA and purchase a desk for my new blogging adventure. I chose a bone-colored one equipped with a hutch cabinet.

That night, I sat alone on my bedroom floor with a wrench, instructions, and a million little pieces to put together.  Lucy knocked and came in. Her skin glowed, fresh like a Georgia peach in the dim light of my room. I sat amongst an ocean of choking hazards.

“Wow, okay, I was going to ask if you wanted to get some pizza with me, but, doesn’t look like you’re going any place fast.”

“You came just in time.” I held up a wrench and a desk leg. “I don’t know where to start.”

She laughed. “Okay, I think before we start, we need some wine.” She disappeared and I quickly shot up and straightened my hair and reapplied some gloss.

Within five minutes, she returned with a tray filled with two glasses of sangria, a pitcher of more sangria and a bowl of pretzels.  Her current was swift, her pull mighty. I suddenly wanted to toss the menagerie of tools and desk parts out the window and stare into her eyes.

“I am exhausted,” she said. “I’m amazed at how much energy it takes to hang with a teenager. Every second of the day she requires my attention. I’ve got a pile of homework to tackle, and I just don’t feel like it. Oh, and Adam is out with his friends from work, so,” she crawled her fingers around the pieces, “here I am. I’m all yours.”

So, we drank, we ate, and we worked. Lucy separated out all the screws, washers, and wooden dowels, and I arranged the wood pieces in their respective order.  The night grew darker outside, the house grew quieter, and we grew closer now fixated on building the hutch cabinet. Our fingers touched, our breaths collided, our cocoon tightened. Being so close to Lucy thrilled me like a shot of whiskey thrilled an alcoholic. She teased me with the way she twirled her pinky around her hair and the way she giggled at herself. When she moved around me, the air swirled with the sweetness of springtime after a fresh rain shower.  She, delicate as a flower overflowing with delicious nectar, captivated me, the hungry bee engorged by her beauty, her grace, her innocence.

She broke the silence. “So, I noticed you joined Adam’s blog today. You’re turning into a big Adam fan now, huh?”

I screwed a nut into place while she cradled it between her fingers. “Are you jealous?”

Her finger reached out and rested on mine. “Maybe a little.” Her eyes relaxed on mine, radiating a vibe that reeled me towards her. I gazed back afraid to blink and lose this sweet moment. A tiny smirk rested on her lips, inviting me to them. I leaned in to her, and she didn’t flinch. My head buzzed, leaving no trace of guilt, no ability to reason or to desire to do much else than kiss her for hours. Her eyelashes fanned her pretty eyes. Her cheeks shimmered. Her lips parted, inviting me to them. All that mattered was escaping into this blissful oasis with her, to a place where I soared alongside her, where no words resided that could describe the beauty that encapsulated this moment. Guided only by passion, I leaned into her and kissed her. Like butterflies, we fluttered about, enjoying the peace and freedom that blossomed out of our connected spirits.

Mid-reverie, she pulled away to mere inches from my face. “You are so tempting.”

I kissed her harder, dropping the screwdriver and taking her in my arms. I led her back against the floor, sprinkling her neck with kisses, traveling under the collar of her t-shirt. I caressed her, enjoying the defined curves of her arm, pausing as I neared her breasts. I continued kissing her, traveling back to her shoulders. She arched, moaned, squeezed my hand in her own.  I lifted the bottom of her t-shirt and caressed her taut waist, her soft skin, enjoying her arch, her waist closing in on me. I traced her breast and she tilted back and honed back in on my lips. “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

“We should.” But, I couldn’t help myself. I continued feathering the curve of her breast.

Her breaths, quick and sporadic, blanketed my face. “You make it so difficult to walk away.”

“I don’t want you to.” I grazed on her softness, melting with each pass, kicking aside my inner voice yelling at me to stop.

She pushed against me, and I closed in again fighting off all sense of virtue, unable to resist her soft, pouty lips, her sweet breath. “Does he make you feel like this?”

Her bottom lip grazed against mine. “Not even close.”

I pulled her in closer so our breasts flirted. “Why are you with him?”

She traced my lips with her finger. “He’s a great guy.”

I backed away from her embrace. “We really should stop. You don’t want to cross this line. Trust me.”

“Maybe I do.” Her fingers traveled down my lips, my neck, to the nook between my breasts. My body pulsed.

“Then, leave him.”

She flinched back, drawing her soft feathery touch from my cleavage. “No.” Then, she jumped up, hugged her hands to her hips, resolved. “I can’t leave him. I care about him. We have plans together. I can’t give that up for something unknown.” Guilt weathered into her eyes. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I’ve been where you are right now. It’s scary. I was married to a man for close to three years and sacrificed my happiness for the sake of his. This backfires after a while.”

“It backfired for you because you’re gay. I’m not gay.”

She slapped me with a flash of regret before running out of the room.

~

Love is a mystery. I started out writing. It spins you around in circles, whipping you this way and that and before long you can’t figure out which way is up and which way is down. I’ve only been in love once. It is captivating, mesmerizing, dizzying. One minute you’re standing still, the next you’re swept up by a wave too powerful to avoid and taken way out beyond safety, beyond sure ground, out to a place where you risk life, death, and every possible emotion attached to each, all for the sake of this one person. She is magnetic. She is the center of each day. She shines a bright light on everything that was once dark and dreary. She brings life, joy, and laughter. She rekindles the spirit using nothing more than her magic wand of a smile. The only problem is she’s as unreachable as that far off land. I swim in vain, trying desperately to reach her shore, but to no avail. I flop around taking on water and long for her to reach out, grab me and pull me to her shimmering harbor. If only for one moment, I’d be fulfilled, my thirst would be quenched, my hunger satiated. This, my friends, is what love does to a person’s soul. It loops it around in circles until it gets so entrenched in the whirlpool that the only escape is pure abandonment of principle and personal safety.

I previewed the entry and published it.

The next day, I received a slew of comments. People asked if I was currently in love. People wanted to know her name. People wondered if she knew. People turned to their own stories, sharing about their trifles with love, some sprouting fairytale endings while others extreme heartache. Seemed my blog tugged at a few heartstrings and tore open a few messy love bites.

The one person I wanted to comment, didn’t. But her boyfriend did. He congratulated me on a blog well done and asked me to post his link.

~

When I left Ryan, I did so with the intent that I’d never compromise my happiness for the sake of someone else again. Call me selfish, but what good would it do to live in a bubble of fake love where on the surface everything appeared rosy, but when you got down deep to where real life happened, jobs were lost, weight was gained, sickness struck, you suffocated? At some point or another, despite the fact that I was a damned good liar and charmed the shit out of him while married, Ryan would’ve figured out that I was nothing but a noose around his neck.

Granted, again, I fully admit I sucked when it came to actually leaving him. But sometimes, a girl needed a little nudge to take that leap. Lucy needed more than a nudge. She needed a freaking front end loader to scoop her up and drop her into a free fall.

Until then, she’d pretend to smile, pretend to laugh, pretend to orgasm, pretend to love her pathetically lonely life, and Adam would isolate himself for the sake of writing, when really he was probably just vacating for the sake of filling a void he didn’t realize existed. Not yet, at least. He wouldn’t understand the depth of void currently in his life until one day in the future when he fell in love with someone who actually loved him back.

When I woke the next morning, I was scared to start my day, scared to run into Lucy, scared to run into Adam. I read Adam’s comment and prayed a friendly one would appear instantly from Lucy so I could go downstairs and know what I’d be facing. I waited about an hour, and after that, I needed coffee too badly to avoid the coming plague of her resentment towards me.

When I landed on the wooden planks in the front foyer, I could hear her pretty voice ringing out like a bell. I rounded the corner and she was talking to Adam. They were giggling over some spilled creamer on the counter. She looked up and broke into a big smile. “Oh, hey, you! You missed our run this morning. You missed a good one, too, because we saw a fox.”

“We?” I asked, confused, although grateful of the cheer springing from her.

Adam scooped around her, cradling her waist in his hands, and tossed the soaked wad of paper towels in the trash. “She dragged me out instead. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I can’t believe you girls are still running in this cold weather. But, I’ll admit, I feel alive this morning. I’m going to head up and write a scene before work today.”

Lucy turned him to her and planted a big kiss on his lips. “Well, you have fun, sweetheart.”

He tapped her butt. “I will now.” He kissed her again and she moaned like she enjoyed the frisk. He pulled away from her, retrieved his mug of coffee and shoved off to write his scene.

Lucy hummed an unrecognizable song as she sprayed the counter with cleanser and wiped where Adam had just cleaned. “Want some coffee?” she asked me, chipper as a hostess at a sunny breakfast restaurant.

“Sure,” I said, cautious not to stir this freakish behavior too much.

“So, how did the desk finally turn out last night?” She handed me a steamy mug.

“It’s a desk now.” I sipped. “Although, I’m missing a few screws so the backing is a bit wobbly.”

“Awesome.” She continued to tidy up the counter, apparently not hearing me. She hummed and smiled and scrubbed.

“So, are we going to talk about last night?”

“Oh, last night.” She wrestled with a giggle, tossing her shoulders around this way and that, obviously searching for that sweet spot of comfort. “I’ve sworn off sangria for good.” Her smiled flopped around her face at the same velocity of the new wad of paper towels she was whipping around the counter. “Let’s not make a big deal about it.  I’m sure you’re over it.” She waved off the conversation like it was a pesky fly. “But, what I do need to talk to you about is Hana. Did you know she wants to visit her family in Hong Kong at Christmas? Adam just told me.”

So we carried on a conversation about Hana wanting to visit Hong Kong as we sipped our coffee and rekindled our platonic friendship.  The whole time I forced myself to stay put on this current safe trajectory. On it, she didn’t see me as a would-be cheater, an instigator, a mastermind to all things corrupt. Instead I felt like an accepted member of the human being race, and even a little deserving of some of the friendship she tossed out to me.

A few minutes later, as she passed me on her way out, she offered, “By the way, nice blog last night.”

Chapter Twelve

Dating. What a strange, scary world. The mere thought of sitting across from a perfect stranger struggling to converse set off mega alarms. I sat in the car waiting for my heart to catch up with the rest of me. I regretted accepting this invitation. She could’ve been anyone, a murderer, a sadist, a drooling fool, anyone. I wanted to just run back to my straight, simple, stable married life from several months ago where my biggest concern would be whether or not I had paid the electric bill.

I showed up ten minutes late. I didn’t want to appear eager. Though, she had already texted me three times to let me know that she couldn’t wait to meet me. She had arrived already and downed a delicious drink. In her last text she said she hoped I didn’t mind if she ordered for me.

I climbed out of my car and walked down Main Street praying this girl would be someone halfway decent who could take my mind off Lucy if only for an evening. I arrived at the front door to Buddy’s Seafood and walked up a steep flight of stairs to the main dining area. The smell of crab cakes and French fries hung in the air. I arrived at the top stoop and looked around the crowded bar for a girl with strawberry blonde hair in a royal blue sweater.

Much to my dismay, the girl didn’t look a damn thing like her online photo. Her hair was not strawberry blonde. It was more burnt orange with roots the hue of a dark, cold cave. She was about the size of a number two pencil and wearing jeans and sneakers. I stood before my date feeling completely overdressed in a fitted sweater and high-heeled boots. I should have skipped the makeup and opted for a more casual sit-in-front-of-a-bonfire type outfit. She raked me over with her deeply shadowed eyes and then hugged me. She smelled like cheap perfume.

She offered me a pink drink adorned with a kabob of fruit. She guzzled hers without taking her eye off me. She winked as she dove into an orange slice. “What a great suggestion for our date.” She sucked on that orange like she was making love to it.

I drank my drink as fast as possible and then ordered a shot.

“Oh, a girl who likes her liquor. Sweet.”

Oh just fucking shoot me. The girl was a fruitcake. While we waited for our table she talked endlessly about football and how if she had been born a guy, she’d be on the Baltimore Ravens for sure even though she lived four hundred miles away in Panther territory. Then, she cut into talking about her dog and how this dog was so fat and lazy, when they went on walks, he would stop and rest every five minutes. When that story ended, she talked about how she was afraid of birds. She confessed that she couldn’t step foot into a pet store because of them. She couldn’t walk in the woods or around a lake, and she certainly could never go to the beach in the daytime for fear of a seagull landing beside her and begging her for a French fry.

During dinner, she educated me on everything and anything to do with culinary arts, like when to place the veggies into a stir fry so they don’t mush; how to properly hold a knife when chopping garlic; how to pour a glass of wine; and even how to spoon soup properly from a bowl.

When the waiter came back to us and asked if we wanted to see the dessert menu, she asked him to fetch it. I cut this action short. “I have to get going.”

“So, we’re not going to take a walk around the waterfront? It’s so beautiful at night. No birds are out.”

 With the waiter standing before us, I cut right to the chase. “This isn’t going anywhere.”

I offered to pay the bill and she gladly accepted. We walked up to the counter to pay, and she just kept on walking right down the stairs without me, without saying goodbye. Her orange hair disappeared slowly, and when it was gone from my sight, I exhaled like I’d just broken the ribbon at the finish line of the Baltimore Marathon.

An hour later, when I arrived back home, Ralph, Adam, and Lucy were hanging out in the living room. Ralph and Lucy were reading, and Adam was typing.

“Where did you go all dolled up?” Ralph asked.

Lucy peered up from her book and blinked heavily at me. In that blink rested a novel’s worth of words that didn’t need speaking.

To add to her concern, I said, “On a date with a girl I met from my blog.”

Ralph slammed his book shut. “Well, it’s about freaking time. Was she hot?”

Adam looked up.

Lucy looked back down.

I weighed how best to play this out. Tell the truth and lose any sense of urgency or fabricate it and open her eyes.

“Very hot,” I told him.

“Sizzling?”

“You could say that.”

Lucy still hadn’t raised her eyes, but her lips tightened and her jaw clenched. “Well, it’s good to see you smiling,” Ralph said. “Isn’t it, Lucy?”

She breathed in deeply. “Yup.” She rose without her sunny attitude from the other morning. “I’m tired. I think I’m going to head off to bed.” She gathered her book and walked out on us.

Amused smiles graced both Ralph and Adam’s faces.

~

Ralph, Hana, Reina, and I were shoveling the driveway from an early December snowfall when Lucy decided to join us. As adorable as she looked in her snow boots and hat with her long hair dancing behind her, I pretended I hadn’t noticed. We acted like roommates lately, nodding at each other as we passed out of our rooms, washed dishes, prepared tea. We hadn’t run together since after the night she told me she wasn’t gay.

I chopped at an icy patch near the tire to Ralph’s Jeep Wrangler while she pounced around us tossing snowballs in the air like a little kid. Before long, a snowball fight ensued and I was left defenseless with compacted snow at my feet while the others gathered powdered snow and started flinging balls at me, just narrowly missing each time. I screamed and escaped on the other side of Ralph’s truck. The four of them wrestled to hit me first. I ducked my head and planned my escape. Finally I just put the pedal to the metal and jumped out at them chasing them around in circles and finally having snow to pluck up and form into balls of my own. I nailed Ralph’s leg and Hana’s shoulder and finally got a clear shot to Lucy. I swung my arm back, aimed at her adorable fur-lined boots and threw it. It hit her side instead and she dove to the ground, holding her waist like I’d just shot her free and clear.

She squirmed around like a fish freshly plucked from the sea. I jumped to her side, as did the rest of us.

“I’m so sorry.” I placed my hand on her back. “I meant to hit your boots.”

She rolled over onto her knees, her butt, taut and round in her snow pants, just sort of stuck up in the air. She glared at me, and then, she jumped to her feet in a giggle and pounded me with snowball after snowball. I stood there like a statue and just let her pound me, mesmerized by her giggle, her joy, her playful side.

We ran around like this for a good half hour, each taking turns being the one who got beat up with snow. We’d surely end up with bruises by the day’s end. We landed in a pile and created snow angels. At one point, Lucy’s hand touched mine and she left it there while she spread her legs in and out to create the angel’s skirt. She was still giggling like a child staring up at the milky sky. Then, she looked over at me and said. “How are we ever going to run a 10K if it snows like this for us?”

“We’ve got a few weeks for it to melt.”

“Until then, we’re stuck inside on treadmills.”

“I think we’re ready for it anyway,” I said, enjoying the friendly small talk. “It’s just a few miles more than we’re used to running.”

She sat up. “Okay, so guys, speaking of the 10K, I’m thinking of throwing Adam a surprise party that night for his thirtieth birthday. But, I’m going to need some help with planning.”

“Leave the menu up to me,” Reina said.

“Hope, can you help me with the music? I’m thinking something similar to what we were dancing the Zumba to. Latin dance is so much fun and I think Adam would love it.”

Deliberate in her choice, I cringed. The snow, finally creeping into my clothes and chilling my core, stung me with its icy pitch. My heart, clenched up like a fist under my ribs, echoed irregular beats, pulsing, alarming, biting to the sweetness of only moments earlier when her now-mittened hand had warmed mine. That music was ours. “Not me. I’m not much of a music connoisseur.”

Her eyes glazed over. “Well, alright. I understand.”

“Uh, if we’re all pitching in, here, you need to do something,” Reina said.

“She can help me decorate the room,” Hana said. “It’ll be like returning the favor to Lucy when she decorated your room before you moved in.” Hana smiled and nodded rapidly.

“Yeah, sure.” I rose and walked back over to my spot near Ralph’s tire. I stabbed the ice with the ice pick over and over again.

“This will be fun,” Lucy said. “I’m going to invite most of the guys from his team at the office. He’s been working so hard and deserves a great time.”

Her realness disappeared and was replaced by an overinflated joy. Her need to stay focused on Adam created a film over the fun girl of just minutes ago, of the girl I had fallen in love with. I could smell her fear like a shark could smell blood from miles away. This party was a giant bandage. Nothing more.

LUCY

I stopped reading Hope’s journal the day I decided to stay with Adam. It killed me. I wanted so badly to sneak in her room when she was running on the treadmill or working or training at the gym with Ralph. I just wanted to know where her head was at with me.

Hope tempted me. She was like chocolate. After a few days of not indulging, the urge could go away, in theory. I’d never been successful with giving up chocolate. I needed to be successful with Hope. I wasn’t about to give up everything I had worked so hard to organize in my life for something so out of my control.

So, as much as it killed me, I avoided her as much as possible. And when we found ourselves in the same place at the same time, I treated her the way I used to before all these feelings erupted. I treated her like just another roommate surviving in Ralph’s giant dwelling.

Hope had entered the independent stage, dating that stranger from the Internet. When she came home from her date all smiling and sexy, I felt like someone had branded me with a red hot iron.

She viewed my escape to Adam as a weakness, but I would try hard to prove this wrong. I had to stand for my virtues, which were to protect and not destroy that which I’ve created. I had led Adam to believe we would have a life together, that I would be there for him through it all, and for me to walk out on that after all these years would not be me. I couldn’t hurt someone like that.

I needed Hope to see just how much I really did love Adam. This party would prove it. Of course, maybe putting her in charge of the music was not the brightest of my ideas. But nonetheless, I would rekindle our friendship through the planning of this party for Adam. I needed her as a friend.

And we still had to run a whole 10K together.

Thank God for Reina. She took charge of the planning because I certainly didn’t know what to do. She spent an entire afternoon at Trader Joe’s selecting ideas for the menu. That same night, she invited us girls to dinner so she could explain each idea in detail and get our take. I thought this was a brilliant idea. And, it seemed, Hope thought so, too. So maybe things were turning around for us and soon we’d be playing Scrabble and watching sappy movies together without thinking of how great it would feel to be kissing or exploring each other’s bodies with our lips and tongues.

We arrived at An Lou, a Vietnamese restaurant the size of a postage stamp. Reina assured us our mouths would water. Every seat in the place was taken, so we stood in the doorway and waited, staring hungrily at families eating noodles and summer rolls. Finally, a table in the middle had cleared and we were escorted to sit. On our way past a table of three pretty girls, one of them reached out for Hope’s arm.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Her round eyes reached up and down the length of Hope. “Look at you, girl.” She wore the front of her hair back with a purple bandana and the rest hung down past her ripe breasts in dreads. Her cheeks looked plump enough to bite.

Jealousy surged through me.

I scooted around Hope and sat at the next table over, facing her so I didn’t miss a beat.  Hope’s face burned bright and her lips reddened. They hugged and continued talking, holding hands and swinging their arms like they were former lovers reunited after the long cold war. “You look as beautiful as ever,” Hope said to her now reaching up and playing with a dread. “I still love these.” She swayed, apparently drunk on this girl’s sexy vibe.

A relaxed grin crawled across the girl’s face, her eyes locked onto Hope’s. “So, where have you been hiding? You just disappeared off the face of the planet. I was worried, but then I saw PJ and she told me you were fine, just soul-searching.”

“Yeah,” Hope twisted the dread between her fingers like she was handling the Mona Lisa. “Lots of soul-searching.”

They stared longingly into each other’s eyes. “We should get together and have a drink sometime soon,” the girl said.

Hope cocked her head to the side and released her dread. “You have my number still, right?”

“Of course.”

“Give me a call.”

When Hope finally sat down, her face was the color of a red delicious apple. “So, what’s good on the menu, Reina?” She picked up a menu from the center of the table and escaped into it. Meanwhile, I kept sneaking peeks at the girl in dreads who kept sneaking peeks at my Hope.

“Okay, who is she?” Reina asked.

“Tell you later,” Hope said and wiped a silly grin off her face.

I couldn’t taste my food despite the fact that Hana and Reina moaned like they were orgasming with each bite they took. Hope wouldn’t look me in the eye and kept twirling her summer roll around in peanut sauce. When the girl announced she was leaving and planted a kiss on Hope’s cheek, Hope rolled her eyes in obvious ecstasy.

I stopped eating altogether.

“Okay, I’m going to ask again. Who was that?” Reina asked when she walked away.

“That is Nadeen.”

“And Nadeen is?” Reina probed.

“A girl I met several months ago.”

“And why is she just reappearing now? What happened?”

“I wasn’t ready for her then. I was married at the time.”

“Oh, this is going to be good.” Reina shoved a summer roll in her smiling mouth.

Hope agreed with a tilt of her head.

“Sounds like we might be needing an extra seat at Adam’s party,” Reina said to me.

“Then, so be it,” I said, covering up the taste of envy with mint and rice noodles.

~

Nadeen called Hope on our ride home from the restaurant and asked her out. I would’ve taken this to mean the girl was not as cool as she appeared, but more desperate. I would’ve waited at least two days.

~

So, their date night arrived and Adam was writing again. Ralph was training someone. Hana was out with some of her friends at a Korean Hibachi restaurant. And Reina was working.  I sat in bed trying to read Adam’s first book again, not wanting anything to do with seeing how glammed-up Hope would be when she walked out the door. The less I had to picture, the better I’d be, and the more I’d actually read that night. By eight o’clock, after reading the first three long-winded chapters, I figured it was safe to exit the room and get some wine.

I crept by her bedroom. The space under her door was black. The doorknob called out to me, whispering I could peek just one last time. Just one quick read. That’s all I needed. Just get a feel for her mood so I might be able to survive the night with my peace intact. I placed my hand on the cool metal and twisted it. The door opened and her room sat silent. I tiptoed over to her dresser and opened the drawer. I dug my hand around searching for it. It wasn’t there anymore. I used my cell for a light and turned over underwear after underwear to find it.

She must’ve moved it. My access cut off. No more knowing her inner secrets. No more temptation to stir me in the middle of the school day when the house was empty. No more privy to understanding the real truth behind her moods.

I felt a rush of relief over this, like the boulder had fallen from my back and I could now stand erect viewing the world with a real perspective just like everyone else. My eyes adjusted to the dark room and I could now see objects. I naturally scanned her bed, ruffled slightly from a nap no doubt. And there sitting on the nightstand was her journal. I could even see the paperclip bump jutting out like a giant vortex calling me, pulling me towards it.

With all of my might, I resisted its lure, standing firm in my tall shoes for the first time in months.

I tiptoed out of her room and closed the door.

HOPE

Was I concerned that seeing Nadeen again might bring me right back to that ugly place I was a few months ago? You bet. But, I also looked at this moment as a great opportunity to move forward. Those memories of that first night dancing with her in that club, grinding up against her, intoxicated by her scent, by her dreads, by the sexy way she flowed around me in a heated dance, had opened me up to who I was. I spent many months blaming her for turning me into a cheat, but I realized that night had been more about exploring my real self than cheating. Isabella was the culprit who tainted me.

Now free, I wanted to recapture those sexy memories. I wanted to dance, to sweat, to feel her hips against mine again. But this time, under better pretenses.

Under the wings of freedom.

I was horny when I parked my car, when I walked to the sushi bar, and when I first landed my eyes on her sitting at the bar sipping on a martini. Her legs were crossed, her back arched, her dreads hung down her back in a twisted haven, accentuating her long neck, her slender body. She turned and flashed me a look that told me I wasn’t the only one feeling sparks.

We ate sushi and flirted the entire dinner. Her skin radiated health. Her eyes sparkled like jewels. We shared a crème brûlée. She spooned bite after bite into her mouth. I enjoyed watching her indulge. My mind wandered to more exotic places wondering what it’d be like to kiss her, to straddle her, to go completely wild with her again.

I ignored the recurrent image of her snorting several lines of cocaine after she came. I pushed it far back in the recesses of my mind where I also packed up Isabella, Ryan’s disgusted tone, and PJ and Rachel’s disappointment. This girl looked too healthy to be a druggie still. Perhaps she quit. I peered over at her satchel and wondered if just her wallet, keys, pictures of her two cats, and some lipstick were the only things in it.

We finished up the night holding hands and walking down Main Street in Annapolis. I ushered us around, showing her the shops I liked best. I loved how people gazed at us, two girls walking hand in hand down the street. The perfect lesbian couple. I wanted this life. For the first time since destroying my marriage I actually felt like I might be able to move forward finally and embrace my lesbianism. Perhaps even fall in love. Everything about this felt right. Felt like ‘me.’

Most of the shops were closed for the night, so we window shopped. She ogled over t-shirts and paintings and snow globes with cute snowmen. One time she got so excited about a kite she saw with a rainbow on it, I couldn’t help myself. I hugged her from behind and nuzzled her neck, squeezing her tight, not wanting to let go of this moment when I felt free to be me with a woman in my arms.

Our first date was magical and everything I wanted it to be. We walked back to her car holding hands. She flirted and giggled and leaned into my arms. And, then, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?”

Ugh. I was hoping she had quit. What smoker goes two hours without smoking a cigarette? “No thanks.” I dug my hand in my pocket for safekeeping as she walked puffing smoke in what was clean air.

“I had a great time tonight,” she said inhaling a mouthful of smoke.

“Yeah, me too.” I said this in monotone fashion.

“Am I going to see you again this time or are you going to disappear again for months?” She exhaled a long stream twisting her mouth so it angled the smoke away from me. How generous of her.

“Look, I’ve got to be honest. I’m not into smokers.”

She inhaled a thoughtful drag and then tossed the half smoked cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with her heel. “Then, I quit.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I’m not a real smoker. I just enjoy an occasional cigarette from time to time. So, it’s no big deal.” She placed a piece of gum in her mouth. “So, what do you say? Do I get to take you out next time? My treat? I can even pick you up at your house next time, so it feels like a real date,” she said.

Her eyes, cat-like and inquisitive, pulled me in. “Sure, why not.”

We arrived at her car and she moved in to kiss me. I offered her my cheek. She kissed it and her lips softened on my skin. “Seven o’clock next Saturday night?” she asked.

I pulled away and smiled. “Seven o’clock is perfect. I’ll text you my address.”

A few minutes later, I arrived at my car. I drove down the street and was following a slower vehicle preparing to make a right hand turn, when Nadeen drove by. She was smoking a freaking cigarette.

~

The next morning I ran into Lucy. She wore a pair of light blue tights that accentuated her beautiful butt.

“How was the date?” she asked.

“It was good.”

“Are you going to see her again?

“Yes. Next weekend.”

“Oh,” she said, “that’s good. I’m glad it went well.”

 This strange undertow between us was ripping me apart. “Are you going for a run?”

“I am,” she said. “It’s fifty degrees outside so I was going to run outside. Care to join me?”

I needed this more than water. “I’d love to.”

Within a few minutes, I came downstairs dressed and ready to embark on a refreshing run with Lucy. We stepped outside and the fresh air wrapped itself around me like a cool compress on a hot fever. The air smelled like a watermelon, fresh and full of health.

We ran our first three miles without talking, just breathing in and out relaxed, comforted in a stride that felt just right. About this time, I decided to ask her. “So, how is everything going with Adam? You guys seem happier than ever.”

“Oh, we are.” She chimed like a wind up ballerina. “Things are better than ever. I even started reading his first novel again.”

I couldn’t take this fake shit any longer. I stopped running. “I need to get something off my chest.”

Lucy opened her eyes real wide; her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Okay.”

“Things aren’t real between us and I can’t stand it. You don’t have to pretend to be this happy-go-lucky girl every second of the day.”

“But, I am happy.”

“No, Lucy, you’re not. Admit it so we can just move on and be real with each other.”

“This is me being real. The other me, that wasn’t me. That was some other girl who just appeared one day.”

“Real is being true. And you’re not being that.”

“I’m sure I could say the same is true of you.” She stared me down.

“You want me to be real? I’ll show you real.” I finally tossed out what I’d wanted to get off my chest for three months. “I cheated on Ryan.” I backed away from her. “I took my marriage and shit all over it with Nadeen and another girl. How’s that for fucking real?”

“Nadeen?” She cried this out.

“Yup. I met her in a club, and we fucked each other. Then, she snorted a line of cocaine and that ended my first romp with a woman. I opened Pandora’s Box and couldn’t put the lid back down. So, in my euphoric high, I sought her out again, but found a girl named Isabella instead. She enjoyed an open marriage. Perfect for me because that meant no threat of her needing more than I could give. Two months later, Ryan caught us in our bed. I destroyed my character, my integrity, everything I had believed to be virtuous. I destroyed all of this because I was too afraid to come clean to him and stand up for who I really was. If I had just been honest, I could’ve saved myself a whole lot of heartbreak and guilt. And, because I wasn’t honest, I’ll never deserve someone to love me the way that man loved me ever again.” I bent over and exhaled before meeting her stunned eyes. “That’s the real me.”

“Oh my God.” Lucy’s mouth hung open. Her hand immediately caressed my forearm. “Why would you confess all of this to me now?”

“To prove to you that it feels great to be real. No more secrets. I don’t want anything fake between us. Just because we can’t be lovers, doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. But to be friends, we need to be real. This is me. Take it or leave it.”

“Hope,” she rubbed my arm. “Why did you go out with her again if she snorts cocaine?”

“She doesn’t anymore.”

Lucy twisted her mouth. “Just be careful. You deserve to be loved by someone special.” The glow in Lucy’s face returned, pristine and pink. “That’s what’s real here.”

“I’m sure one day I will feel deserving.” I wanted to get off of me and back to her. “What’s real is you’re afraid to be the real Lucy with me because you’re terrified of who you are when you’re with me. You’re afraid of us. But, you don’t have to be. Not anymore. If what you want is to be with Adam, then I respect that and will never cross that line again. But please, just be real with me.”

“You want me to be real?” she asked. “Okay, I’ve got something I want to confess to you.”

“Go ahead. You can tell me anything. That’s what friends do.”

“Okay,” she said. “Last night, I walked by your bedroom door and...”

 “Go on,” I urged her.

She exhaled and tilted her head back. “This is hard for me. I hate conflict. I hate ruffling feathers. I hate anything that isn’t fixable.”

“Did you steal some of my underwear?” I giggled at this.

She didn’t.

“Seriously, tell me what’s going on in your head. Get it out. It feels great.”

“I opened your door and…,” she hesitated, pulled in her bottom lip, “I went inside your room.” She stared down at the ground and hung in silence for a good twenty seconds.

I didn’t push. I waited for her to come clean.

“I stood there and thought of you on your date,” she rushed the words out now. “I was jealous of Nadeen. I didn’t want you to like her because she was too perfect. But, I know this is silly because I’m with Adam and it shouldn’t matter that you’re with Nadeen or any other hot girl. You deserve to be with someone who can be with you.”

I cradled her arm, careful to keep up a platonic vibe under the duress of my desire. “See? Was that so hard?”

“Very.”

“I understand how you feel and I am flattered.”

Her shoulders relaxed. Her face softened. A smile surfaced. “You know, I do feel better shedding that info to you. Getting it out in the open doesn’t make it feel so heavy.”

“That’s because you did nothing wrong. You’re a good person, Lucy. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“So are you, Hope.”

“Well, I’ve got a lot of making up to do with karma before I can believe that. But, I’m working on it.”

“So, you’re not angry with me for going into your room?”

“Truthfully?”

“Give it to me straight.”

“I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that I was flattered.”

“Well, I’m glad I told you then.”

“Come on, let’s finish this run, my friend.”

And on we jogged for another mile in comfortable silence.

Chapter Thirteen

Hope passed my room earlier and told me she accepted another date with Nadeen.

A few hours later, I sat sandwiched between Adam and Ralph’s kids chomping on popcorn and watching the “Shawshank Redemption.”  Ralph reclined in the leather chair next to us and sucked on an energy drink, instead.  I usually adored this movie and wanted it to last forever, but not that night. I didn’t want anything to last forever that night. I wanted that second hand to speed round and round the clock at lightning speed because then, and only then, would the night end and I could rest assure that Hope was not out screwing that cocaine-snorting bitch Nadeen.

Why would she choose to date her again? Why did she have to dress in those hip-hugging jeans and fitted black tee? Why did she wear her push-up bra? And why on earth would I care so much? We were friends. I decided on that. I called the shots. I chose Adam. This was my doing. I dug out the hole, poured the concrete, laid the first steel beam, and built the wall to this label for our relationship, this structure. I built a fortress for me and Adam, leaving Hope no choice but to take off on her flimsy raft and circle the waters fishing for life.

There I was, propped up by a series of pillows amongst a room of people clueless to my struggle of staying focused. I felt like Morgan Freeman, confined to jail. I tossed a piece of buttered popcorn in my mouth and munched on it slowly, rolling it around my tongue, wishing it was Hope’s sweet breath twirling around in there.

“You okay?” Adam asked. “You’re fidgeting.”

I hugged one of the pillows to my chest. “I’m just thinking about the class I’m teaching in the morning. I’m thinking I should go do some planning for it. I’ve got a ton to get through with them.”

Adam patted my shoulder. “I could definitely use some writing time.” He stood up and handed the remote to Ralph. “It’s all yours.”

Mid bite into his apple, he reached out for it. “You two love birds have fun.”

We two love birds entered our master suite and ventured to opposite ends. I sat in bed with my lesson planning notes in front of me and he fixed himself in his fifteen-minute headstand ritual across the room.

I thought of her journal again sitting lonely on her nightstand bubbling with explanation for why she might be tormenting me and waiting for its fix of words from her about tonight’s date.

I had never been addicted to anything. I could walk away from wine, from a slot machine, from a pill bottle filled with euphoria inducing drugs. But, I couldn’t walk away from that journal.

I imagined myself sitting in a circle of strangers, each hanging our heads low in shame, introducing ourselves and admitting our ugly faults. ‘Hi, my name is Lucy Hastings, and I am a journal-reading addict. I am too afraid to ask the truth, so I sneak around and steal the truth instead. Keep your passwords hidden and your journals locked. I cannot be trusted. It is an illness that suddenly struck me. I fell victim to it in one innocent reading. That’s all it took. One hit, and I was hooked.’

~

Adam’s party was fast approaching and so I invited my party planning committee out to eat. Reina suggested an Indian restaurant. I sat next to her in a booth at Curry and Kabobs. Hope and Hana sat across from us.

“How are you going to get him to the hall?” Hana asked.

“That’s easy,” I said. “Right after the 10K, Hope will drive us to the hall. We’ll tell him there’s a spaghetti and meatball dinner for runners. He’ll be our prisoner for the day.”

We ordered our food. I opted for chicken curry. Reina ordered some lentil dish that had four chili pepper signals next to it. Hope and Hana both ordered vegetarian noodle dishes. We drank tall Indian beers and got off the subject of Adam’s party when Reina brought up Hope’s dating situation.

Reina drilled Hope about this new girl she dated twice now. “So, is she the one?”

“What?” Hope choked down part of her roti. “It’s been two dates.”

“Well I don’t know the custom number of dates it takes to decide on such a priority,” Reina said.

“It’s not like there’s a formula.” Hope sipped her beer right from the can. Her eyes sparkled under the golden lights.

I gulped another mouthful of beer, too, and boldly leapt. “I’m surprised you went out with her again.”

Hope cocked her head, arched her eyes at me. “And, I’m surprised you brought it up here.”

“Well, it seems like a legitimate question.” I was feeling punchy. She’d been so tight-lipped about it since the bitch dropped her back home four nights before.

“Perhaps,” Hope bore into me. “And maybe one we can talk about later.”

“What’s going on here?” Reina asked, her Indian accent more pronounced than usual.

Hana shuffled back against the booth, wriggling like a snake shedding her skin, opting for a swig of water over the untouched beer in front of her.

“So, I take it you had a good time?” I asked, unrelenting now thanks to strong Indian beer.

“Yes. I actually did. She took me to see ‘The Lion King’ at the Hippodrome Theatre. I love ‘The Lion King.’ I couldn’t pass it up.”

“I loved that movie,” Hana said. “Was it a good show?”

Hope rose to the question. “It was incredible. She scored front row tickets.” She looked across at me. “I seriously couldn’t pass that up.”

“I say you should bring her over for dinner next,” Reina offered. “I’ll cook and we’ll play charades again.”

“I don’t think she’s the charades type,” Hope said.

The waiter came and delivered our entrees. “So, seriously,” I said as the waiter placed my chicken curry in front of me. “You really had a good time?”

“What part are you not hearing?” Reina asked.

This asking for clarity wasn’t working too well for me. Reading her journal simplified our relationship. No argument. No insinuation. No ugly jealousy. I read. I absorbed. I carried on with my life. Simple. Doing this the right way, the honest way, created too much havoc. Now Hope was defending herself and I portrayed myself as an insecure fool with nothing better going on in life. And Reina stared at the two of us like we were hiding something from her.

“I just want you to be happy,” I said.

 “Come on, admit it,” Hope said, leaning in across the table, a flirt playing out on her face for all to see. “You’re really a closeted lesbian who’s just dying to push that wench out of the way so you can tackle me with all that sexual prowess you’ve got buried deep inside.”

Reina and Hana laughed out loud. I sat so stunned, the room spun. And then, Hope reached out and grabbed my hand and started a mad dash up my forearm with a series of fast and overly exaggerated kisses. “Impossible to resist, isn’t it?”

The two girls continued laughing, and the more exaggerated Hope’s kisses grew, the louder their giggles grew, until finally the tickle from her lips proved too much and I busted out laughing, too. Leave it to Hope to clear the fog from the sky and fill it with her bright sunshine.

After the laughter cleared, so, too, did the awkward vibe between Hope and me. When the girls were talking about Hana’s project with her classroom, Hope and I exchanged a sweet, knowing smile.  Then, I felt Hope’s foot against my own. I reciprocated with a mild brush of mine against hers. Then, we started dueling, sword fighting with our shoes until we broke out into another series of giggles. This time Hana and Reina just stared at us like we were a couple of buffoons hyped up on Indian beer.

“I think I need to tinkle.” I slid out of the booth.

“Me, too,” Hope said, rising.

I led the way. I entered the one room stall and Hope followed. She locked us in together and asked me point blank, “Are you jealous?”

Our talk from the other day circled around. “I know it’s weird. What right do I have being jealous? I’m with Adam. You are free to date anyone. But her?”

“She assured me the cocaine was a one-time deal.”

“Did you kiss her?”

She sighed and looked up at the weathered ceiling tiles. “Yes. And, that’s all I am going to say.”

My heart ripped at the thought of her making love to this cute girl with the sexy dreads. “I suppose it’s really none of my business. But if I’m keeping it real, I am jealous.”

“You just keep flattering me. You keep this up and I’m liable to crack.” She turned to leave. “Just warning you.” She winked and left.

Soon after, we relaxed into our plates of food. We talked about school and work and running. Then, we landed back on dating when Hope asked Reina, “So, what kind of guy is your type?”

“I don’t date. I already told you that.”

“That’s only because you’re afraid,” Hope said, stirring her noodles and forking a mouthful between her lips. “Don’t you think so, girls?”

We both agreed.

“I’m just not interested.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hope said.

“Maybe I’m gay, too,” Reina said. “I mean, how would I know? It’s not like I’ve ever had sex to know for sure.”

“You’re not,” Hope said. “If you were, my gaydar would be going off like crazy.”

“Does that really happen?”

“Oh, I can tell.” Hope gathered up another forkful of noodles and gazed back over at me lazily as she placed them in her mouth.

I flittered like a butterfly.

“What do you like most in a girl?” Reina asked.

“I like it when a girl does something bold and out of the norm just for the fun of it all.”

“Is that how Nadeen is?” Hana asked.

“She’s definitely free-spirited. Everything’s a surprise with her.”

I hated Nadeen.

“I’ve never met anyone like that,” Reina said.

“Do you think your parents will find you someone interesting?” Hope asked.

Reina swallowed and wiped her mouth on the napkin. After clearing her throat, she spoke, “I’ve got a confession.” She sipped her beer, a pregnant pause stretched out in front of us. “There is no arranged marriage. My parents are not going to be searching for my mate. I made that up. We don’t do that anymore.”

“Why did you lie to us about that?” I asked.

“I am twenty-eight-years-old and have never been kissed by anyone before. I highly doubt it’ll ever happen now.” She hung her head and toyed with her lentils.

I placed my hand on her shoulder to make her feel less vulnerable. “You’re going to let something as silly as a kiss keep you from experiencing love?”

“Who wants to be with someone who’s never kissed another human being before?” Pain etched all over her face.

My heart cried for her. “It’s just a kiss.”

“It’s more than a kiss. It’s a whole psychological mishap in my life. A long time ago, there was a boy who wanted to kiss me. He was so close to putting his lips on mine and I backed away just as he was about to land. He walked away disgusted calling me all sorts of horrible things. Trust me; I’m a freak because of this. I’m okay with that because the fewer things to distract me from my true love in life, my cooking, the better.”

She scooped up another fork full of lentils, and I eased her arm down. The lentils tumbled back onto her plate. I gripped her arm tighter, when she attempted to scoop up more. “What is your problem?” she asked.

“Reina, you need to kiss someone.”

“Why are you looking at me like you’re ready to kiss me?”

Despite a restaurant full of people, I pulled her to me, looked straight into her sorrow-filled eyes and I kissed her. I planted a long, sweet, sultry kiss on her lips and she froze. I forged on, parting her lips with my tongue, and then she softened, even moaned when she caved and kissed me back.

When our lips separated, her eyes grew as big as silver dollars. “What did you do that for?”

“To remove that stubborn obstacle,” I said.

She smiled. “Well.” She waved her hand in front of her flushed face. “I must admit that was rather pleasant.”

I sat back, stuffed another roti in my mouth and took in the full look of surprise on Hope’s face.

“That was hot,” Hope said, leaning back against the booth.

“Sure was,” Hana said and giggled.

Seemed my bold move was a win-win for everyone at the table.

~

Two days later, Reina announced that she scored a date with a young man at the restaurant where she worked. Apparently, she told us, this man, Rajesh, had a crush on her for months and was too afraid to approach her. At least this was what one of the pastry chefs told her. Reina, full of confidence now that she kissed another living soul, pounced up to him and told him she was taking him out for dinner. He responded with a flash of panic and a bow.

Two weeks later, at the start of the new year, Rajesh took her away for a weekend to the Shenandoah Mountains. Reina never smiled so much in her life as she did now. I felt proud to have helped make that happen.

That same weekend, my sister dropped off my niece. Julie’s eyes sunk deeper than usual and her mascara had smeared off into the tiny, but recognizable, wrinkles underneath her eyes. Her hair hung in tangles and her clothes were wrinkled.

“Everything alright?” I asked her.

“I’m just tired.” She massaged her forehead. “Angelina, can you please leave us alone for a minute?”

“Whatever.” Angie sauntered into the great room and played with the piano.

“She’s worse than ever. She’s driving me crazy. I don’t know what to do with her anymore. I can’t get her to do homework. I can’t get her to go to ballet lessons. I can’t even get her to eat half the time. Do you know she ran away from home three nights ago and didn’t come home until yesterday afternoon?”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“What were you going to do?”

“I could’ve called her.”

“She left her cell phone at home.” Julie swung her hair past her shoulder and remained tall and steadfast despite her ragged hobo look. “Honestly, I’m ready to just send her off to military school.”

“Where did she run away?”

“An abandoned mill. The police finally found her with a few other derelicts. They were smoking and drinking.”

All those years of begging her not to smoke or drink down the tubes. “I’ll try and talk with her and see if I can find out anything.”

“This is not my fault you know.”

“Of course not.” I rubbed her shoulder.

“There must be some wild gene gone rampant on her dad’s side of the family.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“All right, well, thanks for taking her overnight. I hope she’s good for you.”

“I’ll call you if anything.”

A few minutes later, I sat beside Angie at the piano and we played chopsticks together like we always did when she was a little girl. After that, we made milkshakes and drizzled chocolate sauce over them. And later, she helped me make favors for Adam’s party. We accomplished more in those four hours than most people did in a workday. I wanted her good and tired before I bothered asking her the real questions. “So, anything you want to talk about?” I asked when we finally sat down on the couch exhausted.

“My mother thinks I’m stupid, and I’m really not.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t.”

She tapped my foot and we began wrestling our toes. She giggled and I let her heart wander to that place where she was at peace and happy, where a little girl should be at this stage in life. “She wants me to be a chess player. Then she wants me to be on debate team. Oh, and she also wants me to be a lawyer someday. I told her I wanted to be a vet and she told me no.”

“Sometimes parents have this idea in mind of how your life should turn out and when it goes off a different path, they don’t know how to deal with that. I don’t think she means any harm. I think she just really needs to see that you’re serious.”

“I love animals. How much more serious can I be? It’s not like I can operate on one to show her.”

I nudged her and tickled her belly. “No, silly, I don’t mean that. But there are things you can do to drive home the point. Like volunteer to walk neighborhood dogs. Clip cat nails.”

She nodded and took it in.

We sat in silence for a few more minutes. “Do you want to take a drive to the animal shelter?”

“Really?” She sat up.

You’d think I just invited her to Disney World.

“Yeah, why not?”

“I’ll get my coat.” She ran off to the foyer. I went to the kitchen to gather some granola bars before meeting her at the front door. She stood with her boots and coat already on, ready to go. She dashed out the front door more like a six year old than the fourteen-year old girl she had bloomed into overnight.

HOPE

I should’ve listened to my inner voice. It told me, ‘Don’t you dare say yes.’ I heard it, but ignored it. And you know why I ignored it? Because I liked to torture myself; I liked to bang my head against the wall and suffer the consequential headache that ensued; and because I was just a tad bit crazy. I just wasn’t ready to be all chummy with PJ again. I wanted to move forward in my new life, with my new friends and not be reminded of Ryan and that whole part of my life.

She just showed up at my work one day, though, with an invite to join her for a sandwich down at the café. I could’ve looked her straight in the eye and said no.  I said yes on autopilot. Next thing I knew, I was sinking my teeth into a Ruben sandwich on pumpernickel.

PJ filled me in on everything about her and Rachel. Their baby would arrive any day. They painted the room yellow and already selected the crib and equipped the closet with baby clothes. Oh, and they already researched early learning centers and decided on the Meyerhoff Academy.

She was positively glowing. I felt cornered into mirroring her joy. “Wow, you’re going to be a mommy.”

“Yeah, imagine, me a mommy? Rachel is so excited. She bought us one of those baby carriages with the three wheels so we can run with her.”

“Do you have a name?”

“We want that to be a surprise.”

“I understand.”

She placed her sandwich down. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

She cleared her throat and scanned the nearby tables as if searching for consensus for what she was about to unleash.  “Ryan and his girlfriend are expecting a baby. She’s six weeks pregnant.”

I felt kicked, beaten, down trodden. Air hung in my lungs and refused to come out. “Wow.”

“Are you okay about it?”

I couldn’t even speak. I just sat there like a fool, shrugging and spilling tears. PJ reached over at one point to console me and I pushed her hand off of mine. “I’m fine.” I said this as I wiped salty tears from my cheeks. “I am. I’ll be fine. It just amazes me. It didn’t take him too long.”

“He moved on. Isn’t this what you wanted for him?”

“Yes.” I tossed my Ruben down and the meat spilled out, capsized in a sea of lettuce and pumpernickel. “Absolutely. I’m just in a bit of shock. I wasn’t expecting that.”

She combed her fingers through her perky highlighted layers. “I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it from someone else.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

We sat in silence chomping back on our sandwiches. People rushed by toting sandwiches, tripping over handbags hanging off the back of chairs, racing to meet a deadline. Meanwhile, the world stood still for me. Ryan was having a kid and I was getting older by the minute without someone to call my own, chasing after a girl who intended to never be with me other than in a closet, locked up and sealed tight so no one would ever know.

Just then, a colleague rushed over to me. “We have a problem with the software. The date is 1900 and all the marketing reports are missing. You might want to come up and see this.”

I tossed my sandwich onto the wax paper, crumbled it up and told PJ I had to run.

“Call me,” she yelled after me.

“I will.”

A few hours later, the computer team restored the software, and I texted PJ to apologize for running out on her. Then, without giving it a second thought, I texted Nadeen and asked her if we could meet up that night for drinks.

Chapter Fourteen

LUCY

A few nights after my niece left, I ate dinner with Hope and Reina. Hope was down that night. Her eyes were swollen. Her hands were jittery. Her shoulders hunched down like an insecure teenager. She barely touched the tortellini Reina cooked for us.

She absently pushed a noodle back and forth across her plate, playing air hockey with it.

“Is something wrong with the tortellini?” Reina asked her.

Hope didn’t even look up at her to answer. “My stomach’s just not feeling right.”

“Well, don’t waste it.” Reina rose, went to the cabinet and pulled out a plastic container. “Here,” she said handing it to Hope. “Save it for your lunch.”

Hope grabbed the container and packaged her tortellini.

Five minutes later, she ventured out the front door without saying goodbye.

“Was it me or was she a total bitch tonight?” Reina asked.

“She’s probably just not feeling well like she said.” I got up from the table and began cleaning up and was not disappointed when Reina took her plate and carried it down the hall to her bedroom to finish.

I soaked the plates and leaned over the sink for strength. I desperately wanted to know what was floating around in her head that night. Was it something I did? Did someone offend her? Did she lose her job? Did she get bad news from a doctor? I couldn’t stand not knowing. I could end the suspense in two seconds. All it required was for me to scale the staircase, sneak in her room, and flip to her latest entry. This all seemed so logical. So, I didn’t even try to talk myself out of it this time around. I headed towards her bedroom. And, I didn’t stop myself when I picked up her journal and began reading that day’s entry. I needed to know how to help her.

January 7

Dear Journal, it’s Hope and I’m feeling kind of hopeless right now.

I watched a video of a man painting a New York firefighter cradling a young child in front of the American flag. He painted to the songs “Proud to be an American” and then to “Hero.” His body vibrated to the beat, punctuated each stroke, cried out in pain. He swooshed paint on the canvas in front of a silent, crowded audience, flicking paint all around as he dunked pair by pair of brushes into buckets of paint. The sweat, the untold stories within him echoed so loud my heart broke. That was artistry at its finest. That was what I wanted to feel about something, anything other than the regret I lugged around with me day in and day out. This constant knocking at my temples caged me in a life of unease. If only I could release this pressure through artistic display. I am not that lucky. I have only mailing lists, promotional campaigns and spreadsheets to deliver.

I also watched Adam through the crack in his door. His fingers pounded his laptop, forcing his soul into his sentences, his speculative literary genius. Even his hair bounced, reverberated against the thoughts wailing in his brain, vying for their chance to escape the confines of his creative brain and land eloquently between the white space that would one day buffer the story for an eager fan. Some people have a way to escape their worlds, and I am growing more envious of such people by the second. I need an outlet.

I love writing my blog, but it also reminds me of how pathetic my life is right now.  Here I am writing about love and dating and I can’t get it right. Nadeen is a total loser, and yet I dated her again. When she pulled out that cigarette and I smoked it with her, I realized one thing, I am heading nowhere fast.

Maybe like in love, my karma is lashing back at me and will never allow me to move forward. I go back and forth on whether I deserve to be happy or not. Why would I ever have the gall to think I deserved to be loved by someone special and put together when all I do is compromise my integrity? Of course idiots like Nadeen, Isabella, and that freak from the Internet are going to be tossed in my path. God wouldn’t waste his time handing me the genuine ones when all I know how to do is stomp on hearts and send them reeling into the arms of others.  I can’t believe Ryan is going to be a father. And, then PJ and Rachel’s family will begin. They’ll have family picnics together, their kids will have play dates at Centennial Park, they’ll throw birthday bashes and eat cake and ice cream together, and they’ll watch as their kids graduate one day. They’re all so put together and I, on the other hand, am so far from anything real that I may as well smoke cigarettes with drug-using women and long for the one woman that’ll never be mine. The Adams of the world got the good ones. The likes of me, we got the leftovers, the discarded, the ones who were just as undeserving as ourselves.

Poor Hope. I ventured to the window and peeked out over the driveway. The night was calm, the sky clear, all cars were folded up nicely in the driveway like a pack of sardines. Even Hope’s.

I panicked and ran out of her room, sealing the door in a hush. I walked down the hall and down the stairs without taking as much as a breath of air into my lungs. I rounded the foyer and there she stood in the kitchen again making a cup of tea. Her head still hung low, her shoulders still hunched over. I wondered if she’d heard my panicked footsteps above?

I did my best to iron the guilt off my face before approaching her.

“Hey,” I said. “Can I join you?”

“I’m not going to be good company right now.” She poured some honey into her tea cup and picked up the teapot from the stovetop before it blew its whistle.

“I’m willing to suffer through.” I wasn’t taking no for an answer. I opened the cabinet and took out a tea cup and teabag for me, too.

She poured semi-hot water into our cups. “PJ told me yesterday that my ex is having a baby with his girlfriend.”

Oh thank God she spilled this one. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I know that must have hurt.”

“On so many levels.”

We sipped thoughtfully. “You look like you’ve been crying,” I said to her.

“I’m just frustrated. Things aren’t turning out for me the way I thought they would.”

“Give it time.”

“I feel like as time goes on, things are getting worse. I’m feeling stuck.”

“Maybe you just need to run it out,” I said.

“I feel like I need to do something completely different, like I really need to shake things up in my life. Change everything about it.”

“You can’t run away from problems.”

Hope laughed at this. “No offense, but I can’t take that advice seriously from you.”

I jumped into defense mode. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, then.”

She bowed her head again. “I know you’re just trying to help. I’m just not in a good place right now. So forgive me ahead of time for anything I say that might offend. I really don’t mean a word of it.” She turned to toss her teabag out in the trash.

“You know what your biggest issue is?”

She turned around obviously surprised at my sudden bold move. “Tell me.”

“You can’t forgive yourself. You think if you run away, you won’t have to forgive yourself. You’ll be able to just start fresh and never look back. But it doesn’t work that way. You’re never going to feel like you deserve anything good until you can learn to let go of that guilt.”

“You believe I think I don’t deserve good things?”

I needed to tread carefully. “It’s written all over your face.”

She ran her fingers down her cheeks. “Huh.”

“What happened in the past, happened. So why let it hold you down, still?”

“I feel branded, like I’ll never get away from the pain I caused. I feel like no one’s ever going to be able to trust me knowing I cheated on someone.”

“Do you trust yourself?” I asked.

 “Not always.”

“I trust that you’re a good person.”

“The fact that I care so much that you trust me, just proves I can’t be trusted.” She grazed my cheek with her hand.

I cupped mine over hers for another few seconds before resigning us back to separate entities pining for each other over our brick walls. “Just focus on forgiving yourself and everything will eventually fall right into place as it should be.” And to this I walked away before one of us crossed that line that would send her off to a far worse place mentally than ever before.

~

Hope and I ran in silence for the rest of the week. Not mad silence. Not awkward silence. More so reflective, comfortable silence between two friends. She didn’t bring up PJ or Rachel or Ryan or Nadeen, and I didn’t ask about whether she was learning to forgive herself. We just pounded our sneakers on the pavement and sweated out our frustrations, widening our strides, increasing our pace, furthering our distance. We were running ten miles some days now.

Despite how well we were getting by as friends, I still dreamed about kissing her, about caressing her toned body, about curling my legs around her waist and nuzzling up to her soft skin. I even fantasized about her making love to me, planting her love in me through gentle kisses and curious desires.

I wanted to know if she felt the same way. But, I was on the no-journal-reading wagon again, and this time, I would not fail her. Her inner secrets were hers to keep now. I had earned her trust, though undeservedly, and I wouldn’t screw with it any longer. I would trust in her and in the process of friendship from there on out.  Hope made that easy. I could ask her anything now. Nothing was off limits. No one else has ever offered me that gift. Not even the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

~

Julie was supposed to arrive with Angie at ten o’clock, and didn’t arrive until ten thirty eight. They burst through the front door. Angie swung off her shoes and bolted past me, anger written all over her face, and Julie planted her heeled foot in the foyer and refused to step in any further.

“This isn’t working any more. I’m driving an hour and a half to come here and what you’re doing is not working. You can’t take her to the shelter and expect her to pass an algebra exam. You do get that, right?”

“Whoa.” I threw my hands up on surrender. “What’s happening here?”

“What’s happening is I am wasting half a tank of gas tramping her up and down Interstate ninety-five thinking the whole time that something good has to be coming out of all of this effort, and then come to find out, she failed her fourth test of the quarter. She tells me this just as I’m pulling into your driveway.”

“Try to calm down. We can work with her on this.”

“Bullshit. This whole process is ridiculous. She’s worse off than ever. I’m driving up here like a fool thinking you’re really working with her and come to find out you’re crafting favors for your silly boyfriend’s party and visiting animals at a shelter, putting all sorts of wild dreams into her head.” Her nostrils flared.

Mine did, too.

Angelina appeared. “You are a fool,” she said to her mother. “You’re just mad that Aunt Lucy is actually more fun than you.”

“Angie, don’t—,“ I said.

“Yes, Aunt Lucy,” she said, “someone has to stand up to her.” She talked about her mother like she wasn’t even in the room.

“Get in the car. I’m taking you home. I’m not making this trip again tomorrow to pick you up.”

She marched out the front door, down the walkway and to the end of the drive and into her BMW.

Angie flung her hands up in the air. “I hate her. Do you see what I have to go through? Do you see why I run away and hang out in abandoned mills instead of in my pretty pink room that’s dolled up for the daughter she wishes I was?”

I hugged her. “She’s your mother, regardless. She’s got issues just like the rest of us.”

“You need to stand up to her better.” And at that, Angie rushed out the door and slammed it shut.

I walked into the great room, ashamed. Hope was stretching on the floor. “Sounds like you might need a run.”

“I need a hell of a lot more than that.” I plopped down on the floor next to her. “Now my niece thinks I’m a louse.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation. At least you’re a cute louse.”

I punched her arm. “Be nice.”

She stood up and extended her hand out to me. “Come on. Let’s go for a nice easy jog.”

“I’m not wearing a sports bra. And, I don’t feel like changing.”

“Even better.” She latched onto my hand and pulled me out the front door like I was hers for the taking. I didn’t fight it.

HOPE

I still wasn’t certain whether Lucy stayed with Adam because she was afraid to be alone, afraid to admit she really preferred women, or afraid to hurt him and not be able to feel centered around a life that didn’t involve keeping him happy even at the sacrifice of her own joy.

If Julie had spoken to me the way she did to Lucy that day, I would’ve swung my fist into her face so fast, she would’ve gone flying through the front door and landed at the foot of her BMW.

This fear was the one thing that bothered me about Lucy. I wanted to toss her into the pit of fire and prove to her fighting her way out would be far more satisfying than staying in to face the heat just for the sake of not wanting to hurt my feelings for wanting her in there in the first place.

She avoided conflict like a frog avoided a scorpion. She was afraid it would sting her so fiercely that she’d die from it and never get to hop around enjoying the sweet freedom of life as she knew it, life at its comfort stage, life without bumps, twists, ragged edges and all those obstacles that grew a person into someone weathered, rich and diverse. She stayed nestled in the status quo, cutting herself off from the thrill of possibility and growth.

I believed all she needed was a good nudge off the ledge where she’d have no choice but to free fall into the wild blue yonder of space without a net to fall into that would save her from uncertain fate. Only then would she ever gain the momentum and strength needed to live a life that was truly hers to live and not based on someone else’s dream.

I desperately wanted to teach her this for selfish reasons. I knew if she flew with the wind of change at her back, that she’d be open to all sorts of possibilities, and one of them would be me. She’d shed all those insecurities that kept her still and dance instead with exhilaration like she did so many times when alone with me. This was when I loved her most, when Adam was not around, when she was free and uninhibited to explore new sights, new heights, new promises.

If only she could see that, too.

I wrote my blog for the week around this very concept, hoping maybe she’d see herself in it and be motivated to stand out on the edge and jump with her own power, her own set of wings.

After editing it several times, I posted it, satisfied that I drove home my point in a non-assuming manner. After this, I moseyed on down to get some breakfast. The gang was there, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled. I was growing to love this new family dynamic of mine.

“Where’s Adam?” Ralph asked.

“He’s checking his numbers again,” Lucy rolled her eyes.

“He’s got to stop with this obsessing, don’t you think?” he asked.

“The availability of real-time sales figures is not a benefit,” Lucy said. “Especially to someone like Adam who checks it every half hour.” She poured milk into a bowl of Raisin Bran. She offered the box to me. “Want some?”

I waved her off. “No thanks. But I will have some of this roti.” I went to pick up one and Reina slapped my hand. “Not, yet. They’ll be ready to eat in a few minutes, after I cook up some scrambled eggs.”

“You have to be careful with that stuff,” Ralph said. “It’ll expand that tight little waist line of yours.”

“I think she’ll be alright,” Lucy said, eyeing my waist before honing in on a spoonful of cereal.

I flicked his bulging bicep. “What do these things really do for you anyway,” I teased.

“More than your tiny little arms could ever do.” He picked me up from behind in a bear hug and swung me around. I grunted and kicked his knees, wrestling out of his grip. He was like that annoying older brother I never had. He said stupid things all the time that would anger most people. One of these days, I feared for him that he’d say the wrong thing to the wrong person and get walloped across the face or kicked in the balls. He was a goofball with no filter. A cowboy without his gun. A firefighter without his hose. Just a pumped-up muscle man with no one to admire the hard work. I loved him.

He dropped me and took off to the foot of the stairs. “Adam,” he shouted up. “I’ll be out in the car. If you’re not there in two minutes, I’m taking off.”

Adam sauntered down the stairs. His mouth twisted in that usual way after his sales were down. “I’m ready.”

“Grab yourself a water bottle. You’re going to need it. We’re doing kettle bell.”

I felt sorry for him. He looked pathetic, like a worn out jacket all wrinkled and tattered. His face told his story of a man with his dreams being sucked out of his core. I reached into the fridge and tossed him the bottle, saving the precious energy he’d need for Ralph’s workout.

“Thanks,” he said, managing a smile. He stopped by Lucy and kissed the top of her head. “If you get a chance, can you resend my last tweet in about an hour? Sales are down and I need to make sure I’m present.”

“Of course,”’ Lucy said, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear and then spooning in another mouthful of Raisin Bran between her pretty rosy lips. I saw the wry look clear as day.

Shoot me. I’d rather be lying in a puddle of my own blood, gasping for air, clutching my chest than pretending to love someone I didn’t.

A few minutes later, when Reina finally left the kitchen, I wasted no time. “You are so afraid to rock the boat and tell him how you really feel.”

Her eyes flew open wide. She shook her head. “He’s a nice guy going through turmoil right now. He thought his writing career was going to take off and solve all of his financial woes, and it hasn’t. I can’t kick a man when he’s down.”

“Do you really think he’s brilliant?”

She scoffed. “What difference does it make what I think? It’s the readers who count.”

I barged onward. “Have you finished reading his novel, yet?”

She pulled in her bottom lip, refused to look me in the eye. “I’ve read some of it.”

“Did you like it?”

Now she looked right at me. “Are you trying to make me feel more horrible than I already do? You obviously know my answer if you’re asking it.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” I was trying to get her to be honest with him for once. I leveled the playing field by pouring myself a bowl of cereal, too.

We munched in silence for a few awkward minutes. Then, she said to me. “I don’t think he’s brilliant. In fact, I think his writing is the most boring stuff ever. And the worst part of it is, he really counts on me to tell him the truth. He begged me to dissect it, rip it apart, mark it up with a red pen and slash everything that wasn’t right. But, to do that, I’d have to slash the entire novel. I can’t do that.”

She stopped talking and waited for me to speak. All I could summons was a “Wow.”

“Wow?”

“How good did that feel to get off your chest?” I asked her.

Her face eased and she managed a smile, small, but it was still visible and freed up some breathing for her. “I didn’t even know I was holding all of that in.”

“You need to tell him.”

“No way. It is not my job to crush him.”

“Then, whose job is it?”

Her smile faded. “I hate this. I hate that I have to deal with this. Why should I have to destroy his ego? Maybe I just hate science fiction. Maybe science fiction readers will love what he’s writing and they just need to be coaxed into buying the book. Maybe he’s really the next Stephen King of science fiction.”

“Do you really believe that?”

She sunk her face into her hands. “No.”

I took this opportunity to nestle my hand against her hair. “If writing books is really what he wants to do with his life, then don’t you think you owe it to him to tell him what’s wrong with his writing so he can make it better and get on with his pursuit?”

“That’s like telling your mate she’s fat.”

“Sometimes a little stirring up is what’s needed. It could save his future. He might just need a writing course to set him straight on writing stuff that’ll get pages turning.”

“I hate conflict.”

I tangled my fingers in her hair even more. “I know. That’s what makes you so sweet. But sweet isn’t always what’s best. Sometimes you have to toss in a little sour to get the balance just right.”

She stuck out her tongue at me and I tried to snatch it. She was too quick for me.

LUCY

After reading Hope’s blog, I thought about her advice and knew she was right.

If I couldn’t tell Adam the truth, what good was I doing him? I didn’t have to come right out and kill the guy with insults. I could temper the mood with constructive feedback, using the principle I learned in my class of five positives for every one negative.

Would I want him to tell me I was a terrible TA? I already knew I hadn’t acted like the best one towards the end of the semester. It would just reaffirm it for me. Did he really feel he was a brilliant writer? Couldn’t he tell something lacked? Was a person’s ego that powerful that it could block all sense of reality from poking through it? If I didn’t tell him he needed improvement, how would he ever grow?

I sat with him one night and asked him to read me chapter one of his next book. I’d never asked such a request. He plopped down on the bed and got right down to it.

He sat my by side, book in hand, reading his work out loud. He tripped over sentence by sentence squirming at his run-ons and acknowledging his typos by grabbing a pencil and marking these areas for future reference.

I couldn't tell if he was embarrassed, disappointed, or angry. His face reddened and he sighed heavily with each discovery. I didn’t have to say a word, it seemed. He discovered his mistakes all on his own, which was exactly what I had hoped would happen.

“Geez, I didn’t realize there were so many mistakes.” He scribbled in the margin.

I just shrugged and suggested he read his books out loud like this from now on.

After the first scene, he tossed the book and relaxed on his side, propping his head on his elbow. “I’m hungry.”

“Let’s go make something to eat.”

And so we marched down to the kitchen and began making a salad.

“I think Hope’s attracted to you,” Adam said. “Do you see it, too?”

I carved a tomato like I was dissecting a rare specimen. I seriously considered his question; let it tumble around my mind. “Why would you say that?” My skin burned.

He tore at the head of lettuce, ripped it into shreds. “The way she looks at you. I’ve caught her several times checking you out. You don’t notice?”

I flushed some more. “No.” I scoffed. “We’re just friends. I would never think of her that way.” My heart raced.

“What do you think she was getting at in her blog this week?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s reflecting on her life.”

“So, you do read her blog?” He tossed his chopped onion into the lettuce and then a handful of slivered carrots.

I swallowed a lump, already knowing where this was going. “I browsed it. It comes in my email inbox.”

“So should mine. But that’s right. You followed with your junk email account.” He turned on the faucet and rinsed his knife. “I noticed.”

I tossed my tomatoes into the mix, trying my best to avoid facing the fact that I didn’t support my own boyfriend’s writing, but I did my roommate’s. “Don’t be upset. It’s just a habit whenever I sign up for anything. Hope signed me up for hers, otherwise I would’ve used my junk one for hers, too.” I plucked up a pepper from the vegetable strainer. I chopped its head off with a precise swoop of the blade. “I’ll sign up for yours with my good email account.”

“That’d be great.” He tossed the salad with his hands and plopped handfuls on each of our plates. “I think I’ll just go eat this upstairs and correct some of those errors I saw.”

And just like that, our first serious conversation in several months ended. “No problem.”

As he walked away, I bit into a carrot stick and contemplated my lie. I was so damn tired of lying.

Chapter Fifteen

The night before the race and Adam’s surprise party, all of us roommates got together to play charades again. Ralph’s kids were there. Reina’s boyfriend, Rajesh, was there. Everyone was there except for Adam. He was upstairs obsessing over his revisions.

After a while, Ralph’s kids started chasing each other up and down the staircase, banging each other against walls, giggling and screaming. I helped Rajesh mix up some punch while the rest of the gang debated over who would win the Super Bowl that year.

We were all laughing and enjoying the night until Adam stormed down the stairs and asked me through gritted teeth to come upstairs with him. I followed, leaving Rajesh to finish our fruit juice medley. Adam led me, walking like he was hiding a dead body in our room and needed me to come straight away. He slammed the door behind us.

“I can’t take it.” He flung his arms up in the air. “I can’t take living here another minute. These people are all driving me crazy. I can’t focus. I keep hearing those freaking kids screaming and carrying on like they’re killing each other. We need to find a new place to live.”

Daggers shot out of his eyes. He paced the floor tossing out a sigh every time he heard someone laugh. “See? How am I supposed to get any writing done with all that noise? They have no respect for what I’m doing up here.”

He rambled on like a crazy person. “Adam, this doesn’t happen every night. Besides, it’s a Friday. Maybe this is a good clue that you should come down and join us and relax a bit.”

“Relax?” He scratched his head, upending his layers. “I don’t want to relax. I want to fix this book. I want to write my next one. I can’t do that with all of these people living under one roof.” He tossed words out, dumping them from side to side like garbage. “Did you know that Reina burps when she thinks no one’s home? And, Ralph talks to himself about positive this and positive that? Hana, she babbles incessantly on the phone to her family in Hong King and do you know how annoying it is that I can’t understand a word she’s saying? Everything that comes out of her mouth is like an emergency when she’s probably just talking about the weather.” He grunted and raised his head to the ceiling. “I’m going crazy here.”

“This is the first I am hearing about this.” I panicked thinking about moving, about not seeing Hope every morning, every night, about living alone in a studio room having to tiptoe around Adam as he frantically attempted to write a masterpiece he’d never be able to write.

“Ever since Hope moved in, things have changed. You’ve changed. Ralph’s changed. Now Reina’s boyfriend is practically a new roommate. All they do is laugh like a couple of hyenas. I just need more peace. I think this is my whole problem with writing lately. I can’t focus, so I’m not able to produce properly.”

I wanted to laugh at him. I wanted to slap reality in his face like a post it note so he could see it clearly in front of him that he sucked as a writer and regardless if he lived in a soundproof bubble, his books would not improve unless he was willing to admit he needed more skills. I paced the floor now, grunting like a horse, collecting my argument, the facts, the approach, and no matter which way I flipped it, there was no easy way to let this man down without crushing him.

“I don’t think this is the time to discuss this,” I said. “You’re too upset. And I just really want to go downstairs and enjoy a fun night for a change.”

“You and I see fun very differently.”

“Well, we’re two different people, apparently.”

“Just go,” he waved me off. “I’ll put some headphones on and turn up the music.”

I didn’t argue. I walked right out of the door with a confident flip of my hair. I was not moving. No freaking way. I would confront him on this if need be.

~

I went back downstairs, and about a half hour later, Adam emerged, showered, smelling like musk. He even gelled his thick hair into place and wore a sweater. By this point, we had already cleaned up charades and the kids were now playing Xbox in the great room. The rest of us sat around the living room talking about a new promotion Reina just got to be the sous chef. Just as Adam sat down next to me and smiled sheepishly, I noticed Rajesh take hold of Reina’s hand. Reina blushed. Adam whispered to me how sorry he was that he’d overreacted.

Call it taking the easy way out, but this thrilled me. I would not have to confront him later about his silly idea to move out to a studio apartment. He just needed to cool. I understood the inner workings of this man.

With an easy feel now, I talked about the race the next day. Everyone was going to be there, including Rajesh. Hope and I would arrive first at the break of dawn and the rest of them would get there closer to race time. I instructed them to be close to the finish line so that we could all go into the after race festivities to enjoy drinks and music. I also reminded them about the spaghetti dinner that night at a hall not far from our house. I squeezed Adam’s hand at this.

At one point, I got up to help Hana clear some of the dishes. When I returned, Hope had sat down next to Adam and they were talking about her blog. Adam wanted to understand how she got so many to subscribe.

“Easy. I just post contests all the time and people just find their way to me. They love the idea of getting something for free.”

He nodded, his eyes wide with interest. “So do you have plans of what you’ll do with this blog?”

“Actually Lucy gave me a great idea. She thinks I should turn it into a book.”

I cringed. Adam shot me a look. I nearly dropped a tray of glasses. “A book? That’s a whole different animal. Do you realize how much you’ll be getting yourself into?”

“Sure, I do.” Hope leaned back. “I actually already started writing it. It’s falling into place.”

“How far along are you?”

“I’m up to fifty thousand words already.”

Adam struggled to compose under the envy. His legs bounced. His jaw twitched.  “Well, just beware there’s a lot of work ahead of you. Writing is one thing, but then when you get to editing it, it’s tough.”

Like he would know.

“You sound like you’re trying to talk me out of it.”

“No, just friendly advice.”

“You know what I think?” Hope sat up taller. “I think you’re afraid of some friendly competition.”

Adam opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t. I’d never seen him speechless before. He just stood up and walked out of the room to help Hana.

“Why did you have to do that?” I asked her. “It’s not like he can compete with you.”

“I don’t hold back. You know that.” She got up. “I think I’m going to bed.” She turned back to me. “I’ll see you bright and early.”

I followed her to the foyer. “He’s in a really bad place right now.”

“You’re just making excuses for him. It’s not okay that he comes to me and starts downplaying my writing. I won’t stand for it.”

She marched up the stairs and I let her.

~

I met Hope in the kitchen the next morning. We drank a cup of coffee and ate a Powerbar around small talk that included things like cold weather, attire for the day, logistics for the party, and I even tossed in there something about wearing a heart rate monitor to be positive of our start and finish times.

At one point, Hope looked at me and said, “You can say what’s on your mind.”

“I just want to get to the race.”

“Bullshit,” she challenged. “I walked away from you last night without saying goodnight and that didn’t upset you in the least bit?”

“Why do you have to push it?” I asked.

“I won’t walk on eggshells. I can’t do it. I want our friendship to be real, not based on politeness and false pretenses.”

“Like it is between me and Adam.” I stated this as a fact.

She cocked her head in agreement.

“Fine,” I said. “You want truth? I’ll give you truth. I’m envious of you. I’m envious that you can say what’s on your mind and people respect it. Anytime I’ve tried to speak my mind, the thought comes out all tangled up and sounds like a complaint instead of a fact. Then, I have to spend the next day making it up to the person. You seem to just say it, they accept it, and you all move on.”

“Not exactly. You do remember my ex hates me?”

“So, how is that good?”

“It’s real. I know this conversation between us is real. I know when I talk straight with someone, they are real back to me because I demand that. With Ryan it’s real, too. It’s not pretty. But it’s real.”

“But, you weren’t always real with him. You were married to him for almost three years, right? Surely in that time you weren’t thrilled to be with him. So, there must have been some times when you hid the truth.”

“Well… not everything is as black and white… I mean, there are times—”

“There are times when you have to keep silent,” I continued for her.

“Okay, maybe about my sexuality. But, when I had something to say to him, I said it.”

“I think you hold back certain things from people still.” I knew her secrets.

“I thought you didn’t like to challenge people? Sounds an awful lot like you’re challenging me right now.”

“And I bet you like it,” I said with a tease to my voice.

Her eyes flickered. “I love when you get a little feisty with me.” She stared into my eyes, penetrating, gripping, mesmerizing. “I find it flattering.”

“Well, you should.” And to that, I curtsied and we chided our way to her car.

When we arrived at the race location, white puffs filtered from our mouths and we stuffed hand warmers into our gloves. We huddled a little closer, which I didn’t mind at all.

“I meant to ask you,” Hope said. “What did Adam have to say when he finally went to bed?”

“Not a thing,” I said.

She squinted, folded her arms across her chest. “Nothing?”

“Seriously. He didn’t say a word to me. He climbed into bed, rolled over and went to sleep.”

“I get the feeling he really doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Okay, easy does it,” she said. “You’re still allowed a little sugar coating.”

I nudged her with my elbow and fell into her. She wrapped her arm around me to save my balance. And, I hung in there for a few moments. “You’re nice and warm.”

She hugged me closer. “Then, by all means. Stay right where you are.”

I snuggled up closer, enjoying her warmth, her heartbeat, her breathing. “He thinks you’re attracted to me.”

She curled in to me. “What did you say to that?”

“I asked him why he thought that.” I hugged her tighter. “He said he catches you checking me out.”

She chuckled. “Did he also mention he catches you checking me out?”

I tilted my head up to her. “Do I do that?”

She nudged the tip of my nose with her mitten. “I catch you all the time.”

I buried my head in her chest and she squeezed me tighter.

Several minutes later, we lined up in our pace group of under one hour and ten minutes. People stretched and jumped up and down trying to keep warm. I set my heart rate monitor to zero and waited, anxious to finally reap the rewards of all of our training.

The group started off slow, and when we passed the starting mark, I started my monitor. We agreed to run together and finish together. But, I could see the challenge right from the start. People zigzagged their way past us, and we bumped arms with a few hundred people as we moved past them. Before long, the crowd broke up and we could finally pace ourselves and enjoy the process without fear we’d lose one another in the great sea of people.

Onlookers cheered as we ran past. At one point a marching band played for us. We ran strong and proud. Every once in a while I’d glance over at Hope and catch her looking at me. This gave rise to greater strides and faster paces.

Before I knew it, we passed mile six and were well on our way to finishing. The crowds grew, the cheers got louder and my heart pumped faster. Right as we rounded the corner and the finish line was within clear site, I heard our names yelled out. On the side holding signs much too large for a crowd this size were Reina, Rajesh, Hana, and Ralph and his kids.  I searched around for Adam. I couldn’t see him. I thought maybe he was standing at the end and going to do something corny like present me with a dozen long stemmed roses, but the only people greeting me were Marines who passed out ribbons and took pictures with us.

When our crew finally got to us, they pelted us with accolades, hugs, and kisses. I finally summoned up the nerve to ask Ralph, “Where’s Adam?”

“He’s filming you from up there.” He pointed to the top of a hillside where Adam stood, recording the moment. We all waved to him and he ran down towards us. He pulled me into his arms and congratulated me. He squeezed me tight for what felt like eternity. Then, finally, he relinquished his grip and pointed us all towards the festivities. “Let’s have some fun.”

He didn’t say one word to Hope.

~

The plan for later that afternoon was for Ralph and Rajesh to take Adam golfing so we girls could set up the hall. Then, they would run late because Rajesh would insist they have drinks at the country club bar. Then, they’d just meet us at the hall for the fake post-run spaghetti dinner.

Several hours later, with the hall decorated with streamers and filled with several dozen of his colleagues from work, Adam arrived. His mouth hung open as it dawned on him that we were celebrating him. “Happy Birthday!” I said.

Ralph gave him a “bro hug.” Rajesh patted his back. Hana bowed. Reina smirked. And Hope, blew bubbles in his face while singing Happy Birthday to him. With dozens of eyes set on him, he had to acknowledge her with a reciprocal display of affection in the way of a plastered smile.

HOPE

Lucy told me that she confronted Adam after the party. For that one moment of time between her saying this and her telling me how she confronted him, I soared like an eagle, rising way up and swooping in over the land, taking in all the beautiful lakes, and trees, and flowers below. Everything looked green and pure and ripe from this angle. Everything seemed in its rightful place just where the universe intended it to be. Then, she spilled to me that she hadn’t broken it off, but merely bandaged their broken relationship until the next rip, leaving me with a gaping hole to my future; one that bled, lonely and cold.

In those few seconds after she told me she confronted him about a studio apartment and not their demise, I seriously thought about ending my time as an ordinary person and shuffling into something more obscure, less defined. I decided a nomadic life would be appropriate for me. I’d travel from one location to the next, gathering up ideas for blog entries. Perhaps even get lost in the Amazon and assimilate into a tribe that eats monkey brains for fun. That just seemed like a less punishing option than living under Ralph’s roof for another day.

In those moments when she affirmatively told me she was going to make this work with Adam, and she would do so by being assertive and forthright, I caught a glimpse of my mistakes, my malfunctions, my sins, and reminded myself for the hundredth time that no one could shit all over a person and walk away with the gold prize.

I returned right to that place of several months ago, when all I could see was Ryan’s disgust of me as a cheating skank with no values and fucked-up belief systems. He probably still shuddered when he thought of me, and would agree with this lonely lot I reaped in life, because he would think, She deserved just what she got. She deserved nothing more. She didn’t deserve to be happy in love. Nope. This served her right. Who did she think she was asking for more than she deserved? He’d go to Lucy if he could and warn her to stay away and not dare think for even a moment of screwing up her entire future for someone like me.

“I’m happy for you,” I told her, giving up all possibility of a future with her. “Make it work if you can. You’re a good person and he’s a lucky guy.”

“Thanks,” she said agreeing, wedging the knife deeper into my jugular. “He seemed genuinely concerned that I was upset with the move, and he really wanted to please me by staying put.”

“I bet he did.” I wanted to add, I bet he left you alone in your bed five minutes later as he went to write another horrible scene.

LUCY

I got the feeling when I told Hope about stirring up some possible conflict with Adam, that she didn’t entirely buy into the idea that I was being true and standing up for myself. She backed down from digging deeper. And, she did so because she probably thought I was too weak a person to confront her or anyone for that matter.

I wished I could tell her how strong I really was; that I managed to quit a strange addiction of peering into her secret thoughts. This required strength and sadly she’d never know this giant obstacle that I had overcome.

I started to enjoy this feeling of standing up for myself. With Adam, I point blank stomped my foot on his idea of moving out to a studio apartment. He had brought it up again once we got back from his party, citing that he didn’t feel he belonged to this group of people, and that he’d rather just tidy up our lives by simplifying and getting rid of the clutter. I told him this clutter was mine, and that I enjoyed it. I wouldn’t pack it up into a box and shove it under a bed to be forgotten forever. I enjoyed it. I cherished it. I needed such clutter in my life if I was to live in a world with him and his laptop. We discussed our future using this analogy. Talking about cardboard boxes and trinkets seemed the easier way to confront something so complicated and personal. In my mind, Ralph was a bronzed statue, Hana an origami napkin, Reina a plump, squishy doll, and Hope, she was a delicate crystal figurine. I would guard them, and not allow Adam to toss them in the trash to be forgotten forever.

He gave up when I said, “If you leave, I’m not following.”

Panic stretched across his face. “You’d choose them over me?”

I reached for his hand. “No. I choose myself first. And then you.”

He closed his eyes at this, nodded a few times and then opened them with a new sense of recognition. “I can respect that.”

I walked away from that conversation with a new badge of honor coated in a sense of pride and confidence, the likes of which was so foreign and exciting to me.

On a cold day in January, when we held our very belated Thanksgiving day dinner, before the turkey was fully cooked, the potatoes cubed, the garlic pressed, the apples cored, I got the opportunity to show off this new badge of self-respect again when my niece showed up on my doorstep with a suitcase in hand begging to move in with me. “My mother kicked me out.”

“Why?”

“I told her I wished you were my mother instead. And so she went crazy and started throwing things at me telling me to leave.”

“How did you get here?”

“My friend drove me. He had to leave, though, so you won’t get to meet him.”

I shuffled her inside and immediately called my sister.  She didn’t answer. So, we continued to press the garlic and core the apples and pretend life was one big happy holiday and that all would be rosy.

Just about the time I shoved a rack of rolls into the oven to brown, my sister showed up, primed and ready to fight. Ralph handed her a glass of wine, which she guzzled. He even ignored the fact that she didn’t remove her heels.

I stood before her, the counter and a potholder my only defense against her thorny, prickly aura and told her to take off her shoes and sit down and eat with us.

No one spoke, and I highly doubted even breathed in those few seconds it took for my sister to step out of her heels and hand them to Ralph. “Do you mind?”

“Put your own shoes away,” he said, then stole a carrot from the tray, chomped on it and walked out to the living room.

My sister’s eyes glossed over in tears, her confidence side-swiped by Ralph’s bite.  Instinctively, I fell quickly into protect mode. “He’s just being ornery because his favorite football team isn’t playing today.” I swooped in and took her shoes. “Here I’ll take them for you.”

When I returned she didn’t thank me for my sweet gesture. She just asked, “Where’s Angelina?”

“She’s just asserting her independence. Teens do this.” I softened. “Just give her some room.”

“Don’t tell me how to parent.”

“I don’t think that’s what she’s doing here,” Hope said. “I think Angie just needs a few minutes to get herself together.”

Julie snapped her eyes to Hope. Steam vented, wheels cranked, anger sizzled, and finally, the top flew off. “I am not going to take advice from some…” She tightened up her face, building up more steam, more anger. “From some…” her breaths hardened up fondue-like, crystalizing into harsh pellets.

Time froze long enough for me to see clearly the misguided jealousy she was ready to catapult onto Hope. I imagined Hope’s pristine aura fading into a gray post-Julie attack. I couldn’t watch this happen.

I pushed towards her, shedding my fear, flaunting a bravado I didn’t own. “From some…?” I pressed forward, stabbing her with my icy eyes, pricking her into silence mode.

Her eyes flickered. She swayed, backing up, reaching for the counter behind. “From some…” she stammered, bit her lip.

I pumped up my illusionary feathers and spread them real wide so they couldn’t be missed. I dared her with my presence, pushing her flush against the counter edge, my face within inches of hers. “You’re in my house. And in my house at our Thanksgiving dinner, we sit down and give thanks. So, right now, you’re going to sit your ass down, then you’re going to drink wine and you’re going to eat a fucking turkey leg if it kills you to do so. Right?”

She puffed and then whimpered like a trapped raccoon fighting with the last of its energy to break free from the net and scamper off to lick her wounds, gain her pride back.

I inched even closer.

“Fine,” she screamed and pushed me back. “Give me glass of fucking wine.”

“Get it yourself.” I then turned back to save my buns from charring and faced a roomful of people with mouths hung down to the floor. “Let’s eat.”

Chapter Sixteen

HOPE

That January night of our late Thanksgiving dinner, while everyone slept on the couch in front of a “Law and Order” episode, I retreated downstairs to get a good drink. Lucy met me down there.

“So, how was that for standing my ground?”

“I was scared.” I said.

“It felt good to put her in her place and have her see me as more than a little sister she could push around.”

“What did she say to you later on when you walked her to her car?”

“She asked me not to walk her to her car. But, I did anyway. You know me. I would never be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t at least help her save face a little for the ride home. My goal wasn’t to get Angie to hate her mom. So, I gave her a hug and told her I loved her and that I hoped we could work it out.”

“I don’t think your sister is capable.”

“Well, now, don’t rush into that conclusion so quickly.” Lucy grabbed a glass and I poured some Kahlua into it. “We had a good chat. She confessed that she was jealous of me and that she had some work ahead of her. She told me Angie really looked up to me and she didn’t want that to change. Angie even came to our side and listened.”

“See what happens when you listen to me?”

She scooted in closer. “You’re a good role model.”

I breathed in her energy, her soul, her vibe. “I really enjoyed seeing that side of you tonight.”

She rested her eyes on mine. “I like that you enjoyed it.” She sipped her Kahlua and offered me a sip.

She placed the glass to my lips and poured a helping into my mouth. “That was sweet.”

She placed the glass down and latched onto my hands, then drew a breath. “I’m so attracted to you.”

I guided our entwined hands up to my lips and kissed them. I drifted on her gaze, losing myself in her eyes. I let go of her hands and played with her hair, sliding my fingers through it and enjoying its soft tickle. I twirled a long layer, flirting with it, teasing it into a spiral. “What can we do about this?”

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

Caught up in this reverie, I took full advantage of the swing and caught her, kissed her deeply until her breaths entered my soul and tickled me down to my toes. “I want to. I really want to. But—”

“Shh.” She placed her finger on my lips. “I need to do this.”

I breathed her in as her fingers traced my lips. Our chests rose and bellowed at the same rate, in and out, up and down, our breasts skimming. I could take her right then. Just scoop her up and glide her to ecstasy, to a place she’d never recover from, never forfeit. The memory would etch itself in her mind. I’d show her what making love with a woman was all about, what she’d been missing all along, and why she and Adam couldn’t connect the way she craved. She could be mine, our bodies entwined like growing vines, unable to release until full range had been met.

This was my chance.

Her finger slowly circled down past my jaw, down my neck, down to where our breasts met. “Please,” she said. “Make love to me.”

I steered her, each move laced with more and more hazard. The danger excited me, spun my head round and round. Dizzy and drunk, I inhaled deeply, and this cleared a path for sense to filter through. I opened my eyes and stared into her pretty ones. Innocence still skimmed their edges. Her soul was still pure. Her heart still open. Her mind was not corrupt with the poison of contempt for herself. She caressed my face, admiring me, bathing me in love.

How easily I could’ve slid into this tempting moment. But I wouldn’t risk it. I shuffled backwards, and she pulled me back wanting me to help her cross that line.

“I’d never forgive myself,” I said. I ran my fingers through her soft hair, enjoying the tease. “I care about you too much to let this happen this way. I can’t have you viewing me as the girl who tarnished your good soul.”

She kissed me tenderly. “This is why I adore you so much.” She played with my hair now, too, sliding her fingers through to the ends. “But, you say that like I’m perfect. I can assure you, I’m not. I’m guilty of things, too.”

I kissed the tip of her nose. “Nothing you can say will ever persuade me to think you’re anything less than perfect.”

Her fingers stopped sliding and landed on the end of a layer. She swallowed as if contemplating whether to confess a murder. “Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing.” I reassured her with a series of feather light kisses down her neck.

She stretched back. “I’m feeling really guilty about something, and I really want to tell you. But, I’m scared.”

I cradled her again, but she squirmed free. “You can tell me anything.”

“Promise me that you won’t hate me.”

“Lucy, you don’t have to bottle anything up inside with me.” I pulled her in again. This time she let me. She trembled in my arms. I rocked her. “Just tell me.”

She buried her face in my chest and said, “I did something horrible.”

I continued to rock her. “It’s okay. Just free yourself. Tell me.”

“I read your journal.”

I stopped rocking her. “What do you mean you read my journal?”

She looked up at me, fear cased her eyes. “I read your journal. I saw it sitting there one day when I returned your wallet to your room and I read some of it.”

I spilled hundreds of secrets onto those pages, secrets no one should have seen. Not even Lucy. The red undies, the kisses, the countless times I wanted to make love to her, oh my gosh, then the Nebraska whore and all of the Isabella details. Anger seeped in. She read about things I had a hard time admitting to myself. “That’s deeply personal stuff.”

“I know,” she said, her face anguished with a rush of guilt. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you… I thought I could. I thought you wanted me to be honest and forthright.”

I backed away. “Reading my private thoughts has nothing to do with being assertive.”

She hugged her chest. “Oh God, I never should’ve said anything.”

“You never should’ve invaded my privacy like that.”

“I stopped, though. I haven’t read it in weeks.”

“Weeks?” I flew my hands up in the air taking in the sheer gravity of this news, this betrayal. “So, it was more than once? You trampled all over my secrets multiple times? Like it was a fucking public newspaper?”

“I’m sorry.” Tears fell faster than she could wipe them away.

“Sorry? I feel so exposed.” I paced the floor thinking of all the times I carried on about her and about Adam and about the times I cheated on Ryan. “You had to dig through my underwear drawers and hunt it down.” I bent over in a rush of pain. “How could you do this?”

“I wanted to get to know you.”

“And you didn’t think of just asking me?”

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “I should’ve. You’re right.”

I stared at a girl I didn’t know any better than the first day I met her at work. “I need to get out of here.” I rushed past her.

“Hope, please, I’m so sorry.” She latched onto my shirt. “Please forgive me.”

I turned towards the stairs and left her without saying a word.

~

I spent the better part of my morning working out in the basement trying to avoid everyone in the house. After beating myself up for a couple of hours, I walked back upstairs. The whole gang, minus Lucy, was hanging out in the living room in pajamas, sipping coffee and eating left over burnt buns.

 “Hey,” Reina said, “Sit down and eat some of these with us so you can stop making us feel so guilty with all of your exercise crap. It’s still the holidays in my mind. No exercise allowed.”

“Even Adam took the morning off from writing,” Ralph said.

Adam chomped on a bun. “They’re a little stale, but they’re still delicious.”

How would I ever hang with them again and feel like I belonged?

“I’ve got to run.” I passed them by and ran up the stairs.

I showered and then decided maybe I just needed to get out, get some fresh air and everything would feel better. On my way out, I decided to grab my journal. I was hoping to read it and realize nothing too much was said in it that would make me cringe.

A few minutes later, I arrived at the coffee shop down the street. Before I got out of my car, I opened the journal to a random page and read the entry.

August 19

Dear Journal, It’s Hope.

Today was a sad one. Lucy left the firm for good. I’ve never felt so lonely. I miss her so much already. In other news, PJ and Rachel are getting on my nerves. I’m not sure I even like them anymore. Does that make me a terrible person? Using friends because I have no other choice?

Oh well, what’s a girl to do?

I cringed. These are thoughts no one should ever read. They were mine. Sacred. Guarded. Truths.

I tossed it under my seat and climbed out of my car hoping a cup of coffee would save me from myself.

Well, I found it funny how things just sort of worked out when you really needed them to work out. Above the shop and the pizzeria next door was a small apartment. I had never looked up at it until that morning. I noticed the “for rent” sign. I asked the coffee shop owner if he knew anything about it and he said someone just moved out, a guy who had lived there twenty years. Apparently the landlord just posted the sign last week and no one had bitten on it, yet. He directed me to the pizza restaurant. “He owns and works it.”

So, as karma would play things out, karma made up for one of the lowest points in my life by placing me in the right place at the right time. The jolly Italian man behind the counter beamed when I told him I needed a place to rent. “It’s clean and safe, and you can even have a little dog or cat if you want. I just ask that you take care of it.”

“Can I see it, first?”

“Oh, yes,” he bellowed a hearty laugh. “Come, follow me. I take you up there right this instant,” he said with a thick Italian accent.

He dug a wad of keys out of his apron and I followed him out of the pizzeria and up the steep stairs to a door with a picture of Jesus on it. “The guy was deeply religious. You can remove if you don’t like it.”

We walked in to the one room apartment. Its charm immediately drew me in. “It even comes furnished. The table and chairs are my mother’s from Italy. Finest Italian carpentry. Oh, and,” he walked over to the oversized, broken-in leather couch and yanked on a handle, “it’s a sleeper. You can open it when you get tired. Close it when you’re not.”

It smelled like pizza. Sun filtered in a large bow window in the back, offering a bird’s eye view of the quaint Main Street below. “How much?”

“How much you want to pay?”

“Two hundred fifty a month,” I said, low-balling him.

“You know what?” he looked me up and down, massaged his chin. “I tell you what. I’m a going to make you a deal, huh. Three hundred and the electricity and hot water are included. Eh? Good deal, right?”

I was thinking seven hundred would be a steal. “I think that’s fair.”

“How soon you want to move in?”

“How about right now?”

“Let’s a go back to the pizzeria and sign the papers.” He walked towards my new door. “Do you like pizza?”

“Love it.”

“How about provolone cheese? You like the provolone cheese?”

“Sure do.” I held the railing. I felt like I was in an episode of the “Twilight Zone.”

“Then, you come be my guest. You sit at a table, eat the pizza with the provolone cheese and I get you the paperwork to sign.”

Within an hour I was back at Ralph’s packing up my shit.

~

I’d been on my own for a week before I could face my journal again. I sat on my couch with a pen in hand and a mountain of emotions building in my heart. I spent every night crying for everything I lost. I missed my roommates, the bickering, the green energy drinks, my golden room, but mostly I ached for Lucy.

I opened my journal and began writing.

February 4

Dear Journal, it’s me. Hope again.

You are still my safe place, my place to unload, my place to gain a sense of sanity in this great big, scary world. Trust is such a precious gift. How do you rebuild it once it’s broken? This is the question that’s haunted me since leaving last Friday. This whole thing has me wondering what Ryan went through with me. I never even asked for his forgiveness. How could he forgive me when I never asked him to? Did he want to forgive me? Did he want to move past the obvious wrongdoing and carve a new path where understanding and a newfound respect for one another could reside? Or was he that humiliated and turned-off that he couldn’t even imagine allowing me into his world again? Thankfully, I’m not feeling any of these things toward Lucy. I’m angry. I feel betrayed. But, I don't believe she was coming from a place of malicious intent. Just as I think Ryan could’ve gotten to that point where he understood I wasn’t trying to be malicious either. I was tempted, drawn in, mesmerized by the lure of what was on that other side. I was weak and vulnerable and crossed the line. Isn’t that what Lucy did?

I believe Lucy is truly sorry for what she did and as the days are going by I miss her and feel less anger, more understanding, and more accepting that she made a mistake. A very bad mistake, but a mistake. She wasn’t perfect after all. But who is? Aren’t we all just on this ride for the fun of it? Can’t it just be that? Does it have to be perfect?

The more I think about it, the more I am starting to realize that Lucy really scaled a monumental wall in telling me about this. I don’t believe she would’ve ever told Adam or anyone else for that matter. But she trusted me and told me. She’s just a sweet girl who is just as screwed up with her path as the rest of us misfits. I’m no different than she in that respect.

I stopped writing and reread the passage. I needed Lucy to know that I didn’t hate her. So, I called her. And when she didn’t pick up, I left her a three-word message. “I forgive you.”

After I hung up, I felt the shift. I was almost balanced.

Next, I called Ryan and he actually answered on the second ring. “Hi, Hope.”

“Hi, Ryan.”

“What’s up?”

“Well, I’m calling because I, um, because I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I am so sorry for the way I treated us. I was so wrapped-up in discovering myself that I never considered anyone but me. I was selfish. I was wrong in the way I acted. And, I hope one day you can forgive me for what I did. I am truly sorry.”

He exhaled. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know that I am truly sorry for what I did.”

“You hurt me more than you’ll ever be able to imagine.”

“I know I did.”

“I was shocked, stunned. I couldn’t believe you could do that to me.”

I took the blow and swallowed the pain. “I’m embarrassed by what I did. I should’ve come clean to you first.”

“It took me a while to get over the shock.” He paused. “But, I did. One day I just woke up and I didn’t feel shocked anymore. I felt angry instead. And, that anger’s been simmering for too long now. It’s kept me back. I know it has.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I believe you this time.” Another long pause stretched between us. “You know, I don’t feel it suddenly. I don’t feel the weight of it.”

I wept tears of relief. We didn’t speak, just sniffled back and forth for a minute. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“I do. I forgive you, Hope. I really do.”

“Thank you,” I said, breathing without burden. “Thank you for forgiving me.”

“Hope?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d really feel better now if you forgive yourself, too.”

I sputtered fresh tears. “I will. I do.” Overcome, I thanked him and hung up, then continued to weep, freeing myself from having to suffer a lifetime of guilt.

~

After my release, I sat up, took a deep breath, and smiled at myself in the mirror.  Then, I just started laughing. I laughed and laughed sitting on my pull-out couch. I shed all the problems out in that laughter; just dispensed them into thin air and allowed a new sense of peace to fill my core.

I forgave myself. And, I felt amazing.

~

The next day, I had a thought. I needed to really shake up things in my life. A new sense of purpose rose in me. I needed to change things and more than just my apartment. I needed to be free for once. Free to explore the world. Free to be me. With this cheap apartment, I could afford to pay rent and take a few weeks’ vacation. So, I hopped online and just like that booked myself that trip to Europe I never got to take with Ryan. I would stay in hostels, meet new people, and see life through a different lens.

First things first, though. I needed to deal with PJ.

~

We sat at my antique table and snacked on provolone cheese pizza with Italian sausage. Their baby girl, Ashley, snuggled up in a baby carrier, snored gently.

They talked about Ashley, about cute clothes, diapers, shoes, and toys already stockpiled for years to come. They glowed when they talked about feedings, maternity leave, and walks through the park. They hoped she liked music because they planned to build a music room in their basement after they finished it, which they would do over in the spring. Oh, and Christmas, how they couldn’t wait for next year. They would spoil their baby with presents from Santa, Momma PJ and Momma Rachel.

They talked about news, weather, latest gossip, their adoption process, everything but the elephant in the room – why we sat around a wooden table and ate pizza off of generic paper towels.  And, I didn’t go there. Why ruin a perfectly good last dinner among friends who had outgrown one another?  I needed to move forward. PJ needed reassuring that I would be okay, even if my ex was having a baby with someone who had become another one of her good friends.

We ate a large pizza and drank half a bottle of wine before they gathered their designer pocketbooks and photos of the nursery and stood before the picture of Jesus at my front door. I hugged them, and we promised to get together again.

Knowing that we would not keep that flimsy promise right away, this was our goodbye for now. I was okay with this. I’d forgiven myself, and so felt redeemed in their eyes, too. All was right with the world now, so we could all go along our merry ways to new horizons, new friendships, and for me one day, hopefully love.

My future was waiting for me, Hope Steele, forgiver of many, including herself.

LUCY

I listened to Hope’s message and trusted that she meant it. Hope was not one to sugarcoat anything. That much I had learned. That’s why I admired her so much. That’s why she unknowingly became my source of inspiration, my role model. That’s why I was able to walk into my bedroom and stand up to Adam finally.

Braver now, I stood before him and confessed I had to tell him something that would hurt him. Pain etched on his face. Apparently, he did care what I had to say.

I sat down beside him, trembled inside, and blurted out the truth.

“The way you view the world is idealistic. The way you plan is idealistic. You have dreams that I don’t want anything to do with. You want to live life as a recluse. I want to socialize and meet new friends and mingle at corporate parties.”

“I know my life isn’t what you want,” he said.

“It’s so far from what I want.”

“To be honest, I’m exhausted trying to wedge you into it.”

“I don’t want to be wedged.”

“And, I don’t want to be surrounded by people, by animals, by drama like you do. You want to live in a city where you can make a six-figure income organizing companies.  I want to live in the mountains and draw from nature.”

We sat in silence staring at his corner of the room. The light glowed on his laptop, which was opened to chapter eleven. How many nights I sat on this bed and watched him enter into a world of which I wanted no part? “I think we’ve grown apart.”

His chin quivered. “We did a while ago.”

I braced for the pain I would cause. The room stood silent as a dead zone waiting for my words. “I’m ready to move on, Adam, without you.”

He just nodded and tightened his chin. “What brought you to this?”

“A culmination of many things opened my eyes, the running, the new TA position, squaring off with my sister, admitting my weaknesses and realizing the strength behind that.”

He finally met my eyes. “Where do we go from here?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

He bobbed his head and the tears sprang.

I stood up by his side. “I’m sorry.” I cradled his head against me.

He waved me away. “I’ll be fine.”

I decided to walk away, seeing as I had said all I had to say.

~

I knocked on Hope’s front door a few days later.

She answered wearing a tank top with no bra and pajama bottoms. She immediately pulled me into her arms and hugged me. “It’s so good to see you.”

I melted into her embrace, comforted by her love, her compassion and her free spirit. “Thank you for your message.”

She squeezed me tighter in a silence that spoke volumes.

I unfolded from her arms and handed her a small gift-wrapped package. “I brought you a gift for your trip.”

“Reina told you?”

“She fills me in on everything. You know that.”

“She fills me in, too.” She stared deeply into my eyes. “Is it true?”

“It is. I’m a free woman.”

She hugged me again. “I’m proud of you.” She squeezed me tighter. “So incredibly proud of you.”

I melted into her arms. “It’s so good to be hugging you.”

“We could stand here on this landing all afternoon. I don’t mind. Or if you’d rather, we can go inside to my humble abode.”

I pushed her through her front door still latched in her arms. We stood in the middle of her one room studio. I untangled from her embrace and looked around. It was everything Hope: unassuming, cozy, comforting, and warm. “Nice.”

“It’s cozy.” She cradled the gift in her hand.

“Open it,” I said.

Her eyes danced with delight. She ripped it open and smiled down at it. “A journal?” she laughed.

“Look,” I showed her. “It has a combination lock.”

She smiled and hugged me again. “Oh, my gosh, I’ve missed you so much.” She rubbed my back, cradling me. Her hair smelled like coconut and tickled my face.

“So off to Europe, huh?”

“I’ve always had a thing for hostels and the French.” Her face glowed.

“Sounds like such a great plan.”

She laced her fingers in mine. “Come with me.”

“I can’t right now. I’ve got a new semester ahead of me. Besides, I think you should do this one on your own. Just go out there and absorb as much of Europe as you can and come back here to tell me all about it.”

“Will you have sangria waiting?”

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of sangria flowing. I promise.”

She pulled in her lower lip. “How are you feeling about the breakup?”

I breathed deeply and shed the weight of an office building from my shoulders. “Free.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I’m making it up as I go along.”

“Ralph must be freaking out with all of these changes?”

“Nah, not at all. Ralph just got a contract to do the kettle bell training in his gym. Supposedly there’s a lot of money in that. He hasn’t stopped bragging since last week. Oh, and Rajesh moved in two days ago. He and Reina took over my old room. So, he’s not the only man amongst a houseful of women, still.”

“So where did Adam run off to?”

“His parents’ basement. He texted me last night and told me he has signed up for a writing class.”

Hope arched her eye. “Wow, so many changes.”

“They’re liberating.”

She swept me up in her arms and lifted her mouth to mine, kissing me with her free passion. My lips moved with hers as I succumbed to the moment. I stroked her hair and cradled her head in my hands. My hands roamed her back, her arms. I kissed her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, escaping into her soft skin. “I love you, Hope.”

She ran her fingers through my hair the way I liked. “I love you, too.”

We stared at each other long and hard and then she led me over to her bed.  She helped me remove my coat, then unbuttoned my shirt, one sensual move at a time, not letting go of my eyes. Slowly, she undressed me until I stood before her naked and ready for her. I lifted her tank top off and caught my breath. Her breasts, so curvy, perky, and erect waited for my touch. I traced the side of one. My head swirled. My heart melted. I’d never cradled my fingers around a woman’s breast before. I caressed her softness, and enjoyed her quickening breath. I kissed her, my finger still tracing, exploring her suppleness. Our hearts beat together, our breaths entwined, our bodies aligned in perfect sync. She guided me down on her bed and straddled me, kissing me with a hunger, caressing my lips, my shoulders, and finally my breasts. Her breath warmed my skin as her tongue sought out my curves, my nipple. I cradled her as her lips sent ripples through me, one more intense than the one before it. I journeyed around her shoulders and arms, taking in the full beauty of her golden skin, her toned muscles, her sensuous spirit.

She traveled down my tummy with her tongue, stopping at my belly button along the way and circling it with care. Flutters sped through me anticipating what was to come. I ran my fingers through her hair guiding her down further past that point no other woman had ever been. Her tongue, soft, hot, and ready catapulted me to a whole new orgasmic level.  I shuddered under her touch and she guided me to ecstasy, hugging me tightly, crying along with me as together, we filled all voids with our sweet love for each other.

~

One Month Later

I opened our mailbox, one week and three days after Hope first arrived in Paris, and found a small package addressed to me. I didn’t wait to get inside, I tore it open right there on the sidewalk in front of the pizzeria. I pulled back the tissue paper and uncovered a pretty, silk scarf with an intricate delicate design. It smelled like Hope.

A small note sat in the bottom of the box.

Dear Lucy,

I saw this and it was you, pretty, delicate, original. I can’t wait to get back and see you wearing it.

bonne journée, ma cherie

Hope XOXO

My smile could’ve lit up a city block. I hugged it and ran back up the stairs to our cozy apartment. I danced through the room, feeling free and light and ready to embrace this new life with Hope.

HOPE

I traveled from one adorable stop to the next, and met dozens of friendly people out searching for themselves. We laughed, we drank, we ate scones and salmon and all sorts of delicatessen treats I wouldn’t have dared set my fork to in the States. Everything was a surprise, a delightful whimsical treat to my senses. But, nothing stirred me more than a YouTube video Lucy sent to me wearing her pretty new scarf, sipping sangria and blowing me virtual kisses. She smiled and in her eyes I saw a new, revived Lucy who was strong and bold and living her life as she saw it should be lived. Her simple message to me before ending the video was, “The sangria is flowing, so get back here will you?! Oh, and don’t think Angie and I forgot about those banana pancakes you still owe us.”

I stared at the computer screen for quite some time, reveling in her beauty and grace.

A week and a half later, as my vacation came to a close, I blogged to my readers one last time from abroad.

Well, it’s just about that time for me to return home. My trip was fantastic, and I met some pretty amazing friends along the way. I’m sure I’ll have more to say on that once I get situated on my plane for my long flight home. Until then I leave you with this, I am grateful for all of you, and wish you all the best gifts in life—friendship, truth, and forgiveness. Once you let go, the view is spectacular. So, let go… be free.

Hope

PS I’m about to go learn how to make world-class banana pancakes from a French pastry chef. Lucy, get those taste buds ready.  You and Angie are in for quite a sweet treat, my love.

Love,

Hope XOXO