Girl Love Happens Boxed Set: Books 0-2

by T. B. Markinson

  I brandished my rib for her not to hold back.

  “I had a date last night.”

  I choked on a tangy rib chunk. Covering my mouth, I coughed out, “What?”

  “A date.”

  “With Dad?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “You’re dating someone who isn’t Dad?”

  Mom smiled as if it wasn’t a hard concept to understand.

  “Aren’t you and Dad…?” I struggled to find a diplomatic way to continue. “Trying to fix things?”

  She bobbed her head. “We are.”

  “Doesn’t that preclude dating other people?”

  “Why?” she asked completely innocently.

  “To save your marriage.”

  She sighed. “I wasn’t the one who left. Your father did.”

  “But…?”

  Gemma hadn’t taken another bite of the burger, her eyes moving back and forth across the table.

  “Listen, honey. I love your father, but he has some things to figure out. I do as well.” Her eyes fell to her plate. “We’ve been married so long. Had children when we were so young. Who’s to know if we’re meant to get back together unless we dig deep down and find our true selves. Our wants. Desires.”

  I stared at the woman who purported to be my mother. In the past, she was the type to tap dance around shit. Not tonight. Thinking back, it was like the past six months she’d been trying on different personalities. Last Mother’s Day, when she was swilling wine, was her attempt to be a lush. Now a letch. What other L words would she try on for size?

  Shoving these thoughts aside, I asked, “Are you trying to find out if you want to be with… this other man?”

  She laughed, the tension in her shoulders breaking. “We only had dinner, not a hot and heavy evening.”

  I forced down the bile rising to my throat. “Are you going to see him again?”

  She tossed her hands up in the air. “Maybe.” She swooped a rib to her lips. Before taking a bite, she added, “Life’s short. Remember that.”

  I blinked to the point I could only see my eyelashes and flashes of her colorful top.

  Mom, picking up on my shock, said, “It’s okay, Tegan. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  How was dating other men okay for my mother, who was still married to my father? Although, they didn’t live together.

  “Is Dad dating other people?”

  Mom hitched a casual shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  “Would it bother you if he did?”

  Mom chewed, seeming to mull over a response. “That’s a good question. I’ll need to give that some thought.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I sputtered. “If Gem—” My voice came to a crashing halt.

  Mom momentarily froze before setting her picked clean rib onto the pile of other discarded bones on a white plate in the middle of the table.

  “Tegan! Man, am I glad to see you.” Cuddy stood next to me.

  I didn’t speak. None of us did, the tension pushing down on the three of us around the table. Mom’s eyes shot daggers at Gem.

  Cuddy pressed on. “Um, Jenny. She wants to bake.” He took a step away, and behind my mom’s head, he mimed taking a toke. “Super bad even if I don’t… uh, help her.”

  At this, Mom spun her head around. “Cookies?”

  “No. Brownies. The Rocky Mountain kind,” Cuddy said without cracking a smile.

  “That’s your emergency?” Mom tutted. “Must be nice to be a college student with no real troubles.”

  “I don’t think making brownies is good for Jenny, tonight,” Gem said. “She has a game tomorrow, and it wouldn’t be good for her to be sluggish.”

  I marveled over Gem’s ability to sound semi-intelligent, to let Cuddy know in no uncertain terms he shouldn’t sell weed to Jenny no matter how much she begged or threatened. And given moments earlier I’d accidentally outed myself to my super-uptight mother, even if she wasn’t acting so prim and proper tonight, I was all the more floored.

  “What should I say to her?” Cuddy asked, desperation seeping into his tone.

  “Just say no.” Gemma’s eyes bored into his.

  “B-but, what if she asks someone else?”

  Was he worried about losing a customer or Jenny’s wellbeing?

  “All you can do is say no and walk away. Jenny is responsible for her own behavior.” Gemma laid a hand on my thigh, and I tried to determine if she was bucking me up about the Jenny situation or blurting to Mom.

  “Okay. Just say no,” Cuddy chanted. “Sorry to interrupt your meal. How are you, Mrs. Ferber?”

  Mom stared at him as if he was Satan’s unwanted stepchild. Of course, I think that was how she felt about Gemma at the moment. “Fine, thanks. And you?”

  “Oh, things are booming.” His pager beeped. Cuddy raised a hand in apology. “Sorry, gotta run.”

  When he exited the restaurant, Jenny and her gang were hot on his heels. I sucked in a deep breath.

  “You were saying?” Mom said.

  “Uh… I don’t remember.”

  “I think you do.” She crossed her arms.

  “I’m not sure this is the best time.”

  She didn’t blink, using her mom powers to get me to confess to my crime.

  But loving Gem wasn’t a crime. Not to me. Maybe in Mom’s religious world.

  I didn’t dare look in Gemma’s direction, but I sensed her You’ve got this expression.

  “Don’t you already know what I’m going to say?” I didn’t want to say it aloud. Not to her in the middle of Applebee’s.

  “Tegan,” Mom said, and I imagined she wanted to put me over her knee, although she never did when I was young. Threatening me was all it took.

  “Gem and I are dating.” I squeezed Gem’s hand on my thigh and prepared for the shit storm only Sally Ferber could stir.

  “And you two are living together?” Her shrill voice stung my ears. “I was willing to overlook minor experimentation, but dating… and more.” She shook her head as if attempting to dislodge what was right before her eyes.

  “Uh, it’s not experimentation.” Was that her only problem with the situation? Should I remind her that she got pregnant before marrying Dad? Probably not the best course of action given her face was turning the same color as her sweater. What did she mean by minor? Kissing? Over the clothes fondling? And, why did she invite Gemma in the first place if she didn’t suspect the whole truth? Was she competing with Dad, who was much cooler about the Gem situation even if we hadn’t explicitly had the coming-out conversation?

  She took several deep breaths. “Do you think premarital sex is okay just because you’re a… lesbian?” She whispered the keyword at the end.

  Again, undoubtedly this wasn’t the best time to clarify I was bisexual. “I don’t have anything against premarital sex for anyone.” I boldly entered the no-go zone of conversion with mothers.

  “I see. Is that what they teach at Hill University?”

  “If they do, I haven’t taken that class.”

  “Don’t be impertinent.”

  “Don’t be judgmental.”

  We glared at each other, daring the other to break first.

  “Does your father know?”

  “I haven’t told him.”

  “What do you expect me to do with this… information?” Her stony face started to buckle.

  “You don’t have to do anything. This is who I am. Take it or leave it.” I hadn’t expected the ultimatum to slip out.

  She scoffed. “You think at nineteen you have life all figured out.”

  “No, I don’t. And you’re in your forties still trying to figure things out by dating random men.”

  Mom sucked in a deep breath. I was surprised the rib bones didn’t shoot into her mouth. “Your father and I aren’t paying for your education to treat us like this.”

  There it was. The threat she’d cut me off.


  “I don’t know what to say to you right now,” she snapped.

  “Okay,” I said, completely unsure what to say or do next, her threat rolling around in my head.

  She swooped up her purse from the bench next to her and stood. “I need time to think.”

  With that, she left.

  “Guess I’m paying for dinner,” I said in a lame attempt to mask the hurt.

  “Do y’all need anything else?” The waitress asked.

  “The bill,” was all Gemma said.

  “Would you like me to wrap all this up for ya?”

  Gemma started to shake her head, but I cut in. “Yes. Everything.” Maybe I should toss the salt and pepper shakers into my bag.

  The server cleared the plates, leaving without another fucking cheery word. Good thing, because I may have punched her in the face.

  “Are you okay?” Gemma asked in her quiet voice, fearful I was about to blow a gasket.

  “I…”

  “Do you want to wait in the car while I take care of this?”

  I nodded, rising and rushing out before she had time to acknowledge me.

  Inside the confines of my car, my eyes swept the parking lot for Mom’s jelly bean on wheels. She was gone. Jenny and her crew hovered near a beat-up Toyota truck, cackling and rough housing like drunken sailors on their first shore leave in a year. I sank into my seat to avoid them noticing me.

  Gemma, with an Applebee’s bag in her hand, came out of the restaurant. At my window, she motioned she would drive us home.

  Awkwardly, I climbed over the gearshift and parking brake into the passenger seat.

  Not saying a word, Gem spied Jenny. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the lot.

  It didn’t take long to get home. Gemma pulled the car key out, looking at me to determine if I wanted to speak.

  I didn’t.

  Opening the car door, I made my way to our building surrounded by the other cheap buildings of the complex. Gemma, carrying the to-go bag, followed.

  Not bothering to slip my shoes off at the door, I crashed on the couch.

  Gemma went to the kitchen, and judging by the tap water running and then the clicking of one of the gas burners on the stove, I guessed she was making tea, probably chamomile or peppermint. A few minutes later, she returned with two mugs, setting mine down on the table by my elbow.

  She sat next to me. “Want to talk yet?”

  I chewed on my bottom lip.

  Gemma didn’t speak, waiting patiently.

  I swallowed. “I don’t think dinner went well.”

  “It remains to be seen. The good news is you handled it much better than when I came out to Jenny.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Her wan smile almost cheered me. “You choked on a cherry, remember?”

  I snorted. “Mom probably would have watched me choke to death.”

  Gemma sighed. “I seriously doubt that. Look on the bright side. She didn’t lose it. Not entirely.”

  “She didn’t say it was okay, either.”

  Gemma placed a hand on my leg. “Is that what you wanted?”

  “I don’t know what I wanted. Never in a million years did I think I’d come out to my mother over dinner.”

  Gemma laughed. “We both came out at Applebee’s.”

  I felt a tiny smile tug upward. “That’s right. Must be something in their rib sauce.”

  “It’s good.”

  “What? Coming out or the sauce?”

  “I meant the sauce. I’m not sure how you feel about the situation.”

  “Situation,” I parroted. “Well, I have learned one thing. They are right. Bad things happen in threes.”

  Gemma patted my leg. “We don’t know if tonight was bad yet. Give her time.”

  “Oh, please. She’s suspected for how long? I’m pretty sure with all the hints he’s dropped, my father figured it out.”

  Gemma put a palm up. “I know. But suspecting and hearing confirmation are not in the same ballpark.”

  I rested my head against the back of the couch, comforted by her slipping in sports terminology. No matter what, Gemma stayed true to herself. Except when she had the impulse to hit Bernie. My brain switched back to Mom. “What’s she thinking?”

  “Only she knows, and if I know your mom, she hasn’t really figured it out.”

  “She shouldn’t have left like that. I hope she doesn’t get into an accident.”

  Gemma glanced away as if the thought had already crossed her mind.

  I shot upright. “Oh, God. What if she crashes and dies? What if I killed her by being a lesbian?” My body shook.

  Gemma took me in her arms. “You haven’t killed anyone. She’ll be okay. She’ll arrive home in a couple of hours, and I’ll call to make sure she’s safe and sound.”

  “You’d call her for me?”

  Gemma squeezed me tighter. “Of course.”

  “But, she hates you. I mean, she probably hates both of us.”

  “It’s just a phone call. I’m not inviting her to lunch or something.”

  Not registering her words, I continued, “What if she really does hate me?”

  “Not possible. No one can hate you.”

  “Bernie does.”

  “Nah, she’s trying to come to terms with her feelings for you.”

  “Well, Jenny probably does.”

  “Sincerely doubt that. She showed concern earlier. Jenny just has to get her act together. She’s a bit self-involved at the moment. And you”—she kissed my head—“need to stop worrying about everyone else. Concentrate on Tegan.”

  “Not sure you should foster that. Besides, most think I’m too self-involved.”

  Gemma didn’t reply, opting to continue holding me in her comforting embrace.

  “Do you think our family Thanksgiving won’t happen?”

  “Shhh. Stop mulling over all the bad things that could happen. Besides, your dad might insist even if your mom skips. He’s desperate for my mom’s apple pie recipe.”

  I laughed, watching tree limbs bending in the wind.

  “Gem?”

  “Yes?”

  “It kinda feels good. Getting the lesbian monkey off my back. At least it’s out. I’m out.”

  She nodded.

  “Of course, my mom may never speak to me again.” A thought struck me. “Earlier today. There was a phone call. Who was it?”

  Gemma laughed. “How did that pop into your head?”

  I shrugged.

  “The Gap. I got the job.”

  “That’s good. Maybe I should apply.”

  “Thinking of quitting the theater?”

  I shook my head. “If my parents cut me off, I’ll need another job to help pay the bills.”

  Gemma sighed. “No one is cutting you off.”

  I wished I could believe her.

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  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading Girl Love Happens. If you enjoyed the stories, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or Amazon. No matter how long or short, I would very much appreciate your feedback.

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  About the Author

  TB Markinson is an American living in England. When she isn’t writing, she’s traveling the world, watching sports on the telly, visiting pubs, or reading. Not necessarily in that
order.

  Her novels have hit Amazon bestseller lists for lesbian fiction and lesbian romance. For a full listing of TB’s novels, please visit her Amazon page.

  Feel free to visit TB’s website to say hello. She also runs I Heart Lesfic, a place for authors and fans of lesfic to come together to celebrate and chat about lesbian fiction. On her 50 Year Project blog, TB chronicles her challenge to visit 192 countries, read 1,001 books, and to watch the AFI’s top 100 movies.